These are questions submitted by readers, and answered by Robert Christgau. New ones will appear in batches every third Tuesday.
To ask your own question, please use this form.
March 17, 2021
[Q] What did you make of former Village Voice staffer Joan Micklin Silver's 1977 Between the Lines? I thought it was interesting but a bit out of touch for something produced THAT particular year (little by way of punk or disco--but maybe Boston was provincial like that then?), yet it had some nice riffs on rockcrit feminism. You're mentioned in the credits fwiw, but I've never seen you hold forth in print anywhere and searching your site didn't turn up anything either. Thoughts/comments? -- J.M. Welch, Elmira, New York
[A] First of all, although Micklin Silver did apparently write for the Voice before I started Rock & Roll & in 1969, I don't recall her byline and doubt she was ever a "staffer" there. She gave me $500 (??) to be some sort of musical consultant on Between the Lines, which I thought was cool because I loved Hester Street. I have a distinct but undetailed recollection of calling her from a pay phone in the course of a vacation road trip and advising that she include the Bobbettes' "Mr. Lee" in the film. Did she? Dunno. Insofar as it purports to depict the interior life of an alt-weekly I didn't think it had an especially penetrating feel, although it was certainly plausible. But that was a long time ago, and after attending the opening I never saw it again.
[Q] No-frills question (or just topic): Steve McQueen's Lovers Rock from the Small Axe pentad. Have you seen it? If so, thoughts? -- Mark Bradford, Brooklyn
[A] You should follow me on Twitter, where I got so excited about Lovers Rock I dashed out an instant lateish-night rave that got plenty of lateish-night response, the most flattering from veteran critic Ira Robbins, who immediately sat down and watched it himself past midnight and then tweeted that he was as knocked out as I was. It's not just that it's the music sector of Small Axe, every installment of which I think is terrific. As Robbins noticed too, it's how formally audacious it is--an unprecedented masterpiece, I'd say. It has no plot in the usual sense. Instead it's structured as a documentary about a London reggae house party, from food and sound prep to individual partygoers dressing up to transportation to the shifting, organic interactions of the party itself. I find most cinematic party scenes, especially club-action ones (which this isn't because of the house setting) garish, corny, overstated, stupid. Here characters and relationships emerge, crises arise and resolve themselves. There's even an ending--several, in fact, each not exactly topping but inflecting what's gone before. Like all these five films, it's so humane; like most of them, it goes places you absolutely do not foresee. I thought what McQueen made of Twelve Years a Slave was excellent. But these films, set in a U.K. McQueen knows very well indeed, have a transcendent quality so remarkable I hope McQueen gives himself time to regroup before essaying anything too ambitious--hope he takes a few deep breaths and rests on his laurels for awhile.
February 17, 2021
On writing (or not) a history of popular music, consumer guiding (or not) the '60s (and Aretha) (and James Brown) (and the Dead), and Drake (or not). Plus organizing CDs and vinyl.
[Q] You were once planning on writing a book on the history of popular music, going back to ancient Egypt, I think. Why didn't you write it? The pieces that were informed by that research are among my favorites of yours: the first section of Is It Still Good to Ya? And "In Search of Jim Crow" in Book Reports, the best thing I've ever read about minstrelsy. -- Chuck, Upstate New York
[A] The reason I didn't write the book you describe--to research which I faithfully pursued immensely enlarging 1988 Guggenheim and 2002 National Arts Journalism Fellowships--is that it was too ambitious by a factor of I'll never know how much. Were I to have devoted my entire life to it I might have come up with something but also never heard most of the A albums I've scouted out for so long. As it stands, however, what I did come up with was the essays and lectures you reference--plus, less obviously, the 1992 Details piece "B.E.: A Dozen Moments in the Prehistory of Rock and Roll," the Book Reports review of Bernard Gendron's Between Montmartre and the Mudd Club for Bookforum, and many other book reviews; much of my writing on "world music," African music especially; the introductory class of my NYU course, which went back to Egypt via Ishmael Reed's Mumbo Jumbo; somewhere there's the unfinished 6000 or something words on Greece that I put together for the NAJP; and I have to be forgetting stuff.
[Q] How do you organize your huge CD collection? Do you file everything together in alphabetical order or do you have separate sections for various-artists albums and genres like African, jazz, blues, reggae, etc.? If you file everything together, isn't it difficult to identify all your ambient albums, say, or locate your favorite various-artists CDs, or to find an assortment of jazz artists to load up your CD changer with jazz? For example, can you confidently say what your favorite various-artists CDs are without looking at your site? -- Jim, Fairfax, California
[A] I file everything by individual artists together. Organizationally, there are two classes of CDs (and vinyl too)--the hallway and, I don't know, the permanent collection. Permanent collection albums by individual artists are filed alphabetically by artist in the living room, the part of the hall that leads from the living room to my office, and my office. How many? At a guesstimate put the CDs at 10,000, the Honorable Mention stuff mostly in skinny flexible vinyl sleeves sans slug line for space, which is fast disappearing though the ever-increasing paucity of physical promos has opened up shelving that after weeks of shifting stuff around should solve my space problems for a while; in addition I've recently invested in two sets of wire CD shelves that I believe will get pending physicals off the floor where I've lined them up since I was young enough not to worry about bending for them or tripping over them, concerns I'd better take seriously as I near 80, now just 14 months away. (Wow, was it surreal to write and then read that final clause.) Then there are the multiple-artist CDs, every one catalogued and marked by genre in my computer. The good ones are crammed into shelves in my office alphabetized by title, with B stuff out of reach sans ladder on top of the industrial shelves that hold both vinyl and CDs. I can name the titles of many multiple-artist CDs off the top of my head--Indestructible Beat of Soweto, Tea in Marrakech, American Graffiti, on and on--but some titles are hard to remember, like that great hard bop comp, so I search JA (jazz, get it?) and in a minute I find it (Roots of Jazz Funk, dumb name). And then there are . . . box sets.
[Q] I've been subscribing to And It Don't Stop since its inception and I have two requests. Is there any chance we'll see another essay covering one of the pre-Consumer-Guide years, similar to one you and David Fricke wrote for Rolling Stone about the best albums of 1967? Also, I've seen mention on robertchristgau.com of playlists you created for the Rhapsody streaming service. For those of us who don't subscribe to Rhapsody, would you consider publishing those song lists in another venue (e.g. Substack or Spotify)? -- Chris Peters, Tacoma, Washington
[A] Doubt it. To deal with the Rhapsody playlists first, I no longer subscribe to Rhapsody-now-Napster and can locate no trace of the playlists in my computer, which is too bad because I found them so labor-intensive I'm curious and also hate to throw that work away. My man at Rhapsody--which paid me quite decently for several years to use Consumer Guide reviews on its site before it hired its own editorial peons--thought it would be a nice gesture for me to toss off a playlist periodically, but I found the work taxing: you have to listen to what you recommend so you can check out how it holds up and flows, or anyway I do, and that's very time-consuming. Those 1967 reviews were also time-consuming, though more fun--I did the first one during the year-plus when I was on salary at Rolling Stone, the second because the editor was a good friend who offered me a decent stipend. But to tackle any other '60s year would be major task, especially since the CD reissues often add diluting "bonus tracks" or simply don't exist at all and the vinyl would be much harder to do without the changer I retired many years ago. To a similar query from Indiana's Sidney C-W, I'd say that individual artist rundowns might be doable as well as more fun, although let me say right now that sorting out Aretha's Columbia box would be madness and '60s James Brown literally impossible. To a similar query from David Bjordemmen of Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, I'll say that sorting out the Grateful Dead's '70s output would involve frustrating-to-bewildering immersion in their endless live Deadhead catalogue, plus the regular-release albums weren't so hot. Maybe the '60s albums would be worth a shot, though, and there's also a box I've never had the gumption to address. The live one we play around here is Europe '72 more than the early A+ Live/Dead. Which of the three discs I don't recall.
[Q] Any thoughts on Perfume Genius's latest album Set My Heart on Fire Immediately? I remember you enjoyed No Shape. -- James, Liverpool, UK
[A] I've streamed it three-four-five times by now. Haven't deleted it from my ever-lengthening Spotify one-more-time list, some of which I'll eventually if not soon shitcan without further notice. But I definitely haven't grasped it, and when I replayed No Shape for context I began to wonder whether I admired that one more than I enjoyed it. In related news, I hadn't thought about Sophie for years preceding her death by poetic misadventure. No new product, for one thing. So I pulled her two albums out. Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides in particular sounded great.
[Q] What do you think of Taylor Swift re-recording her old stuff? I know she's mad at that Scooter guy, but it seems like a waste of time for a still-vital artist in her prime. Sinatra re-recorded some of his Capitol songs for Reprise, but never quite captured the magic of the originals. -- Jessica
[A] Without actually going back and checking, my guess would be that Sinatra's rerecordings suffered when he ditched Nelson Riddle to work with Don Costa, a capable but relatively anonymous schlockmeister, and Billy May, whose blaring brass renders him just about unlistenable by me. But in general this kind of rerecording is not a good idea--Lucinda Williams tried it with Sweet Old World to little if any positive effect. That said, Swift's voice retains a great deal of freshness, which can't be said of Williams or even the nonetheless masterful early Reprise-era Sinatra, who proved on many occasions there that he didn't need it (he was freshest in his twenties, but was drowned regularly by his Columbia arrangements, though not by Dorsey's RCAs earlier than that). And Swift is also very shrewd. Can't imagine even so that I'd lay out money for the re-recordings unless Rob Sheffield convinced me.
[Q] Hi Mr. Christgau, thanks once again for the truly singular role you play in the pop media landscape. You've expressed disappointment that Drake, despite his talent, is ultimately a pretty dull pop star. My question is what, to your ears, makes Taylor Swift more than gifted and slightly uninteresting? -- Andrew Judd, Los Angeles
[A] Melody. Also gender.
January 20, 2021
Going underground with movies and the Velvets, saying yes to sampling and no to Sidney Bechet and the War on Drugs, and putting "Brown Sugar" out to pasture.
[Q] I was delighted to read in Going Into the City of your experience with Lenny Lipton screening underground films in New York in the '60s. (And thanks for mentioning the wonderful Kuchar brothers.) That period and milieu of filmmaking is inspiring to me and I'd be grateful for other memories you could share. I figure you must have had contact with Jonas Mekas, although if I'm right your time at the Voice came after he left. This brings me to ask also about the Velvet Underground in their early days, since they were so involved with underground film. Were you aware of them during their circa 1965 Angus MacLise phase, when they accompanied film screenings? Or perhaps the Exploding Plastic Inevitable shows where the Velvet Underground and Nico played alongside Warhol's films? -- Andy Ditzler, Atlanta
[A] Actually, I did rub shoulders occasionally with Mekas during my 1969-1971 freelance tour with the Voice, but only because he knew me from the Popular Photography story my high school pal Lipton assigned and I interviewed him for, as I should have. He was the kingpin of that world and a genuinely remarkable man in many ways, but not one who had much use for me once my pop proclivities were on the table--he had no interest in "movies" at all. So while I was happy to help Lenny run the Eventorium's Friday-night film series up on West 100th Street, and sat through many hours of experimental cinema from Stan Brakhage (always interesting, occasionally great) to Gregory Markopoulos (horrible and subsequently withdrawn from the so-called New American Cinema canon and indeed circulation by the egomaniacal Markopoulos himself) because underground movies did continue to interest me, it was the New American Cinema's meager pop wing I wrote about: in particular the Kuchars, who remained friendly with Lenny after they all relocated to the Bay Area, and Stan VanDerBeek. My first glimpse of the Velvet Underground was at a St. Marks Place club called the Electric Circus, I believe under a Plastic Exploding Inevitable rubric that featured the whip-dancing of Gerard Malanga, who didn't impress me (at all). I think this preceded the release of their first album, which took me a while anyway; it was album three that truly converted me. I witnessed their legendary 1970 Max's run multiple times. Lenny, who became a successful inventor specializing in stereoscopic imaging, remains a friend although not a close one; a photo of me he took when I was 20 has appeared on this site. I hope to see him the next time I get to Los Angeles, which I hope is relatively soon. Knowing someone for 63 years is worth celebrating, believe me.
[Q] What would you say to an older musician if they were hesitant about giving permission to a younger artist who wants to sample their music? -- Zach, Washington, D.C.
[A] That obviously depends on many things--how prominent the sample is, whether or not the originator of the music likes the way it sounds in its new context, and what your commercial ambitions and prospects are, to name just three. At the very least you can offer to acknowledge the sample in your packaging and agree to give him a small piece of whatever profits ensue from the recording, which these days are of course negligible much more often than not but you never know and the originator probably knows even less. Plus you should argue that sampling is a practice that has real artistic merit, recontextualizing both new music and the musical history sampling explicitly acknowledges. I miss it terribly myself--a big reason trap generally fails to reach me. I wrote a piece about sampling that's never been collected, though I regret not shoehorning it into Is It Still Good to Ya?
[Q] One musician you've never reviewed was New Orleans clarinetist Sidney Bechet. With his improvisational prowess and warm tone, I would think that an Armstrong fan like yourself would have recommended one or two of the albums in his immense discography. Is his singular style of music not in your wheelhouse and if not why? -- Sam, Ridgewood, New York
[A] I've asked myself this question for years, gave up on the four-CD RCA comp The Victor Sessions: Master Takes 1932-43 a while ago but still spun the single-disc Ken Burns Jazz once in a while. This I've done three-four more times since your question arrived, but still concluded that for someone of my musical education his soprano sax was not distinctive enough sonically, improvisationally, or conceptually to demand my attention. Not that I'm skeptical of his reputation; far from it. And the music sounded pleasant enough. To double-check, I made sure Bechet was also within earshot of household jazzbo Carola Dibbell, who has intensified and helped articulate my response to Coltrane, Davis, Rollins, and Reinhardt, among others. So this morning before I sat down to write I asked whether she noticed the old jazz I'd been playing and she told me she had. So why hadn't she mentioned it, as she so often does? "I thought it sounded good, but not stop the presses." So that's probably it for that.
[Q] I admit to bias but could you re-review War on Drugs and Kurt Vile and the Violators at some point? I remember one comment you made on Granduciel's songwriting and something about KV with CB but that's all. They are both incredible live bands and all-around great supporters of the scene here in Philly. -- All Best, Chris
[A] Sorry, but I'm not going back there. Retrospectively, I figure the War on Drugs to be in a class with the 1975, an even more admired band I have no use for either. And Vile I've tried and tried with--as with Guided by Voices, that's the seminal example, he's a revered songsmith whose oeuvre has never made the slightest dent on my auriculum. Both may well be great live bands and scene stalwarts, but as a stalwart of that scene yourself you're more prejudiced than I am, because those songs have had a very different kind of chance to dent your auriculum. Enjoy if you like, more power to you--people like what they like, that's fundamental. Courtney Barnett obviously did, and must have helped in some way you're better equipped to suss out than I am:
As for the War on Drugs, here's my scholarly commentary in an interview I did with Dan Weiss at Spin to promote Going Into the City. I'm the first speaker:
[Q] I am curious, what is your typical interaction with music when you write about music? Do you play your writing object in the background, or keep the environment quiet but just pull out moments that will help with your writing, or even play something else in background? -- Minghan Yan, New York City
[A] As I believe (and hope) most critics do, I almost invariably play whatever I'm writing about as I'm writing. You never know when some error will reveal itself or some new idea pop up--plus it makes it easier to use the remote to pin down or double-check a crucial detail.
[Q] I'm curious to know your thoughts on the Stones' "Sweet Black Angel," and if those thoughts have changed over the years. The irony of tracks like "Brown Sugar" is pretty obvious, but "Sweet Black Angel" in particular, with Jagger's enunciation and usage of the n-word, has always baffled me. Just wondering what your take on this is. -- Jeremy, Missouri
[A] Politically and every other way, I find "Sweet Black Angel" far more attractive in retrospect than "Brown Sugar," which I decided should be put out to pasture after I saw Bob Dylan cover it in 2003 and (less problematically, I admit) the Stones themselves roll it out at a 2005 concert. Irony be damned, its representation of cross-racial master-to-slave lust is far too realistic--too easy to interpret one-dimensionally as an explicit and unembarrassed articulation of a specific variety of lust. N-word or no n-word, "Sweet Black Angel" can't be misprised that way even if you're not fully aware that this "angel" is in fact a historical personage: the crucial Black feminist radical and indeed Communist Angela Davis. As the song presents her, this woman isn't in anybody's bed. She's in a court of law even if you're not hip enough to know every detail--a star-level celebrity whose picture is worth hanging on your wall whose freedom is in jeopardy as a result of the peril her Black brothers still suffer. The Genius transcription is a mite sloppy, but the Genius commentary isn't: "one of the few overtly political Stones tunes."
December 16, 2020
The art of storytelling and album covers. Also: consensus meters, epic curation, and a protest playlist.
[Q] I've been quite taken by Serengeti's Ajai--the characters, attention to detail, and humanity that runs through it have quickly made it one of my favourite hip hop albums. It got me thinking, who are the best storytellers in music? Dylan and Leonard Cohen of course go without saying. I grew up with my dad playing Ice-T in the car, and I've grown to appreciate the hyperliterate thug vignettes of Ghostface Killah and the Notorious B.I.G., the working-class character studies of Ian Dury and Randy Newman, and the masterful, first-person quote, unquote "short film" good kid, m.A.A.d city by Kendrick Lamar. Would you count these among the best storytellers, and who am I missing? Please don't hesitate to suggest less literal storytellers, I love tangential lyricists like MF Doom, Mellow Gold-era Beck, and my favourite, Lil Wayne (none of those specifically would qualify though, I'm sure you'd agree). -- Ian Carroll, Skerries, Dublin, Ireland.
I must say that I don't think of Dylan or Cohen as storytellers
however many narrative and putatively autobiographical elements enter
their songs, though obviously there are exceptions--Dylan's "Ballad of
Hattie Carroll" leaps to mind, Cohen's "Chelsea Hotel." I think of
them as songwriters--just listening as I write to my beloved
"Brownsville Girl," and even that's on the cusp at best. And while
there are obviously plenty of exceptions in
"260" has always been a favorite of mine, though when I relistened
while following along on Genius I realized I'd never fully figured the
story out--it's generally rappers' rhetoric and diction and sheer
musicality that pull me in. But on the other hand there are great
storytellers you don't mention--try the
Drive-By Truckers' "Two Daughters
and a Beautiful Wife," for instance. The very best are two artists
who've actually put out albums with "storyteller" in the title. One is
a flat-out comp,
Tom T. Hall's The Essential
Tom T. Hall: The Storyteller (start with "Salute to a
Switchblade," then "Homecoming"). The other's a live best-of of sorts,
[Q] Hello Bob! I've been reading you for 40 years--from sitting with the VV in my hometown library reading room til' now. But I think I might be about to stop and it is not because I don't learn from you anymore: I still get loads of great music tips from you! But your casual cruelty about people with substance abuse problems is, I fear, going to drive me away. Recently I tried to convince myself that you were just an old guy who needed some help catching up on current usage: but then I reminded myself that this is a 40+ year problem with you--a feature, as they say, and not a bug. From your dismissal of James Taylor as an "addict, pure and simple" to last month's description of Skip Spence as a "hopeless druggie" this seems to be a cruel and conscious worldview. All those years on the Lower East Side and nobody has been able to break through to you about substance abuse as illness (very often constituted as dual diagnosis with other mental illness)? Anything you want to share on this? -- Jeffrey Melnick, Cambridge, Massachusetts
[A] Backatcha, Jeff--still recall proudly how impressed you were when I biked something like nine miles on no sleep after getting lost at Roskilde in 2012, when I was 70. Thousands of books addressing questions like yours have been written, and I'm not about to start one here. But having affirmed that of course addiction is a disease, I'll begin by pointing out that you misread the Taylor review: the addiction is to the road and the Holiday Inn. At the time I wrote it (I suspect retrospectively in 1980 for the first Consumer Guide book rather than in 1971 when the album came out), I had no inkling of Taylor's weakness for heroin. Then I'll point out that while all diseases are arguably subject to interventions of the human will and/or spirit, this is much truer of addiction than, for instance, cancer, which Norman Mailer used to preach had a psychosomatic dimension, not to mention Covid 19. It's clearly too bad for Skip Spence and particularly his four kids that he just couldn't kick, and hard not to suspect because it's easy enough to recall that portions of Spence's fanbase actively admired how wasted he was. It's the romanticization of addiction that I abhor, and that has been all too common since the bebop days. But let me add that from Charlie Parker to Kurt Cobain, I've actively admired the music of many addicts, and add that one of these is John Coltrane, who kicked heroin cold turkey circa 1957 and became a much greater musician thereafter.
[Q] In the November Xgau Sez you brought up the American Epic soundtracks, which reminded me that in your original review for that record it sounded like you were also looking forward to digging into the American Epic: The Sessions album. From what I can tell, you enjoyed several other albums from the American Epic collection but you never reviewed Sessions. Am I correct in assuming that means it fell short for you? The sessions film was my favorite episode of the documentary, and while the romanticism of the reconstructed 1920s recording system (along with the fact that I'm a Jack White homer) no doubt influences my opinion, I'm also a big fan of the album. I'm curious to hear whether you got around to the Sessions album (and/or film), and if so, what you thought of it. -- Benjamin Schroeder, Grand Rapids, Michigan
[A] As someone who isn't a Jack White anything, I couldn't even get through the sessions album--don't recall the details anymore, just said enuf. Nor do I much remember the sessions episode of the documentary. I think the sharp-eared musical curation and cinematic historical digging of that project are both extraordinary. The John Hurt and Memphis Jag Band stuff knocked my socks off, and the blues CD Bernard MacMahon assembled is my favorite such comp--starts with the ahistorical (because late rather than early '30s) Robert Johnson, what a stroke. The "commercial" gestures of the session stuff, on the other hand, did nothing for me--less interpretation than exploitation, as I recall with no intention of checking. And one more thing: the documentary itself can be streamed at Amazon Prime. Very highly recommended.
[Q] I was curious about your opinion on RateYourMusic.com, an online collaborative metadata database of musical and non-musical releases which can be catalogued, rated and reviewed by users. Did you know about it? Did you use it some time? What's your general opinion about this kind of site? -- Eduardo Mujica, Colombia
[A] I don't think there's any harm in such enterprises, but given that I don't even credit Metacritic scores that much, it shouldn't surprise either of us that I don't expect to be going there often. For you I would assume it's different, since one reason you're here is almost certainly my half century of grading albums and this is an alternative. Thing is, for me grading is by now an ingrained skill--I've learned how to recognize, analyze, and describe in words my own aesthetic responses and also know how to build into such articulations a quantum of "objectivity." These raters are amateurs. Were I to learn that something had, I don't know, a 4.5 on RateYourMusic (and wasn't metal or some other genre I just don't care about) I'd probably check it out, although when I gave the site a glance I didn't even run into any 4.0s. So two pieces of advice. One, Metacritic is probably a more useful consensus meter. Two, I'd bet without checking back that RateYourMusic is 95 percent male if not higher. All this rating stuff is very boy in a time when women are nearing parity in musical quality-quantity even though men still dominate every phase of the industry. Only P.S.: there are now many more women critics than there were just five years ago, another reason to check Metacritic first.
[Q] In your review of Wish You Were Here, you say "the cover/liner art is worthy of all the stoned raps it has no doubt already inspired." This got me wondering how important you consider cover/liner art as a visual impression of an album, and how vinyl to CD to streaming may have diminished this effect--if any--over the years. For better or for worse, once I see the cover of an album, it's hard to unsee it as part of the "image" the music forms. Have you ever had this happen? -- Joe, London, UK
[A] I agree that covers matter--even the digital-only albums that have proliferated in this era almost always come with a square illo that will print out for the downloader who burns (in color if that's how the downloader rolls, as most presumably do and I unfortunately do not). How well most are remembered is another matter. Forty-five years after the fact I had no idea what Wish You Were Here looked like, and when I pulled the vinyl LP out of my shelves also had no idea what I was talking about musically in that review--not an A minus I don't think for those anal-retentives who are keeping score. Maybe the heads were agog about the cover--it was still a pot-smoking era and Floyd was of that cultural persuasion. But by then I'd pretty much quit and was never much of a head to begin with, though I do recall a special fascination with the cover of the first Asylum Choir album, good luck finding that one--psychedelic toilet paper as I recall. (Sez an Amazon commentator: "When this album came out, nobody had heard of Leon Russell or Mark Benno, and thye original cover was a toilet paper roll." (Misspelled "the" in original.) In general I think the answer for me, as someone who probably owns 50 times as many albums as you do, is a simple no. That doesn't mean it isn't different for those whose collections are smaller, who have certain records they handle all the time. It also doesn't mean I can't see the covers of Ramones, Misterioso, and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan in my mind's eye. Great covers all, and very different.
[Q] At risk of coming across as naively thinking that the devastation is over simply because he's been voted out, I was wondering if you would care to put together a playlist--or other kind of list--of your favourite Trump-targeting songs from the last four or so years. Not sure there's a whole canon there, and am sure I've picked up on some dissatisfaction from you at times that there haven't been more Trump songs, but there's probably a good selection. Off the top, Oberg, Snider, Hamell and Superchunk have all contributed some quality material. It'd be good to see your top picks. -- Isaac Iszchak, Norfolk, UK
[A] Sorry to say my dissatisfaction remains in place. Unless I'm misremembering, in fact, neither Hamell nor Superchunk, gratifyingly political though they've been, has contributed anything specific to Trump unless Hamell's commander-in-chief-assassinating "Too High" counts. To Oberg's "Nothing Rhymes With Orange" I'd add "Care" even though it doesn't name names either. YG's "FDT" remains relevantly cathartic more than four years after it was released; Public Enemy's "State of the Union" is just as explicit and more detailed even though it doesn't utter his cursed name; A Tribe Called Quest finished off We Got It From Here with the otherwise inexplicit "The Donald." And after that I'm reduced to comedy albums, first Tim Heidecker's Too Dumb for Suicide (my two favorites both involve shitting: "Imperial Bathroom" and "Sentencing Day') and then Harry Shearer's better researched The Many Moods of Donald Trump ("Covid 180," "I Never Knew Him," "Very Stable Genius"). As an alternative you can go to Spotify and search for Joe Levy's "Uprising 2020" playlist. For me racism remains primary. Even more than the long-term economic devastation wreaked by the greed of the superrich and their legislative minions, the legacy of chattel slavery remains my nation's crippling original sin and hasn't been so great for Britain either. The songs Levy put together in June hit that truth from as many angles as there are artists to calibrate them. [Eeek--PS. Because this Q&A was inadvertently deleted during the editing process and had to be quickly recreated, I failed to finish with the first and still greatest of the anti-Trump songs: YG's "FDT," released March, 2016 and killer to this day.]