Non-Pitchfork music review sites tend to fall into two camps: the ones that toe the Pitchfork line by giving similar reviews with similar tactics, or the ones that go overboard trying to be as different as possible. New York-based Dusted falls squarely into the latter category.

In Emerson Dameron’s review of the Decemberists’ Picaresque, he shows us exactly how Dusted differs. On Pitchfork, the guarantee is that an album will be reviewed by a competent critic, if not necessarily thoroughly or clear-headedly. On Dusted, however, it seems that there are no guarantees whatsoever. This particular review displays no sign of competence or knowledge, let alone thoroughness or clearheadedness.

Dameron establishes this right away in the first paragraph, as he starts what proves to be a trend of nearly incoherent name-calling. First of all, he claims that the Decemberists have produced “starkly polarized reactions”, a claim proven incorrect by Metacritic’s roundup of reviews - wherein it shows Picaresque with all positive reviews - except for Dusted. Second, he puts forth that the Decemberists are “contrived, manipulative schlock” without any proof offered. Lastly, he lashes out at the “age,” yes, the years we are living in and everyone living in them, for giving the Decemberists “any reaction at all”.

Whew. Let’s just pause here for a moment to reflect on this. Dameron has already been whipped into a frenzy of insults, and yet he is also mad at the world for reacting to the Decemberists at all. Therefore, he should also be angry at himself - he has definitely given the Decemberists a strong reaction.

Alright, on to the next paragraph. In this next paragraph, Dameron displays both his pretentiousness and his incoherence by quoting Richard Hell about how no one is a poseur, and then agreeing with it - wasting an entire paragraph by bringing up and then dismissing a subject.

He finally gets to the music itself in the third paragraph, but only as a way to throw out some more hilariously off-the-mark insults. In what is possibly the most unintentionally hilarious insult ever used against any musician, Dameron calls out the Decemberists on their “rudimentary, skiffle-derived hooks.” This insult is so wrong on so many levels it warrants an entire paragraph to itself. First of all, there is nothing wrong with skiffle. A jazz and blues derived style of folk music that enjoyed some popularity in Britain in the 1950’s, to insult a band on being influenced by it is absurd. It is made all the more absurd given that the Decemberists have roughly zero skiffle influence in any part of their songs, let alone the hooks. Not only this, but the arrangements for the hooks are anything but rudimentary, taking into account the ballooning number of members for the Decemberists, currently six, as well as various other guest players.

That was just the first empty insult of the third paragraph. Dameron goes on to mention how the Decemberists are “dop[ed] up” with an “empty melancholy” and use “big words” in a “forced accent”. The fact that none of this is backed up with any sort of proof, (though the “big words” accusation, as hilarious and inappropriate as it is, could have easily been proven with an example).

The fourth paragraph, the only one in which any song is quoted, (no song is ever mentioned by name, which leads me to believe that Dameron probably just heard the two songs he quotes from, and never actually listened to the album at all), doesn’t criticize the lyrics or the music, but the actions of the characters in the song. Possibly the most illogical attack on a song ever, he goes on to claim (using “big words”, no less) that they are too sad and therefore “hinder transcendence”. He can’t handle the supposedly “ironically poppy” music, and, in a random and incorrect affront to the Beatles, contends (again without any evidence) that the music is “bloated with McCartneyian music-hall pretension”.

The conclusion is filled with more inane and pointless remarks, including a dismissive comment on their popularity, calling it a “large speck on the radar”, and another random put-down to an unrelated artist, wherein he accuses Morrissey of the same ills as the Decemberists. In another bout of pretension, he draws a tenuous parallel between the Decemberists, Sylvia Plath and Douglas Coupland.

Dameron’s review is possibly the most unintentionally hilarious, deeply ironic, and most incompetent piece of criticism ever written. Everything that he diagnoses as wrong with the Decemberists is a) not related to the quality of the music, b) not true of the Decemberists, and c) actually true of himself (save for the bit about skiffle). Dameron accuses the Decemberists of using words that are too big, and then goes on to use “bourgeois naiveté” and “pseudo-intellectual solipsism”, words he fairly obviously doesn’t even understand. He complains of supposed pretension, something that his irrelevant and unrelated author quotes are quite guilty of. He accuses the lyrics of wallowing in pain, something which he does the entire time - lashing out at the world for liking the Decemberists and dragging his feet through the pain he endures by listening to them. Dameron diagnoses his own deep-set problems in his review, and now all he needs to do is set down his pen and get some help. 0/10.

See the review in question here:
http://www.dustedmagazine.com/reviews/2067