Stars? They're for the birds

Guillemots have made me look seriously at stars. No, not birds, nor heavenly bodies but the band (above) and the classification system many publications and reviewers use to rate the merit of books, plays, films, music etc.

I think stars are skewing our appreciation of and approach to all sorts of things. They are becoming the York Notes of cultural life. Want to know all about Hamlet for your GCSE or whatever, but can't be bothered to read it? Get the Notes, go to Wikipedia.

A recent survey (yes, another one) showed that students are no longer reading set books, but watching films. Quite how you answer questions on Romeo and Juliet when your sole source is the Baz Luhrmann version (much as I like it), I don't know. Various takes on Jane Austen's novels by Andrew Davies simply miss the point or skew the emphasis of the originals.

But reading, say, a Dickens novel big enough to hold open the heaviest door, is tougher than a quick sweep through the web for enough info to answer a question. What it won't give you is the joy, the depth, and the unique voice of the original.

That's all very understandable in the world of grades, but is doing nothing to the level of cultural appreciation in this country.

Trouble is, it's a standard of coolness to have a viewpoint to trot out on everything, from Dawn Porter's hilariously exploitative TV journalism to the latest REM album.

Critics do it as well as punters. If you're a reviewer you'll be aware of the general opinion of fellow hacks. And the quickest way to peg that is count the stars rather than plough through a well-argued and perceptive review (the sort of thing Christopher Morley and Mike Davies turn out for the Birmingham Post newsprint version).

The problem can be when the star rating is not matched by the words. This usually works in the so-so area of low star levels. While many writers give a two star rating, the words are often much, much kinder.

And so to Guillemots. A friend, fan and supporter of the band and no stranger to the art of reviewing, thinks he detects a slight backlash against the ornithological outfit, with new album Red, getting some really low star ratings.

As I say, it appears to be a version of aesthetic flu, very easily caught and reviewers are famously frail creatures who want to be in with the gang, especially in London.

I've always admired Guillemots and the very individual music they produce. Red seems to me to develop further on previous efforts. How many bands could authentically conjure up and inhabit so many styles on one album, even within a track? That's what they do on Red, and many critics seem to distrust them for it.

The last band who could pull off that trick with zest and a true sense of pioneering were my all-time favourites, The Beatles.

And having listened to Red intensively for some days, I think Fyfe and friends can now be mentioned in the same breath. And this time out I finally pinned down certain characteristics of the Dangerfield vocal style - it's a 40-60 blend of Lennon and McCartney.

Stars for Red? Gotta be five.