This will probably come as a shock to no one, but I enjoy reading album reviews. A lot. I tend to stay away from magazines like Rolling Stone and Billboard, whose writers will throw out three or four paragraphs on a record and call it a review. It's not. It's a short overview, and it doesn't really mean a whole hell of a lot, to be honest.
I bought Sara Bareilles' record on Tuesday (the release date). I've been anticipating this, no lie, since I bought her first album. I love her music. I love her writing. I love the way she fits melodies and rhythms together. She's brilliant. In my opinion, she's one of the best writers in the business. Her bridges are some of the best I've ever heard.
So I like her a little.
Kaleidoscope Heart is close to genius. Not quite there, but very close. The record has a great feel to it, and she clearly hasn't given into the pressure of what's expected of a sophomore release. She just wrote her songs her way, recorded them, and said, "Here it is!" Not only are the songs great, but the production quality is some of the best I've heard in recent years. It's just a great record.
Still, despite the fact that I already know I love it, I wanted to read reviews; I wanted to know what other people were saying.
And I stumbled upon this: Sara Bareilles: Kaleidoscope Heart, by Enio Chiola which describes Bareilles' record as 'sugary sap'.
I'm sorry. What?
I read the whole review. I needed to know what this guy found so offensive about this album I love. With each sentence, I got more and more angry with this writer. He's obviously a moron who shouldn't be writing pop record reviews. He may know about music, but he clearly doesn't know about this music. His opinions are harsh and far too personal, even for an album review on the internet. And that's saying a lot.
(He also calls Dan Mangan a 'hipster' in another review, which I'm pretty sure will piss off at least one person who reads this blog.)
So of course, I had to comment and tell him, in my own special way, what an idiot he is and how terrible I found his review.
My comment to his review is here, because I love sharing.
What I got from this review of an album I adore is that Chiola made up his mind about Bareilles and her music before even listening to it. Whether or not that's true, it's the impression I got, which, to say, is not at all how a review should read.
It's unfortunate that Chiola's (and again, this is just an assumption on my part, based on the above) dislike for catchy, well-written pop music clouded what could have been an informed, and informative, critique. Of course, we all have different tastes and it's to be expected that not everyone will like this record. However, one can dislike a record and still give a well-rounded review, state the facts. Calling Bareilles' lyrics 'ridiculous' (especially when they aren't) is a cop out. If you're going to throw out words like 'ridiculous', your next sentence had better be explaining how you came to such a drastic conclusion.
I would not personally call this music 'unbelievably forgettable'. I wouldn't brand it that even if I didn't enjoy it. Nor would I ever compare Bareilles to Fiona Apple, in any capacity other than to point out that they are both women who play the piano. Making assumptions about an artist's future or longevity in the business like Chiola has above is not only unnecessary in an album review, but is completely unfounded information. Last I checked, album critiques were to be based on the album, not on an artist's entire body of work or career as a whole, especially when it's clear the writer either doesn't like the artist or the genre of music in general.
Chiola calls this record self-indulgent. You know what? Some of the best records are. I'd rather listen to an artist being 'self-indulgent' (which I would rather call 'self-aware, to be honest) than insincere or pandering to the masses for record sales and appearances on MTV.
If you're reading this review to get an honest, informed, accurate feel for this record, look elsewhere. Or better yet, listen to the music yourself.
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