Ahh Pitchfork. Such a quixotic collection of writers. Holier than thou in their reviews of all things rock, and yet the majority of time they know how write a review well, whether their berating you for not bowing at the altar of the Fiery Furnaces, or calling you names for having the audacity to like Nada Surf. I increasingly find myself more and more annoyed by the smugness.
And yet, I believe with the review of the new Jet album, the Pitchfork boys and girls have taken their trademark snarkiness to a new level. Enjoy.