now, still without looking, can you recall the score the review gave the album? how many stars (or, for certain reviewers, Zeus Slaps)? what number out of 5, or 10, or 100? that's a damn sight easier, isn't it?
as an author, i'd like to think a few of my turns of phrase are fairly memorable (though it's very likely i'm being vain), and i really enjoy making introductory and concluding sentences that will stick in the readers' minds as they read my reviews. but, despite my best efforts, the fact of the matter is that the final numerical score i give will resonate the most with the majority of my readers. true, they might be able to get the gist of what i'm saying, maybe even rattle off a funny aside i throw in, but my 4/5 or 7.5/10 has a better chance of sticking with them.
my theory as to why numbers resonate in criticism is this: every numerical score has a symbolic meaning. obviously, a 10/10 means a record is fantastic, and a 0/10 means that a record is horrible. but look at some other numbers: a 7.5, for instance, conjures the image of an album with a few great songs, but a few duds or filler tracks along the line as well. an 8.1 makes me think of a record that's very solid, but imperfect - perhaps it's a bit too long, or the pacing is cluttered. a 6.8, thanks to the infamous Onion article satirizing Pitchfork, calls to mind an album that "leaves the listener wanting more." i could go on and on. (it's very likely that these scores mean different things to different people, but that's how these numbers look from my perspective.) my point is, as both a critic and an avid reader of criticism, i can look at a record and assign a number - one that my readers will be far more likely to remember than the words i write - that quickly and efficiently conveys how i feel about the album i'm critiquing.
some of my fellow critics see this as a huge detriment to their work. i've seen reviewers insist that giving a numerical score will pull the content of their writing out of focus, or will decrease the likelihood of fans actually reading the review. i don't agree with that line of thinking one bit. and here's why: the number i choose not only encapsulates my opinion on the album, but also prompts my audience to read the review and figure out why i gave the album that number in the first place. the number doesn't overshadow the review itself. it acts as a doorway into the review.
true, some people might skip over the critique and go straight to the number. but what's the point of forgoing a number just to spite those people? if they're going to skip through your wordy two-page spread to get the quick-and-dirty summary of your opinion and move on, removing the summary sure as hell isn't going to convince them to wade through your wall of text and figure out what you think. you might as well omit the headline from a newspaper, or the letter grades from a report card. the very people you're trying to trick into reading your review not only still won't read your review - they won't even have a vague sense of what you think. you've already lost them completely.
look, just don't be afraid of numbers. even if you're concerned that they'll draw more attention than your words, and that they'll last longer, don't be afraid to tap into their potential. they are there to help you gather your thoughts and opinions, and to help other people get an idea of them at a glance. use them.
my theory as to why numbers resonate in criticism is this: every numerical score has a symbolic meaning. obviously, a 10/10 means a record is fantastic, and a 0/10 means that a record is horrible. but look at some other numbers: a 7.5, for instance, conjures the image of an album with a few great songs, but a few duds or filler tracks along the line as well. an 8.1 makes me think of a record that's very solid, but imperfect - perhaps it's a bit too long, or the pacing is cluttered. a 6.8, thanks to the infamous Onion article satirizing Pitchfork, calls to mind an album that "leaves the listener wanting more." i could go on and on. (it's very likely that these scores mean different things to different people, but that's how these numbers look from my perspective.) my point is, as both a critic and an avid reader of criticism, i can look at a record and assign a number - one that my readers will be far more likely to remember than the words i write - that quickly and efficiently conveys how i feel about the album i'm critiquing.
some of my fellow critics see this as a huge detriment to their work. i've seen reviewers insist that giving a numerical score will pull the content of their writing out of focus, or will decrease the likelihood of fans actually reading the review. i don't agree with that line of thinking one bit. and here's why: the number i choose not only encapsulates my opinion on the album, but also prompts my audience to read the review and figure out why i gave the album that number in the first place. the number doesn't overshadow the review itself. it acts as a doorway into the review.
true, some people might skip over the critique and go straight to the number. but what's the point of forgoing a number just to spite those people? if they're going to skip through your wordy two-page spread to get the quick-and-dirty summary of your opinion and move on, removing the summary sure as hell isn't going to convince them to wade through your wall of text and figure out what you think. you might as well omit the headline from a newspaper, or the letter grades from a report card. the very people you're trying to trick into reading your review not only still won't read your review - they won't even have a vague sense of what you think. you've already lost them completely.
look, just don't be afraid of numbers. even if you're concerned that they'll draw more attention than your words, and that they'll last longer, don't be afraid to tap into their potential. they are there to help you gather your thoughts and opinions, and to help other people get an idea of them at a glance. use them.
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