The concept of Kill Your Idols is an appealing one: "A collection of thirty-four essays in which each writer addresses an allegedly 'great' album that he or she despises." But editor Jim DeRogatis, in his forward and in the subtitle ("a new generation of rock critics reconsiders the classics"), further presents this anthology as the young turks taking on the sacred art of the boomers. The problem is this means the authors are mostly kicking at another generation's idols, not their own. And the authors are not as young as they wish to appear (in his foreword, DeRogatis compares his book to a "bratty kid wiping his snot on the blackboard"). DeRogatis, for example, was born in 1964.
So, fear not if you are under 40; your idols are mostly spared. There is no essay on any of the Ramones' discs. The ultimate critic's altar, the Velvet Underground, also are spared. Likewise, apparently there is no overrated Clash disc nor can one slam Nuggets or Stooges. These, of course, are my generation's idols, which is why I was looking forward to another point of view. But rather than bring together idiosyncratic, iconoclastic writers willing to offer gadfly opinions, Kill Your Idols offers more of a pack mentality. And like wolves, these writers are jumping the weak and wounded. John Lennon's revered Plastic Ono Band is ignored in favor of Double Fantasy, a disc few have ever called a masterpiece. Even less of a revelation is Alison Stewart's conclusion: Double Fantasy is ruined by Yoko Ono's contribution being treated as equal to John Lennon's. Wow, how could anyone think that? Likewise, attacking Desperado is hardly daring; everyone I grew up with hated the Eagles.
The biggest omission here is that, except for Public Enemy and Bob Marley, black performers are ignored altogether. Rock critic favorites Stevie Wonder, Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Prince, Jimi Hendrix, Al Green, Sly and the Family Stone, Motown, etc., are not to be found. This seems cowardly, and more importantly, makes for an unbalanced sense of what boomer critics liked so much in the first place, these all being among their idols.
To his credit, DeRogatis takes on an unquestioned classic in his own contribution: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, though to do so is like objecting to the creation of penicillin. He scores some points against the philosophical naiveté of the album, though in the end he is far too good a critic to succeed in not admiring "A Day in The Life." His attempt to continue the attack by dismissing that song as "head and shoulders above the rest of the lot" is a recognition of failure, as he promised to "despise" the record in his foreword.
Still, hating Sgt. Pepper isn't easy for a rock critic or anyone else with ears, and DeRogatis has done as well as can be expected. But few of the critics here are nearly as skillful as DeRogatis, and the overwhelming majority of essays do little more than resort to name calling. Words like "simplistic," "pretentious," "crappy" and "sucks" litter Kill Your Idols. Even worse are the essays in which the author doesn't so much despise the disc as seemingly have nothing to say about it. Adrian Brijbassi, for example, opens his look at Led Zeppelin's untitled fourth album with "For seven minutes and fifty-five seconds I held Michelle Kellerman." We are then able to read on for pages about the relationship between Kellerman and Brijbassi until Zeppelin finally merits a mention a bit over halfway through the essay.
The lowest moment in Kill Your Idols comes in the form of an essay by Carmél Carrillo on all of the songs that were a special part of her relationships with ex-boyfriends. This, of course, has nothing to do with the concept behind the anthology, and the fact that Carrillo is co-editor is a clear indication of the self-indulgence frequently on display. Too bad, because there is always a need for people to stand up and shout that the emperor has no clothes.