Like any industry, music journalism has its own customs, practices and norms. And, again, like many industries, it has its own lingo, jargon and sub-text.
The problem for civilians, or readers, as I like to think of them, is that there is a tendency to take what a scribe says at face value.
For example, when a music journalist writes, “I’m not going to give you a track-by-track analysis…” while he might well be stating a simple truth, he’s not giving the reader the whole truth. You see, what he writes and what he means are often entirely different things so, in the case of the example above, those fluent in journo-speak will nod wisely and realise what our anonymous scribbler actually meant was, “I haven’t actually listened to it so am now going to make up any old bollocks”.
So, the point of this little exercise, then, is to educate you, dear readers, in the language of music journo-speak. By the time you’ve completed this little study you can smile smugly at your friends when you hear a music journalist say, “Due to an accident on the M4 I missed the start of their set” because, unlike them, you’ll know what he’s really saying is, “I was getting pissed at the bar and, to be honest, I just couldn’t be arsed”
I’ve also spared a thought for my fellow scribes and included a few examples of editor speak. Many’s the time a young, gullible thinks-he’s-gonna-be-the-next-Pete-Makowski rookie jumps for joy when an editor tells him, “Great copy, loved it! Just what we were looking for”. Sadly, it takes a few years, a few gigs and lot more disappointments before he’ll realise this actually means, “I’m now going to give it to the sub-editor to mangle, ruin and litter with typos and misplaced apostrophes while leaving your name (incorrectly spelled, natch) proudly in place so all your friends think you’re an illiterate dullard and your old English teacher will beat you to a soggy pulp with his walking stick when you next bump into him in the street.”
So, without further ado, away we go…
“They are a collection of many influences and don’t really sound like anyone”
Means: “I know feck all about music and haven’t got a clue what to write”
“The vocalist’s full-throated screams sent shivers down my spine”
Means: “He’s a talentless clown who couldn’t sing for shit but I haven’t got the balls to say so”
“The band’s manager thoughtfully arranged AAA passes and clearly runs a professional operation”
Means: “I’m sleeping with her”
“This album is a radical departure…”
Means: “They’ve lost the plot, started taking themselves all too seriously and have, consequently, disappeared up their collective rectum. Pretentious twats…”
“This is highly technical progressive metal”
Means: “Every track is a collection of fifteen generic riffs bolted together with twenty half-baked songs all failing miserably to break out”
“They are a recycled rag-bag of Motley Crue/Skid Row wannabes”
Means: “They’re younger, prettier and sexier than me and I hate them for it”
”…bone-shaking riffs and more hooks than an anglers convention”
Means: “I cannot write. I deal only in clichés. I don’t understand apostrophes”
“They’re an arrogant bunch”
Means: “They’re slick, professional, tight and well-drilled and I’m consumed by a sickening wave of jealousy”
“Sadly, there’s nothing here that you haven’t heard before”
Means: “I failed miserably in my own band so I’ll work off the chip on my shoulder by pretending to write and slagging off people who have more balls, talent and commitment than I could ever hope to muster”
“Thanks for the copy but I’m sorry. Our editorial policy does not approve of first-person narrative”
Means: “Who do you think you are? Mick Wall? Lester Bangs? Nick Kent? Listen, you jumped-up, egotistical, little shit; we are in the business of gutting our magazine of anything remotely interesting, edgy or individual, ok? We want copy that reads as though any one of our three-hundred hacks could’ve written it. I mean, what, you think you’re a writer or something? Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me! Piss off and drool over your Hunter S Thompson signed first edition and don’t call again unless you’re prepared to check in your personality at the door”
“We’re looking for writers that understand the magazine’s culture”
Means: “We’re clickey and the editor’s nephew got the job”
“Sorry, the Reviews Editor is in a meeting”
Means: “He’s in the Crobar getting shit-faced”
“Sorry, the Reviews Editor hasn’t come out of his meeting yet”
Means: “He’s still in the Crobar getting shit-faced”
“I like the idea, I really do, but I’m not sure if it would appeal to our demographic”
Means: “Jesus, will you just fuck off and pester Classic Rock? We don’t dig you sad-sack oldsters, pops, OK?”
Yep!
I knew you’d get it, Joel
The best one was when Ian Astbury (the Cult) was waxing lyrically about his spiritual alliance with the the North American Indian which was published in the NME, the next week his ex band member & friend posted a rebuttal saying that until last month he had never been out of Bradford