Five Reasons Artists Shouldn't Respond to Critics, or Don't Bite the 'Fork That Feeds

Don't let this sad picture fool you: Fear Fun is hilarious.
Don't let this sad picture fool you: Fear Fun is hilarious.
Emma Garr

Former Fleet Foxer J. Tillman turned Los Angeles mystic/comedian Father John Misty took Pitchfork to task on Monday afternoon, taking to Twitter to express his beef with the website's review of his latest LP, Fear Fun (previous records were released under his given name). His mammoth rant against indie rock's most popular publication had a few high-quality burns but could also be seen as a showcase for his chipped shoulder.

http://www.twitter.com/fatherjohnmisty
http://www.twitter.com/fatherjohnmisty

Whether it's a small-time bar band or an arena diva, here are five reasons why publicly addressing your critics, or biting the 'Fork that feeds, only makes you look bad.

1. The artist-critic dialogue isn't what it once was.

Gone are the days of famed New York art critic Clement Greenberg writing nuanced essays in the '60s about the burgeoning pop art movement, the artists responding with new work or total non-sequitor, and everybody involved feeling as though they knew their role in the discourse. Internet criticism is bountiful and moves lightning-fast; an artist picking apart one site's commentary only grants that site more attention and more (lucrative) hits. And unlike rappers, indie rock bands don't have much precedent to aid a "fuck the haters" response anthem.

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2. Twitter's not the place for high-minded discourse.

Twitter is great for posting food pics, forging surrealist commentary, or flaming-up weird beef in a flash. It is not the place to take your critics to task. Why respond to a lengthy essay with an arsenal of meager 140-character mortars? Someone should have told M.I.A.: Her petulant Twitter rant against an unflattering New York Times profile in 2010 included the Super Bowl middle-finger-slinger tweeting the author's phone number.

3. If you've truly been wronged, your art/other people will make the argument for you.

The only reason I even found out about Tillman's rant was because it was re-tweeted by a number of music critics I follow, some former Pitchfork staffers and other gleeful Pitchfork teasers. From what I saw, nobody thought Tillman got boned. It goes both ways, too: Popular pop essayist Chuck Klosterman got hit hard by the rock-crit circle for the backhanded story about tUnE-yArDs he wrote for Grantland earlier this year. If somebody biffs a high-profile review, they're gonna hear about it from their own community.

Plus, nothing spells revenge like a heroic comeback. L.A. art-rock trio Liars were initially praised for their role as tweaked-out brutalists in New York's early-2000s dance punk scene, but their 2004 album They Were Wrong, So We Drowned drastically upped their usual ratio of atonal racket. Spin, Rolling Stone, and Pitchfork panned the hell out of it, and the Liars guys could have easily made the argument that they were being shunned for brazenly defying expectations.

Instead, they flew to Berlin and recorded their best record to date, Drum's Not Dead, which kept the experimentation intact but focused it into developed, long-form jams, all threaded by a light narrative about a guy named Drum. The concluding sentence of the album's Pitchfork review called it "a total fucking triumph."



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