Led Zeppelin — Led Zeppelin
The critic: Rolling Stone’s John Mendelsohn
This review pissed off Jimmy Page so royally that he refused to speak to Rolling Stone for years, a fact that would cause the magazine much consternation throughout the ’70s as Led Zep bestrode the world like tight-trousered, mudshark-wielding commercial colossi. Still, you can’t blame Page for taking offense to this—amongst other things, Mendelsohn calls Robert Plant “as foppish as Rod Stewart, but he’s nowhere near so exciting” and lambasts the guitarist as “a very limited producer and a writer of weak, unimaginative songs.”
The nastiest bit: “In their willingness to waste their considerable talent on unworthy material the Zeppelin has produced an album which is sadly reminiscent of [the Jeff Beck Group's] Truth. Like the Beck group they are also perfectly willing to make themselves a two- (or, more accurately, one-a-half) man show. It would seem that, if they’re to help fill the void created by the demise of Cream, they will have to find a producer (and editor) and some material worthy of their collective attention.”
Black Sabbath — Black Sabbath
The critic: Rolling Stone’s Lester Bangs
There seemed to be some sort of fashion at 1970s Rolling Stone for making mystifyingly unfavorable comparisons between British bands and Eric Clapton’s supergroup Cream, because Bangs was at it in this piece, too. He spends a good half of his
review comparing and contrasting Black Sabbath with Clapton et al, and eventually concludes that Sabbath are “just like Cream… but worse.” Um, no they’re not, Lester.
The nastiest bit: “The whole album is a shuck — despite the murky songtitles and some inane lyrics that sound like Vanilla Fudge paying doggerel tribute to Aleister Crowley, the album has nothing to do with spiritualism, the occult, or anything much except stiff recitations of Cream clichés that sound like the musicians learned them out of a book, grinding on and on with dogged persistence.”
Daft Punk — Discovery
The critic: Robert Christgau
Quite why anyone cares what the self-styled Dean of Rock Critics™ thinks is one of the enduring mysteries of the world of music—especially when he writes things like this startlingly jingoistic flag-waving dismissal of Daft Punk’s magnum opus, doing everything but accusing Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo of being cheese-eating surrender monkeys. Exactly why he hated it so much remains unclear.
The nastiest bit: “These guys are so French I want to force-feed them and cut out their livers. Young moderns who’ve made the Detroit-Berlin adjustment may find their squelchy synth sounds humanistic; young moderns whose asses sport parallel ports may dance till they crash. But Yank fun is much less spirituel [sic], so that God bless America, ‘One More Time’ is merely an annoying novelty stateside. The way our butts plug in, there are better beats on the damn Jadakiss CD.”
Radiohead — OK Computer
The critic: Robert Christgau, again
Look, I could do a whole feature on Christgauian cluelessness, but in the interests of diversity, I’ll restrain myself to
one more example of his talent for not only missing the point but covering his eyes willfully as he sails past it, all the while rambling on about how much he loves Pink Floyd. He declared Radiohead’s masterpiece of millennial angst his “Dud of the Month” on its release in 1997, apparently because it’s not as good as Wish You Were Here. Whatever, Grandpa.
The nastiest bit: “Radiohead wouldn’t know a tragic hero if they were cramming for their A levels, and their idea of soul is Bono, who they imitate further at the risk of looking even more ridiculous than they already do.”
The Rolling Stones — Exile on Main Street
The critic: Rolling Stone’s Lenny Kaye
Oh, Lenny Kaye. You’re a great guitarist, and a pretty decent writer to boot, but you got
this one wrong.
The nastiest bit: “Exile On Main Street spends its four sides shading the same song in as many variations as there are Rolling Stone readymades to fill them, and if on the one hand they prove the group’s eternal constancy and appeal, it’s on the other that you can leave the album and still feel vaguely unsatisfied, not quite brought to the peaks that this band of bands has always held out as a special prize in the past… I still think that the great Stones album of their mature period is yet to come. Hopefully, Exile On Main Street will give them the solid footing they need to open up, and with a little horizon-expanding (perhaps honed by two months on the road), they might even deliver it to us the next time around.”
Weezer — Pinkerton
The critic: Um, Rivers Cuomo
Cuomo suffered something of a crisis of confidence after the release of what would subsequently come to be judged as his masterpiece,
spilling his guts toEntertainment Weekly in 2001 about how much he hated it. Ye gods. If 2001-era Rivers had heardRaditude, he probably would have ended it all.
The nastiest bit: “It’s a hideous record… It was such a hugely painful mistake that happened in front of hundreds of thousands of people and continues to happen on a grander and grander scale and just won’t go away. It’s like getting really drunk at a party and spilling your guts in front of everyone and feeling incredibly great and cathartic about it, and then waking up the next morning and realizing what a complete fool you made of yourself.”
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