There’s no such thing as GoodListens, is there?

Sure, there are music reviewers, a few. But while lots of people review books they read on their journals and blogs, and while is pretty much a staple of both the geek community and the greater reading community, you don’t seem to see so much of that for music.

I do wonder why. Is it the lack of music education, leading to a lack of common vocabulary? Is it the marketing from the labels, turning people off? Both combined plus something else? I honestly don’t know.

But occasionally people do post reviews! It’s really great to see them, particularly since they’re pretty uncommon and obviously difficult. Paul Tristan Fergus at Diamond Island gave Cracksman Betty a really nice write-up a few days ago – there’s even a little cartoon with it. I swoon! Also, at the 5/5 rating. Yay!

If you don’t mind a little politics, this quote gets to the heart of things:

There’s an element of public disobedience inherent in the songs, of being a lowdown outsider who is unapproved of by the rulers. In a way this is just what a gathering of super-villains actually is: ordinary people with extraordinary viewpoints hearing the call to gather into an assembly and defy authority that serves only a few superheroes and their estates. Hanging out in the pub singing songs might be the most dangerous place on earth for the League of Justice for the Fortunate Few.

Yeah. We may be part of the problem, but we are not part of that problem. You’ll see some of that closer to the surface in Din of Thieves – albeit leavened by humour, like always.

Talking of, albums cost money to make. And that takes fan support. If you’re willing, help share the… love? rage? problem? All of the above? Physical CDs are still on holiday discount. Dick Tracy Must Die is $10, Cracksman Betty is a piffle at $5, and there’s still time before the holidays for shipping. Or if you just want to download and hand over files, that works fine for me!

But people still like physical presents, as far as I can tell. Particularly in stockings. Particularly when the Elfin National Resistance Front has finally got to that sweatshop-running bastard, Nicholas Santa “the Hutt” Claus. “Saint” Nicholas, my shiny metal ass:

Nobody expects the tinsel garrotte. Nobody.