The Automatik

How easy things would be if we could all exist within the insular worlds of our fandoms, where everything is puppies and chocolate and we are gleefully oblivious to anything but gushing admiration for our dearly beloved.

Unfortunately, “media” outlets like Pitchfork do tend to pierce through these blissful bubbles, and I can’t help but think their name choice is more than coincidental. Yes, yes, I’m well aware that you can’t keep picking at the scab or it won’t heal, but I never said I wasn’t a masochist.

There was once an innocent and carefree time, like perhaps this past Monday, when I was firmly convinced that of those of us lucky enough to have heard the band Sparks were all chummy-chummy together with our adoration of these wickedly clever brothers and their multi-decade history of creating delightful anti-pop pop music. I realize that there is a bit of a rift between those who prefer the Maels’ 70s oeuvre to the more discofied sound of the 80s, but it’s not nearly of divisive of a disagreement as say, Dio vs. Ozzy or even Roth vs. Hagar.

The typical Pitchfork bait-and-switch style of nefariously weaving what seems like adulation throughout condescending, bitter disgust is present and accounted for in their review of Sparks’ latest album, Hello Young Lovers. But then again, the Devil is a sly trickster, isn’t he? I just didn’t think he had a Comparative Literature degree from Brown.

It’s probably fine not to like Sparks’ music, though I’d disagree with those who do not. What isn’t fine is the rather unnecessary and unwarranted invasion of their personal space, a situation in which a record review is transformed into a Jerry Springer-esque alternate universe, wherein it’s perfectly acceptable to speculate on the non-musical lives and relationship of two people whom you’ve never met and whose song writing style doesn’t exactly scream confessional, even in a falsetto.

And that’s just in the first paragraph.

It’s easy to sift through the dirty laundry of a train wreck like Courtney Love who is practically daring you to sniff her panties. But it would just be bad form to even mention the horror show of the Wilson brothers dysfunctional lives in between the artful fellatio one is bestowing upon Brian’s Smile album. You know, just for comparison’s sake.

Sadly, Pitchfork is not alone in their disdain for the perennial teenhood of the brothers Mael or how all they ever write about is sex. PopMatters, who published a review of 2004′s Lil’ Beethoven that was both glowing and a pleasure to read, seems almost insulted by the idea that 50 year olds are still acting like teenagers in 2006. It’s not like either Russell or Ron are Mick Jagger (or Rod Stewart, for that matter) so I’m not quite sure what all the fuss is about.

What infuriates me most aren’t the negative reviews but the fact that I’m suddenly confronted by the possibility that ten hundred fans might be wrong and that in treading the line between “clever” and “asshole,” Ron may have inadvertently tripped over Russell’s old white sneakers. Have Sparks always been nothing more than junior high school-minded pervs who love puns a bit too much for their own good and I never noticed? Am I? I suppose if loving Sparks is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right.

Thankfully, an essay written around the time of Lil’ Beethoven, reminds me that naysayers are not the world and solidifies what it is that I adore about Sparks (besides their dizzyingly inventive music, witty lyrics, and Ron’s enduring moustache).

“The joy of Sparks – and let’s be clear, they’re one of the most joyous acts ever – is their endless creativity.”

So that’s that. I refuse to let the hipsters get me down. I banish thee Pitchfork and each and every one of your smug, pedantic ilk. And I’ll joyously embrace Hello Young Lovers (which I quite like already, thank you very much) and work on my own review, which I promise will not utilize the phrase “real-world product testing” in an ironic way.