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Music critics be damned: There's no
future in the past To: David Hepworth This letter has been gestating for a few weeks so, firstly, apologies for addressing last month's issue rather than the current one. For some time I've been suffering a queasy feeling on opening the cover of The Word, the most erudite and well-written of publications struggling to hold its head above water, as the tide of snazzy, jazzy music magazines seeking to exploit a sub-stratum of a sub-genre laps around its neck and spine. The sickly feeling is the result of the content in The Word, not the intelligence behind it. My worry concerns what The Word writes about, not how it writes about it. Take away Peter Robinson's interesting interview with Mike Skinner, James Medd's thoughtful survey of current Americana (A Prairie Home Companion) and Roy Wilkinson's knowledgeable trawl through the latest Scottish rock exports (O Flowers of Scotland) and what have we left? John Lennon. NWA. Eddie Cochran. Kevin Ayers. Grateful Dead. Killing Joke. Queen. Rick Wakeman. Great music, mostly, but old music. Clinging to the past may ensure the loyalty of middle-aged readers today but it won't help create new ones for the future. More importantly, as smart as The Word is, its conservative approach to content unwittingly gives the false impression that all great music has already happened. Instead of giving space to modern acts who are every bit as good musically as the acts of the ancient past we all know and love, The Word prefers celebrity magazine-style picture titbits and snippets; Pints Mean Prizes, Pop's Finest Fashion Moments, Word of Mouth, Lost in Showbiz, Star Specialisms. Eat your heart out Heat. Bend over Grazia and take it from the intellectuals! If The Word can't find the balls or enthusiasm to take modern music
seriously, to devote more than 150 words to the brilliant TV On The
Radio's new album, the same amount incidentally as Swing Out Sister's, then
who can?
Uncut? MOJO? More examples of History Today for music fans.
Q? NME? More modern admittedly, but neither are in a position to move
things forward. The former is obsessed with what's successful, a Which
guide for the big sellers, the latter is trapped in a teenage ghetto where
all that matters is looking cool and spotting the next big thing.
For both, music is evaluated by how it's going to sit with their
respective target audiences rather than how good it is or what it all
www.modernmusicreview.com Much as I raise my metaphorical, leopard skin, pillbox hat to someone from the days of the Melody Maker (which seemed to be a great music paper from what I can find out), the content of Uncut seems trapped in its own version of Groundhog Day. Dylan? The Rutles? Traffic? Creedance Clearwater Revival? When Uncut first saw the light of day, rock nostalgia was in its infancy. Now, after years of overkill, it appears to have hit middle-age. Only two names on November's front cover hail from the present era; Lambchop and Okkervil River. How many more issues can the magazines recycle classics of the past? So stuck in the pop music's golden era is Uncut that names like The Undertones and The Specials leap out as if they were something modern. In fact, as you're well aware, both were at their peak more than 25 years ago. The intelligence and quality of the actual writing in Uncut cannot be disputed; in some ways it's a truly great mag. To understand how redundant its approach to content has now become just imagine The Spectator if it was full of article after article about Britain's entry into the EEC? Or how about Hello magazine with picture spreads of Mick Jagger's wedding to Bianca and a behind the scenes exclusive of Graham Hill and his latest flame at the premiere of The Italian Job. It pains me to say this but although Uncut may be selling copies by
raking endlessly over the same embers, it's also selling current
musicians and their audiences short.
As well written as Uncut is, its obsession with ancient history is
Oh dear, just as I was about to send you a letter from this humble, once-devout servant of MOJO hearty congratulations for making such a commendable effort in these past 12 months to enter the modern world after all these years when what happens? I'll tell you. The November issue, that's what. It's hard to believe that the most modern name on the front cover; the only one to rise to some fame in this century, is the bearded, resolutely last century, Seasick Steve. Just when the magazine had almost got to the point where it was possible to claim it had finally stopped being a musical version of History Today magazine. Bon Iver, The Last Shadow Puppets, on October's front cover.
Oh the joy that was August's issue - Sigur Ros, Laura Marling, The Hold
Steady, My Bloody Valentine, Oasis, all those modern names peeping out
of the newsstands and.a cover star nearly relevant to people under the
age of 30 or 20, even - the indie label, Sub Pop.
It was the third time this year that place has been held by something
whose peak wasn't more than 20 years ago (the others, as you'll know, From the kick-off, Mojo has been brilliantly written and designed with a
clear sense of purpose, more so than rivals Uncut or The Word.
The way the words "The Man Who Built The" were slotted into the word
"BEAT" in the Bo Diddley feature last month in the shape of the great
man's box guitar; the meaning of music made visual, an apt tribute
rather than a case of cleverness for cleverness's sake.
Mojo has always been a magazine that loves and understands the power of When it comes to content, it still seems to be largely the music it loved at its inception 15 years ago when Dylan and Lennon argued in the back of a psychedelic taxi trolling round London on the front cover of issue 1. The same old names keep coming back. This year alone we've had The Rolling Stones and The Beatles and Neil Young and Led Zeppelin and Joni Mitchell and Neil Diamond and Bobby Bland and Jethro Tull and Dylan. Obviously. In a sense Mojo has moved on. A new stable of regular names from the era proceeding the golden age of the 60s and 70d has been added to the revolving cast - Guns n Roses, The Smiths, The Sex Pistols, The Specials, Paul Weller, The Clash, REM, again and again REM. And we music fans love all of the above, as you well know. But none of them - with the exceptions of Oasis and Radiohead - rose to fame any more recently than 20 years ago. At this rate, acts Mojo professes to love from the Noughties such as the White Stripes will not be admitted to the magazine's VIP area until 2028. I direct you, and MOJO's readers, to visit a new website I have launched
from my bedroom after a lot much work and soul searching.
It's called
www.modernmusicreview.com and it's of today for today.
Inspired by MOJO, it rejects its caution. Mojo has come a long way in
the past year. Please go faster and further on your journey.
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