A Reasonable Critique is Practical

So how does one go about writing a savage review? I think takes a ruthless and cold-blooded nature to be able to serve up cold hard truths without pulling punches he said, kicking a puppy. I have seen businesses and possibly careers decimated by savage machete slashes through the green foliage of achievement and self-aggrandising exclusivity. AA Gill, a food critique and brilliant writer once attested to being able to eat alphabet soup and shit a better menu then the one of a restaurant he had evaluated. Lets see if I can bat at that level, he said, slowly then drew a long breath and mounted his soapbox, machete in hand.
I recently went out for a riotous Saturday night on the town in Ballarat, the bustling 40-watt bright centre of regional Victoria.

After a beautiful Japanese tepinyaki journey, and as long as your clock works, you will know that it is time to make the journey then the Karova lounge. One of the last bastions for live music and entertainment, and one of the few venues not suckling on the depraved pokies teat. Apparently the Whitlems wrote a song about the pokies, I would love to be able to afford the CD , if it wasn't for my debilitating gambling addiction.

We depart with our $17 dollars at the door and received the rudimentary hand stamp. After three Coopers Pale Ale, a wonderful South Australian, brewed in the bottle and brandishing a crisp and tangy flavour with just a hint of pencil sharpenings and plumb. It is recommended that you cellar for up to three days before devouring. So I have been dishing out all good reviews so far, the night is going swimmingly...

Announcing himself on the stage arrived Whitley, a young John Mayer looking twenty something brandishing a beautiful guitar. The Whitley band was out the back, but alas only certain venues can accommodate "the talent", the ego and the other band members at the one time. Tonight our stage was straining under the massive weight of this balladeer.



Finger picking and swooning a drab blanket of treacle across the crowd of one hundred ears, the musical genius stopped, not five bars into the second song, just like the last. Someone in the crowd was talking! What an affront to the delicate genius being revealed to the lucky few. The crowd was promptly informed by princess Whitley how difficult it is for a artist to weave their magical tapestry when people are talking. This is understandable, considering cranky pants was only amped up with a few hundred watts and a plethora of fold back speakers.
After about thirty minutes of morose mumblings the fleet foxes roadie could belt out with more skill, a few political references were thrown out, yes, yes everyone disliked Howard, and the twenty-one year old crowd did seem to salivate over the musician with a cause, [insert objectionable main stream policy here] It may be time for some new material.
So in summary, the hung over, talentless princess Whitley and his massive ego hearts club band and skinny talent morosely mumbled though forty minutes and left after admonishing the crown for their lack of homage to genius. No one protested, save one when we were informed he didn't like encores. I restrained from yelling out, "No encore please, maybe you should have been an architect or a librarian...SHHHHHHH."
I have a test when I see a band, can you hum it later? Was I amazed by the musical talent? Was there blood to the music, a passion in the songs? If so, the band is on the right track. A resounding no sounded to all of the above and a reluctant three out of ten has been awarded for turning up, not electrocuting yourself, and having all the strings on your guitar, seriously, become an architect!

You can buy the new Whitley album "Talentless Whitley and the massive ego hearts club Architect Band" Online now - personally I would rather spend that money at the pokies.