It’s me (babe?) that you’re looking for

C-VILLE’s two arts guys, Brendan Fitzgerald and John Ruscher, took some heat from a letter to the editor last week about the A-Z Music cover story. But neither Brendan nor John wrote the entry. I did.

So here’s a confession: C-VILLE’s two arts guys, Brendan Fitzgerald and John Ruscher, took some heat from a letter to the editor last week about the A-Z Music cover story from April 15. The letter writer, John Dove, didn’t like the W–Washed Up section of the story.

You can read the letter here. Be sure to scroll down to the one titled "Rag-Time."

Well, neither Brendan nor John wrote that one. I did. So shots like this one were completely off target:

"Let me clue you in on something, Mr. Fitzgerald. When artists such as the ones you so smugly mock sell 50 or 60 or 70 million albums in their careers, that means people like them. A lot of people. People far less intelligent than you and the C-VILLE music critics admittedly, but nevertheless."

Never mind that the artists I picked out as not being washed up—some indie asshole name Bruce Springsteen and another guy with pigtails—have sold millions of records. And while this is absolutely the first time anyone has ever accused me of being intelligent about music, however tongue-in-check the accusation may be, Mr. Dove really shouldn’t take it out on our music critics.

I’m the one you want. Do what you want with me, but let the indie rockers go.

And speaking of the indie crowd … aw, shit … Mr. Dove went and pissed them right off. Please see this Nailgun post as exhibit A of why I’ve learned never to pick a fight about music with a skinny kid in tight jeans:

"Anyhow, back to the issue at hand; Mr. Dove may think it’s quite beneath his dignity to attend a 30-person warehouse show, but those of us who actually bother to venture outside of the narrow range of choices offered to us by mass culture and to get involved in the music community will have opportunity to be directly enriched by a shared artistic and social experience, while Mr. Dove and his ilk are paying hundreds of dollars to sit in the back of a stadium, hundreds of feet away from a tiny speck representing an artist whose creative peak happened several decades ago."

Now that’s all cleared up, let’s get back to the original thought that I had when I wrote the "Washed Up" section, namely that The Eagles are easily the worse band in the history of ever. I’m sure we can all agree on that.

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