I Was a Rock Critic

Yes folks, your friend Roomerkind used to be a Rock Music Critic. I was a rock critic for a medium-sized local magazine with aspirations to be the Mid-Atlantic version of Rolling Stone. Every month, my name would appear in 40,000 copies of the magazine, distributed free in Maryland, Pennsylvania, DC, and Virginia. It was an ego booster, I can tell you. I could get into shows for free, but getting into shows for free eventually cost me my job. That's the story I want to relate tonight.

(Source)

So I get this Rock Critic job and I'm mildly famous. I get into shows for free, I get backstage passes, I get free CDs and promotional material. I'm Known on the Scene.

There was this one club that had a different arrangement than most other clubs. I didn't know about this different arrangement. As usual, I showed up and said, Hi, I'm Roomerkind, mildy famous Rock Critic. I'm here to see The Skinny Jokers (the band's name has been changed to protect the guilty). I get in for free, right?

No, you don't get in for free, said a Skinny Joker. What I didn't know was that at this particular club (in its day a popular club but closed now due to Urban Development/Gentrification of the entire neighborhood. Where there used to be cool artsy rock clubs there's now hipster fern bars and restaurants selling expensive pasta) the band had to actually Rent The Space! The only money they made was from the cover charge, they didn't get anything from the club, and in fact had to pay the club. I had no inkling of this at the time, but I found it out later. It explained the subsequent asinine behavior of the The Skinny Jokers, at least to some degree.

OK, says I, I'll just go see some other band and review them. Toodles!

Well The Skinny Jokers were royally pissed, called the editor of the Rock Magazine, and got me fired. Fired! There I was, mildly famous Rock Critic one day and fired Man on the Street the next. I was sad and depressed. To top it all off, the magazine editor wrote an editorial in the next issue about what a jerk I was. After that, I decided that journalism was for the friggin' birds and that I'd rather be a novelist anyway. I wrote my first novel after all that. The story of that novel is yet another sordid tale, of course.

The moral of the story is, if you're a Rock Critic (or any other Arts Critic, even a restaurant critic), you should try and remain anonymous. You don't show up at a show and say, Hiya, I'm Mr. Rock Critic! No, you don't do that.

Imagine being a restaurant critic and showing up at a restaurant and saying, Hi! I'm Mr. Restaurant Critic and I'm here to review your restaurant. By the way, if I don't like the food, I'm going to tell 40,000 of my friends how much your food sucks.

Well, dear Roomerkind readers, obviously a restaurant critic that does that isn't going to get the same kind of food & service as if he just went into the restaurant like a Normal Joe and ordered a meal. He's not going to be able to write an objective unbiased review if he announces who he is, because he's going to get special treatment. So after getting fired from that mag, I realized that in any future gigs like that, I'd have to remain anonymous. It goes with the territory. That's the way it is. I don't make the rules here.