Kranz On Copy: Insights and answers on copywriting and writing copy

Despite its short history, Kranz on Copy has served more than its fair share of whining about bad writing. That's why I'm relieved by this opportunity to acknowledge surprisingly good writing from an unexpected place, rock criticism, a genre that often blends two of the most obnoxious strains of pop-culture rhetoric: the fan's hyperbolic and self-justifying enthusiasm and the snob's pretentious intellectual posturing.

(One of my big pet peeves: Categorizing an obscure band as a mix of two equally obscure bands that, if you're as hip as the critic, you certainly should know -- duh! -- as in, "Think of The Beezers as a cross between early, pre-synthesizer Tower Muffins and The Ham Shingles in their Alex Chilton/Syd Barrett phase.")

The cause for celebration is Ugly Things, a magazine published at irregular intervals by Mike Stax in San Diego, California. Dedicated to the recorded legacy of garage rock (mostly), Ugly Things offers in-depth historical reports, artist interviews and cogent record reviews that are as entertaining as they are informative.

Opening the most recent issue of the book-length magazine at random (at 200 pages for $6.95, it's also a bargain), I offer contributor Jeff Monk on Release the Hound, a recent compilation of rarities from the late bluesman, Hound Dog Taylor:

"To say this set is a wiry barnburner is to damn it with faint praise. Taylor and band were from the blues performance school that dictated that if a man was going to play guitar on-stage he was required by blues law to put on a show that would keep the punters dancing and getting down in general. If the band was rocking, usually the house was too. It's not a fluke that pretty much every photo you see of Taylor is lit by his mile-wide grin with those picket fence choppers gleaming in the light."

Or here's Mike Fornatale, in a review of a recent Runaways compilation, attacking the excessive release of unnecessarily ressurected recorded material:

"You've been carefully educated to believe that anything that was left lying around on tape, by anyone, at any time, is fair game for eventual compilation. Bullshit. NOT every spare twang, giggle, wheeze and snorting sound are worthy of your perusal. . . . did you need to hear over-earnest Piano Student Talent Show renderings of two Beatles songs -- sung in a wheezy coke-ravaged whistle that contains only remnants of a voice you used to adore? I didn't think so."

Or how about Patrick "The Llama" Lundborg's article on Mel Lyman, a charismatic banjo player who transformed the Jim Kweskim Jug Band from a modestly popular folk group into HQ for his Manson-like messiah cult, The Lyman Family:

"Mel Lyman wasn't just another head, though. To begin with, he wasn't really from the Appalachians, and while he looked perfect for the part as illiterate backwoods banjo musician, he was well-read and sophisticated, with a few years of college behind him. . . . Even in the role of supporting musician, Lyman gradually took hold of the Jug Band, and Jim Kweskin became one of his earliest followers. Undettered by his girlfriend freaking out and being hospitalized after some Harvard-related acid trips in 1963, Lyman consciously and methodically began using drug sessions to develop his game."

Sure, there are clunkers among the contributions -- but with three columns per page in small type, there's a lot of writing here and the amazing thing is just how much of it is engaging. Late at night, when I should be sleeping, I'm reading Ugly Things and making a mental list of new old records I should add (just gotta' have it, just gotta') to my shopping list.

Kudos to Mike Stax and gang for a terrific read!