This first week of May was one of the only times in seven years that I have chosen not to write about the weekend. There have been holidays and other arrangements made, and I used to have an editor and a colleague who pulled a lot of weight, but this is the first time in years I just thought, “I’m not doing it this week.” It’s been an enormous relief in some ways. In others, I can’t help feeling a soft twinge that I’m somehow letting down this slightly pressuring tentacle of commerce or furthering the plight of the oft-unreported work of a particular artist. That’s just ridiculous, isn’t it?
I have to remember that I am not the only one who can do this, and of course, I learned it from others in the first place. There is a lot of bad event writing out there. People forget that they are writers, or critics, or editors first. They are not pitching anything unless they want to pitch something. Leave that to the marketing and PR arms of the labels, bands, event organizers, and restaurants. I want to know why I should or should not do something, to the best of your ability. I want to know when to be torn about that.You can give me the complete history of a particular genre, or you can tell me that the event is so stupid that I can’t miss it. Nobody needs folksy little turns of phrase that you toss up while you just pull favor after favor for your buddies in the industry.
This is not an obvious city, and it takes a lot of digging to separate the charlatans from the sincere, or in some cases, the delightfully insincere. Though it may seem trivial to some, quality events writing should act as one of the only defense mechanisms the public has against being swindled by the countless would-be hustlers, or those trying to make quick and easy money off of an evening wasted.