Looks like Rick Moody wandered into the Taylor Swift minefield and done got hisself blowed up.
I was not prepared for the assault that lay in wait for me when I published this piece, and on this basis (lack of preparation for the assault), we can only say that I am hopelessly naive.
What did Mr. Moody say that got Ms. Swift’s fan all riled up?
Look, I normally only write about things I like, things I care about, but I can’t stop myself here. Taylor Swift represents what makes me want to die about popular music. She makes me want to die. If it’s all going to be like this—merchandising opportunities, branding, cross-platforming–the marble slab of post-mortality, then I am not interested in popular music. I don’t give a fuck. Taylor Swift makes music about as interesting as Olestra-based products, or Swiffers in multiple colors, or tiered Jell-O dessert products, or milk from China that has lead in it, or home cosmetic surgery, or rectal bleaching. Her publicists are adept at creating an ersatz Taylor Swift who appears to resemble a young woman with hauntingly insistent nostrils. But that does not mean that she is not a Swedish Ritalin-addict’s idea of the popular song, created by committee for demographic penetration. More than a million people bought her album in the first week. And every one of them was duped.
Geez, I’ve read the paragraph three times and can’t find a single thing to disagree with.