A communiqué has been received, to the effect that our dear, dear friends at Pitchfork have noticed via Twitter our annual dismemberment of their end-of-year listings. They are, as you can imagine, less than thrilled.
So un-thrilled, in fact, that the Ombudsmoose has been roused from hibernation to address the matter.
Pinko has suggested that he might, surprisingly, maintain a certain modicum of civility during what promises to be a constructive exchange, but we are bound by no such scruples. It is, we hope, somewhere in the job description.
The crux is this: we have, more or less continuously, critiqued many writers, columnists, and bloggers for blanching at the idea that some of their readers might have tastes and opinions which differ from their own. It has become a holiday tradition in many corners to gripe about this at the outset of Pitchfork’s top 100 lists of all time (OF ALL TIME) or merely of each passing year.
Who are we to be unaware of all internet traditions?
Owing to the apparent urgency of the matter, we have no more to say at this time, and no loops to give you for the production of battle raps. This is where you come in. Need I say more?
Meanwhile, we look forward to the annual vivisection of the Pitchfork Top 100, and rest assured we will not be fazed, swayed, or otherwise discouraged by this development. Rather, I suspect, the opposite.
We also note, somewhat relatedly, that they are conducting their end-of-year survey, a potential source of much shenanigans.
In the meantime, Pitchfork will continue to EAT IT.
OTHER BUSINESS: This, from our esteemed colleague plover, deserves some kind of major award for service above and beyond the call of blogging. Truly, a classic for the ages.
Also, the excellent Ombudsentity Heritage Week from our many-headed co-blogger, which we hope has shed light on the strange ecosystems our ilk must inhabit.
All questions, suggestions, and beauteous battle-raps (or filks of any nature) may be entered below.