She has a great speaking voice and all the girls love her.

I take great, mean-spirited pleasure in bad reviews (particularly when they confirm my own prejudices, of course). The bland refusal to really bomb anything has, in my opinion, contributed to Spin magazine's descent from a once fairly-reliable arbiter of non-mainstream music to its current residence in pop culture purgatory (replete with headlines like the recent "Kevin Pimps Britney!" - and no, I did not make that up). No wonder Klosterman left. Rolling Stone, of course, has gone round the bend completely.

Pitchfork, on the other hand, can be relied upon to serve up nicely bitchy reviews with regularity. The reviewers' self-importance often adds to the fun. Two recent examples are heavy on the former and light on the latter. The Keane review has some particularly deft nastiness, including:

Don't call it a sophomore slump-- Keane were slouching from the get-go.

and

But don't let all this talk about the music lead you to believe that the lyrical content is lacking. No, Keane make sure that Iron Sea is filled with the sort of greeting-card poetry that would even give Bono pause. If you want to sound like an asshole, quote this couplet from "Nothing In My Way"-- "For a lonely soul, you're having such a nice time." If you're feeling put-upon and a little obvious, just follow Chaplin's lead and sing, "I'm not a stone; I'm just a man," like you really mean it. And in case you forgot, "Atlantic" reminds you in the most ponderous manner possible that being old and alone is totally lame.

The U2 sucker punch is a bonus, akin to the jabs at Ayn Rand that pop up in any review of ponderous, self-important fiction that teenagers and dim adults find deep. Good stuff.