“3 Reviews of Goodman's Isn't It Sad,”
or
“The Problems of Knowing the Dude You're Reviewing”
by Pete Kilpin
If you're reading this, you already know that Jersey
Beat didn't make its name just by covering the shimmering
crazes or major label ephemera that have been hurled our
way over the last thirty years. Surely, you understand that
this opposition to the tendencies of the main stream music
press is a cornerstone of its mission statement, and, OF
COURSE, you know that Jersey Beat's ability to
become embedded into the fabric of movements, subcultures,
and scenes is its main source continued vitality. Of course
you knew all that. You're reading Jersey Beat.
Having said all that, its also well-known that Jersey
Beat operates with a tremendous amount of objectivity
and professionalism when it comes to its particular brand
of music criticism. However, when writing for a decidedly
"front-lines" institution like Jersey Beat
(can I just call it 'The Beat' or should I say 'Jersey Beat'
every time? I don't know, I'm new here,) the reviewer can
often become so entrenched in the scene or in the personal
lives of the bands that he or she is reviewing that biased
impartiality can inevitably enter into the picture. Many
find that this element can bring an enriching and fresh
perspective into the art of music criticism, while others
can find it irksome and unprofessional. I'm not here to
say that I prefer one to the other, or to pledge my allegiance
to a single methodology, rather, I'm simply going to take
advantage of the fact that I have a choice: If I find myself
reviewing a record made by someone I know personally, should
I do so with detached professionalism, or should I let my
sense of kinship and predilection run wild across the page?
Take my friend and Mama Coco's label-mate Goodman's new
record Isn't It Sad. I'd love to review it impartially,
but I simply can't. I hang out with him all the time, he
drunkenly emcees our band's shows without being asked, I've
known the record's producer for years, and my brother just
bought a guitar from the guy who mastered it.
On top of all that, last night, I saw Goodman at a party
and he told me, "You know, when we were in the studio,
if I was ever unsure about something, Oliver [veteran record
producer and novice human producer] would say to me, 'Just
imagine, like, Peter Kilpin listening to it…' and
we'd kinda shape something around that…" Obviously,
it doesn't get less impartial than that, as I am, literally
and individually speaking, the target audience.
And finally, as though I couldn't illustrate how inseparable
this record is to my personal life thoroughly enough, Goodman
ruined the premiere of House of Cards for me last
week by giving away the ending. But I can't put all of that
into a cohesive review. On one hand, I can't fairly review
the record because it was literally made for me. On the
other hand, I can't fairly review the record because Goodman
is also an asshole. So seeing that this record can't be
professionally compartmentalized in isolation from my personal
life, I'll have to go about it in a different way.
I'll attempt to review it in three distinct and separate
manners. The first: an entirely impartial review. The second:
an intimate and inevitably biased review that takes our
personal relationship into account. The third: a spiteful
and emotionally charged review of his record, seen as a
worthless product made by someone who ruins the biggest
plot twist in the entire series of House of Cards
just because he thought it would be soooooo fucking
funny to put it on his Facebook.
The Impartial Review:
NY-based-pop-craftsman/solo-singer-songwriter Goodman's
sophomore album, Isn't It Sad," begins in
the same way that his first one did. Seconds after hitting
play, something incredibly familiar oozes out of the speakers:
Airy room tones, palm-muted power-chord plucks, and a faint
wash of organesque polyphonic reverb. Perhaps it's not as
sinister as this, but Goodman seems like an artist who knows
a thing or two about branding. He has a reputation for being
pretty particular about his guitar sound coming across in
a recognizable way, and he doesn't let a lot of his tonal
characteristics, vocals, drums, or otherwise, change too
drastically from track to track. He wants a Goodman record
to sound like a Goodman record.
And just like a Goodman record, it takes a moment before
it barrels out of the gate on its title track, utilizing
a bouncy rhythm section, and a razor-sharp set of stacked
vocals in each refrain. He knows what tools need to be pulled
out of the drawer to make a seamless power-pop record. Perhaps
he read the comment cards on the first record and returned
intent on making minor, but noticeable, changes in his form.
His use of melody and language are more engaging and interesting
than ever before, just as his vocal technique appears to
have advanced ten-fold. Each song structure is perfectly
suited to showcase his harmonic dexterity, giving his masterfully
controlled squeak ample space to leap from one octave to
the next without breaking a sweat.
The record also seems to be an exercise in restraint, perhaps
for the good of his persona. The songs never give you what
you want right away. They make you wait for the full-energy
choruses or raucous verses, and even then, the guitars always
stay clean, leaving you aching for a touch of aggression,
be it a distortion pedal, a gritty organ part – something.
Similarly, the album never gets cluttered. Songs like "Anywhere"
take special care to never confuse a melody. You won't likely
find any hidden guitar parts on future rotations. Everything
that needs to be heard gets heard.
The lyrics are unmistakably pop, and exist within a storied
lineage of boy-loves-girl, boy-hates-girl, boy-hates-self,
boy-loves-hating self, etc. I mean to say that, on first
listen, the lyrics have to come across as clever before
they can concede to the painful emotions or ideas that lie
beneath them. The resounding sentimental truths in the first
verse of "Blue Eyed Girl" are all sitting there,
but only after you think "that was a great rhyme,"
to yourself a couple of times. There are, however, a few
exceptions, where he ventures into more conceptually ambitious
territory on songs like "This is Our Youth" and
"Like What They Like," turning a critical eye
to the city's nebulous cultural landscape while attempting
to sketch out his own piece of the puzzle.
The enjoyment and accessibility gleaned from the composition,
production, and performance of these songs make them feel
like the product of a true pop aficionado; the Jason Faulkners
and Adam Schlesingers of the world. There is something effortless
about his creations, but no less enjoyable than any other
song. Goodman, something like a late-night staff writer,
seems to have written a thousand of these things, and went
with the good ones. Like any great pop song, they feel as
disposable as they do classic.
The Personal Review:
There's this guy I know, Goodman, and he just made a record.
It's great. Don't let the cover weird you out. It's not
all that different to his last one either, it has the same
guitar sound, drum sound, Oliver is producing it again,
it's the whole nine. Word on the street is that he's pretty
anal about his vocal takes, which are, you know, always
great, but it takes a lot of energy to get them perfect.
He's also really particular about making sure Zac Coe is
always doing that same "Boom BAP BAP- Boom BAP- Boom
BAP BAP" drum pattern thing on almost every song. It's
like, he knows who he is and he wants you to know too. I
mean, He's had the same haircut for I don't know how long,
and he's got that jacket that he always wears...same with
the scarf. Could be 90 degrees he'd still have a scarf.
Buddy of mine saw him wear it at the beach once. It's like
he's trying to brand himself or something.
So here's the weird part. Goodman came up to me at a party
the other night, and he was like, "Yeah, we would talk
about you listening to the record when we were making it…"
or something like that. So, does that mean that it was made
for me? If I don't like it then does that mean they failed
in making their record? If I don't like how the acoustic
guitar sounded; does that mean that they failed at recording
those guitars? I don't know. That's heavy. I don't know,
the lyrics are kind of a bummer sometimes. But it's cool.
The record is cool. He's a funny guy too, but like, pretty
much mainly on the Internet.
The Reactionary Review:
Figures you'd have a picture of yourself on the cover
of your record, you stupid ass hat. I'm gonna choke you
with your stupid fucking scarf. Isn't it sad? Yeah. Yeah
it's pretty fucking sad that I don't get to experience the
season fucking premiere of House of Cards the way
everyone else got to. Last week I heard my roommate watching
it and then he was like, "OH MY GOD. THATS CRAZY"
and I was like, "What?!?" and he was like, "You'll
see, man." I couldn't wait, Goodman, I couldn't fucking
wait. But that night, it all went south.
I went on Facebook, and scrolled through my news feed. And
what did I see? "RIP Zoe Barnes #HouseOfCards."
He just said it. Without an ounce of remorse. What kind
of monster does that? What kind of morally void scum sucking
bottom feeder bowlcut goon face weasel says something like
that as though they couldn't imagine anyone caring that
much about anything ever GODDAMMIT GOODMAN HAVEN'T YOU EVER
FELT LOVE? OR COMPASSION? Is there a bowl ut around your
heart keeping you from letting anyone in, or get too close?
Why would you hurt so many people like that? They were people
you loved and who loved you, I read the comment thread.
Zoe Barnes is dead and I didn't even get to enjoy it. You
know who did? The FUCKING PRESIDENT! He tweeted about the
show and he said NO GODDAMN SPOILERS. YOU DISOBEYED THE
MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE FREE WORLD! Do you feel like a
big man now? Fuck this fucking record. It is sad, Goodman.
It is sad.
Also I've still only seen the first episode so… no
more spoilers.
Pete Kilpin is the bassist of The Great American Novel
and a really sharp dresser.
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