I know that, being both a Morrissey fan and a Dylan Thomas admirer, I should have noticed this before.
It turns out that I was not willing to read NME's review on latest Moz's release because it has been centuries since they mostly publish resentful stuff on our beloved Mancunian songwriter, not to mention that their reviews in general have been ridiculously awkward and mindless during the last moths --just remember their nonsensical review of "Viva la Vida", 2008's most emblematic (though not best) song.
It turns out that I was not willing to read NME's review on latest Moz's release because it has been centuries since they mostly publish resentful stuff on our beloved Mancunian songwriter, not to mention that their reviews in general have been ridiculously awkward and mindless during the last moths --just remember their nonsensical review of "Viva la Vida", 2008's most emblematic (though not best) song.
However, it seems something is happening at NME's headquarters. They have a new review format that divides subjectivity from [so called] objectivity. Now the reviews begin with "Facts about this album" which are completed by the "Album review". The apparent division between supposed facts and the reviewers subjectivity is not enough to save an increasingly lack of wit among NME's reviewers.
Here is where Anthony Thornton saves the arse of the neverdying musical entity-of-hell he works for writing reviews. The unexpected spark of wit reads as follows, at the very end of the review:
Morrissey is feeling mortality like never before but will –thankfully– not go quietly (although on the evidence of the blustering ‘Black Cloud’, you occasionally wish his band would). Or without a well-aimed witticism. So, Morrissey, may you continue to rage against the dying of the light that previously never went out. You’d be so much less interesting otherwise.The emphasis is mine, evidently. The review managed to point out the deathly overtones of what appears to be just another album by Moz about being unable to love. Further on, the reviewer uses what he had just proven about the sense of mortality in Moz's brand new album, mixing a glimpse to a poem with another glimpse to a classic by The Smiths. However this wit doesn't allow the reviewer to be indulgent, which seems not. Let's just hope that NME's witty, smart reviews might never go out, back into that dark night of nonsense, ill reviewing.
.jpg)
Enregistrer un commentaire