Our Smug Ass-Kissing Critics | Letters | Chicago Reader

Our Smug Ass-Kissing Critics 

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Dear Reader,

Concerning Bill Wyman's 4 August '95 Hitsville column, I'm sorry, but how does an album "grow(n) in the intervening years" after its release? How is an album "imprressive at the time" of its release become "a bit light" nine years later? Since the music stays the same, it must be ch-ch-changes in the listener, mustn't it? So Bill, what's the story here? Are you admitting (God forbid) that your exquisite taste wasn't as sharp nine years ago as it is now? That your critical principles actually evolve? Are we to assume that your roasting of Elvis Costello's most recent output is simply a misapprehension that will correct itself nine years from now?

This troubles me, somewhat, mostly because of Lane Claven's venting on the Letters page of the same issue. Bill, Bill, Bill. Lane didn't claim that you lived in Wicker Park, only that you're attempting to be the resident "deep thinker" of the area. I realize you tried to waste him with your snotty one-liner, but you didn't address Lane's basic contention that you're a smug, pop-psychiatric ass-kisser. Don't worry Lane, Nine years from now Bill will agree with you.

Pat Brennan

E. Hubbard

Bill Wyman replies:

The distinction Brennan makes between "living in" an area and being a "resident" there escapes me.


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