Radiohead

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This is a banner year, folks. In all my years being a music critic (all three of 'em), this is the first during which Radiohead released an album and it did not make my top 10 list. Let me say this again, just to make sure you heard: Radiohead did not make my top 10 list. Translated so all can understand: Radiohead, by most critics' accounts, the GREATEST BAND ON THE ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET did not make my TOP TEN. Is there some kind of law against this?

The year-end top 10 list is just one manifestation of a tradition that music geeks everywhere hold dear. For what would the music press be without its countdowns, greatest hits, charts, and lists of every stripe? Cataloging is a ritual we refuse to relinquish. It helps us mark time; boils countless scattered and overwhelming cultural products into easily manageable round numbers; it's a practice which sparks debate, gives meaning, creates excitement. But of all of them, the venerable Top 10 List takes the cake. A Top 10 list is holy, mega-intense: almost as telling as one's DNA code, and far less cryptic to interpret. Dare I say the Top 10 list is more meaningful than the desert island album? Yes, indeed: for it's just long enough to be illuminating, just brief enough be loaded. If the desert island album opens a window to the soul, the top 10 list cuts a cavernous gash through the body, making visible the blood, bone, and guts.

Ah, the irony of the top 10 list. For all the joy it brings, writing one is an arduous, time-consuming, highly aggravating process, packed with hubris and insecurity, self-effacement and self-aggrandizement. To make it easier on all you music critics out there -- both actual and aspiring -- I have developed a few rules to guide the writing process.

Rule #1: The Springsteen Effect (alternately known as the Jay-Z Effect, the Radiohead Effect and/or the Dylan Effect)

If Springsteen (et. al) has released a record during that year, you must include it on your top 10 list. You must include this album regardless of whether you have ever been a fan of this artist, liked this album, or even heard the damn thing. If you do not include the album on your list, you will go unloved by your audience, disrespected by your peers. You will also never be invited onto a VH1 special of any type.

Rule #2: Hip Hop Props (Rock Critics Only)

Any rock critic who does not want to appear insufferably ignorant (or worse, not down), must put at least one hip hop album on his/her top 10 list. Eminem was invented to make this fact easier for rock critics to swallow. And no, unfortunately, Linkin Park does not count.

Rule #3: Huh?

Be sure to have one album on your list that know one else on god's green earth has heard. (Can't think of one? Don't you have some tapes of your cousin playing the harmonica at last year's family reunion? That'll do.) Without this necessary element, people will be convinced that you derived your top 10 list from some Clear Channel play-list, which is simply unacceptable. And after all, what good is being a music critic if you can't convince your lowly readers that you know way more than they'll ever know?

Rule #4: The Favor

It is permissible to have one album on your list not because it actually holds any merit, but because you are doing someone else a favor. Common favors: you are friends with the band, the singer has a hot manager, you are throwing a bone to a publicist in order to curry their favor sometime in the future. Place your favor in an inconspicuous ranking, such as #4, #6, or #8.

Rule # 5: The Critical Darling

Every year, there's bound to be at least one act who released an album to nothing but rave reviews. You must include this album on your list, and it must be in the #5 position. Five is playing it safe: it says "I feel you on this one, critical consensus, but I'm also my own person."

Rule #6: The Critical Straw Man

Akin to the Critical Darling, there is bound to be one album released in a year which was highly touted, only to receive lackluster reviews on its appearance. Should you engage with this album on your list, it must be in one of two ways: 1) making some snarky aside to the record in your praise of another band's work ("listening to Think Tank made me almost forget how terrible The Music's The People was: almost"); or 2) putting this album in the #1 position, with a rabidly vehement defense. This year, Liz Phair will be perfect for this purpose. (Warning: may conflict with Rule # 1.)

Rule # 7: Go Pomo

Though we're post-postmodernism, feel free to reserve one slot in your top 10 list for an "ironic" choice: ideally, something that's obviously a joke but should be taken seriously because it points out that the only thing serious in this godforsaken world are the jokes. In the absence of this, an album you loved because you hated it will suffice. Be sure to make your write up of it "self-aware." (Note: Can be combined with Rule # 6.)

Rule # 8: Play the Reissue Card