The latest issue of The New Yorker arrived yesterday. I'm already four issues behind so, rather than starting to read this latest issue, I just glanced at the table of contents to see what I had to look forward to when I finally get caught up with my reading. Imagine my surprise when I saw that Sasha Frere-Jones, The New Yorker's music critic, actually had a piece on One Direction.
I like a wide variety of music and will give almost anything a try. But, Sasha Frere-Jones and I usually don't agree. He reminds me of Michael Sragow, the film critic for the Baltimore Sun (at least, he was their film critic back when I used to read the Sun). Frere-Jones and Sragow are the types of critics who seem to make it a point to not like anything that has been -- or could be -- accepted by the masses. Occasionally, though, they'll send a curve ball your way. For example, Frere-Jones likes Arcade Fire and even has had positive things to write about Neil Diamond. That's right, Neil Diamond. You can laugh if you want, but try not to sing along with Shilo, Cracklin' Rosie, or I Am .. I Said. You can't do it. Neither can Sasha or I.
Anyway, back to Sasha and his One Direction article. As I started to read it, I told myself to not get too excited since One Direction really didn't seem like it could be Sasha's thing. But, if there's anything that could bring together a 45-year old balding father of three who lives in the plain vanilla suburbs of Howard County and a 45-year old New York City hipster who went to Brown, perhaps it was One Direction.
Nope. I'm sorry to say that Sasha is very clearly not a One Direction fan. If there was any doubt about how he really feels, that ends about halfway through the article. After making a couple of statements that are somewhat positive, Sasha decides it's time to sum up One Direction's sound and style. Here's his take: "What One Direction really sounds like, though, is a bunch of girls." Ouch.
Oh, well. Sasha and I still have Earl Sweatshirt.