New York Magazine’s “Jukebox” Feature Returns To Mercilessly Antagonize Us Yet Again


Break out the good china, everybody: Our least favorite record-reviewing conceit has returned, wherein very probably apocryphal New Yorker stereotypes say incomprehensibly insipid things about the hot artists of the day. Are we all dying to hear what Mike the Lawyer (31), James the Literary Agent (60) (!), and Nicole the Public School Teacher (30) have to say about Sir Lucious Left Foot? Are you sitting down? Well stand up and brace yourselves.

Your answers are “Big Boi is probably the best M.C. in the game,” “The whole album gets you up on your feet,” and “I know that if I heard some of these songs in a club, it would put me in a good mood, ready to dance, because the melodies and beats are great,” respectively. Further indignities are visited upon Francis and the Lights (“It put me in a let’s-go-out-and-have-frozen-yogurt-and-figure-out-what- we-are-going-to-do-tonight mood”), Sheryl Crow (“The record made me feel introspective and positive about life”), and you, oh lover of half-literate rock writing, left with no recourse but to invent future very probably apocryphal New Yorker stereotypes: The Surly Hot Dog Vendor, the Gurgling Baby in a Park Slope Stroller, the Guy From the Bronx We Were Too Scared to Actually Talk To, The Otherwise Exemplary NYC Publication That Needs An Actual Full-Time Music Critic, Like, Five Years Ago. Until next time, everybody.