Among the first generation of rock critics, Dave Marsh is the one who fits the stereotype of the "boomer rock critic." The only other figures, in my opinion, who would be in the conversation for the ultimate version of the stereotype would be Greil Marcus, Robert Christgau, and Lester Bangs. Marcus doesn't quite fit the bill since he's more academic (positive) and more than willing to argue that not all of the best music was released in the sixties and seventies (obviously, Marsh doesn't do that either but I'm speaking in broad generalities as well as from my own perspective as a reader and lover of music). Christgau has his own particular methodology and taste that, while mirroring Marsh in many ways (the adherence to evaluative scales, the short, quippy, well-written summation of an album), also is, again, more ecumenical in its taste than Marsh. Lester Bangs could have been the paradigmatic boomer rock critic if we based his oeuvre solely on Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung and the fact that the Human League was on his turntable when he took his own life. But, the Bangs presented in the second volume of his criticism Mainlines, Blood Feasts and Bad Taste was a critic who could speak eloquently on any number of topics, including a real time discussion of Miles Davis' mid-70s period.
Yet, Dave Marsh shaped my taste in music more than any of those critics combined simply for what he decided to publish as a rock critic: Dave Marsh likes lists. In fact, he published a book called The Great Big Book of Rock Lists. The two Marsh books that had the greatest impact on my taste in music were The Heart of Rock and Soul: the 1001 Greatest Singles Ever Made and The Rolling Stone Record Guide (which he edited). The former is one man's attempt in a post album rock world to praise the humble 45 single. As he writes in the updated, second edition of the book, responding to various questions including why "Heard It Through the Grapevine" was at number one:
"'I Heard It Through the Grapevine' isn't the greatest record ever made, anyway, and for a simple reason (one that I thought more people would have figured out from the onset): there isn't any greatest record of all time. If we took the kind of music discussed in this book as seriously as it deserves to be taken--as seriously as it was taken by many of the people who made it and a lot of the people who first listened to it, whether they'd admit it or not--we wouldn't even wonder about such a thing."
He then goes on to describe how no one walking through a museum would argue that a single painting could be called "the greatest," because that person would turn the corner and encounter, potentially, an even greater painting. I don't quite agree with that analogy, and I certainly think that if we raised his argument with regard to long playing albums, no one who calls Revolver the greatest album of all time (such as myself) isn't going to suggest that ranking Blonde On Blonde at number four or whatever suggests I don't take both albums seriously.
Yet, the subtext of this quote is that rock and roll and soul and disco and any other popular music made primarily by young people from various minority groups is not taken seriously enough to be appreciated for itself with each individual single. And, as I wrote in my essay about 1964, I agree with this basic premise. So, if you want an incredible, well written history of the single and the great songs contained within that medium, The Heart of Rock and Soul is a great book. The highest compliment I can give a book from my younger days is that it's a great book to read in the bathroom.
The Rolling Stone Record Guide, another great bathroom book, demonstrates the pitfalls of taking such a retrograde view of rock and soul's entwined histories. About the great British punk group X-Ray Spex: "Presumably the abandonment of pop form, soulless vocals and arrhythmic beat make an important aesthetic/political comment about modern nihilism and dehumanization...or something. No one listens to this stuff for amusement." As someone who listens to stuff like X-Ray Spex for amusement, it's clear that Marsh is defensive regarding whatever is considered "pretentious" or simply "bait" for rock critics.
To be fair, Marsh didn't particularly go in for boomer nostalgia: he hated the Grateful Dead (as did many of his generation did) and only truly seemed to love rock and soul from the 1950s and early 60s (as my parents did) or music that echoes the music from that time (Springsteen and Springsteen related artists). That tends to make a critic seems dated as the listener tumbles into the future with hopes that they can still feel something in newer music. Reading Marsh's books, more than any other critic from his generation, is like looking at a younger version of myself first figuring out what was good to get into and what was bullshit. I appreciated guides like Marsh, not because we ended up having much taste in common, but because he was a good writer who could easily explain why you should listen to certain things, and more often than not he wasn't wrong.
