I probably don't speak for everyone, but doesn't the staid, pathetic world of book-reviewing need its Lester Bangs? Has The Stranger found its Lester? I remember the days when the Creem and Trouser Press reviewers would turn me on to some obscure rock band (Pavlov's Dog, Polyrock, Paris); and who to trust with the next decade's unsung lit heroes than this interloper, Candra?
NYTyrant may be cool, but I have never read a more butt-kissing/incestual piece of writing anywhere.
This is why normal people don't trust reviews about the small press. It's a turn off, especially when the writing is not bad, but doesn't live up to the gush.
It's like a coach gushing about his college athlete to a pro scout, the scout watches, and thinks, "Not bad...but c'mon."
Would have been nice to get a big juicy quote to give a taste of what the reading would really be like.
This is why normal people don't trust reviews about the small press. It's a turn off, especially when the writing is not bad, but doesn't live up to the gush.
It's like a coach gushing about his college athlete to a pro scout, the scout watches, and thinks, "Not bad...but c'mon."