Rolling Stone's Five Star Rating More Than a Little Misleading

What makes a classic record classic?

According to Rolling Stone Magazine, the answer is a five-star rating. And going with that reasoning, two brand new albums have already achieved such status — U2’s No Line on the Horizon and Bruce Springsteen’s Working on a Dream.

Are both records good? Sure. Good. Springsteen’s Dream is certainly his most accomplished record in a handful of years — better than Magic, less adventurous than his Pete Seeger throwback We Shall Overcome — but it doesn’t rank with the record’s most would consider classics of the Boss. Mainly you’ve got the big three — The River, Darkness on the Edge of Town and a little record called Born to Run.

On the U2 front, many critics have called No Line on the Horizon the band’s best effort since the blockbuster-via-artistic-freakout Achtung Baby. But when you consider U2’s output between the two albums, the fact that this is the band’s best album in almost two decades doesn’t seem so drastic. 1997’s Pop? Almost laughable. All That You Can’t Leave Behind from 2000? Would’ve been considered an artistic highlight for, say, Matchbox Twenty, but as a U2 record it didn’t impress me.

So it’s safe to say that both the new Springsteen and U2 albums are certainly returns to form for the artists. But classics?

Rolling Stone’s rating system ranks albums as thus: one star is poor, ascending to four stars (excellent) and five stars (classic). That last word is printed in every issue of the magazine in the ranking descriptions, but very rarely seen actually assigned to an album. And that’s as it should be — any publication taking a critical approach to art should really think through its ratings so that to earn the highest score, said art has to be truly worth it.


But herein lies the problem of Rolling Stone’s stars — by calling five stars ‘classic,’ the magazine sets itself up for trouble. The commonly understood notion of a classic record would be one that has earned the classification through both quality and impact. In other words, Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde is a classic record because it is truly amazing, but also because of its great impact on the entirety of popular music — the record is a milestone of rock and roll.


And the solution is utterly simple. A five star album should be saddled with a really enthusiastic adjective, but not classic. How about 'Fantastic.' Or even 'Holy-Shit-Good!' Anything but 'Classic,' because - guess what? - an album can't be a classic until time deems it so.

Turning back to Bruce and Bono, we’ve got a serious problem. Let’s ignore the question of either new record being actually great — that’s a reviewer’s job, and for the sake of this column, a reviewer I am not — and look at the implication of a classic.

It is simply impossible to comprehend the impact of either record because it hasn’t happened yet. They’re simply too new. Hell, U2’s Horizon has only been released on MySpace. The physical record won’t even hit the shelves until March 2. Rolling Stone’s David Fricke, who, don’t get me wrong, is one of the best rock critics since Lester Bangs, dropped the review on February 20 — almost two weeks before the world even had the chance to hear this supposed classic.

And this leads to the most important point — classics are decided by the fans (of music, not of a certain band) not critics. That is not to say that all classic records are huge sellers, though. Television sold a paltry number of its masterwork Marquee Moon, but the album’s huge impact on the burgeoning punk scene and its cache of devoted fans pushed it to classic status. Had only critics championed it, it would’ve been forgotten.

But for fans to attach themselves to a record or for that record’s impact on music to be even remotely calculated, one thing is crucial — time.

Marquee Moon wasn’t a classic when it came out in 1977, it was just a really great record.

And that’s what Horizon and Working on a Dream are. Really great records. But not classics. Not yet — and if you ask me, neither ever will be. The days of classic U2 and Springsteen both ended a long, long time ago, though this doesn’t negate that either still writes good, if not great music. Well, not U2. U2 stopped being even remotely awesome around 1992. But I digress.

Rolling Stone used to be criticized for bashing records that eventually became undeniable classics (ever heard of Led Zeppelin?). But today, the magazine’s been doing quite the opposite — hailing classic albums years before the word should even be uttered.

A five star rating is fine, but not when it implies a classic. Can’t it be called something else, like really, really, really, really, really good?

We Are One: Obama's Concert Forgoes Cheesy Patriotism and Kicks Ass

Sure, mainstream rock music can be trite. Sure, it can be uninspired. But standing only 100 yards from the giant stage on the Lincoln Memorial for the Opening Ceremony Concert of the Inauguration, I was thinking of anything but indie cred.

This afternoon, in front of an estimated 300,000 people spread from the base of the Memorial all the way to the steps of the Washington Monument, an amazing array of musicians rocked inauguration-appropriate songs in a near-two hour extravaganza.

Obama, the man of the hour (and day, and week, and year and next four years) sat with his family - his daughters snapping digital photos and leaning on their dad - sat protected from the front by a square glass encasing and from the back by snipers atop the Lincoln Memorial.

Inaugurations aren't child's play.

Obama also showed his true rock'n'roll colors during the program. He grinned and sang along, looking like he'd rather have had a guitar than a seat.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

After the Jumbotrons had finished playing another will.i.am-organized celeb-fest video (including, awkwardly, Seinfeld's Jason Alexander wringing his fists and singing along with faux white boy soul), the program started with an epic orchestral performance of Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare for the Common Man."

The sound coming from the crowd is impossible to accurately describe. It wasn't loud, exactly, as I was regrettably far from the thousands and thousands of cheerers. But it was absolutely massive - like standing far away, word wide thunderstorm. The sound was everywhere, all encompassing; it swallowed us all whole.

Denzel Washington spoke briefly and then - magic.

Bruce Springsteen, with an acoustic guitar and an entire gospel choir, singing "The Rising." The song was perfect, the moment epic. The Boss was in charge. The song's "La, la, la" refrain shot above the crowd, higher and higher; Springsteen's face strained, his voice scratchy and bold as ever.

I'm not one for sentimentality, so let's just say that the cold weather made my eyes water.

The Boss' performance set the stage for all that would come - basically, accomplished musicians singing not to the crowd, not to Obama, but to the feeling that so many people had come together to celebrate, to sing and dance, to (Note: please excuse, again, sentimentality) shake at the power of rock'n'roll.

James Taylor and John Legend, kings of the Middle-of-the-Road, hit it with a feel-good "Shower the People."

John Mellencamp, king of the Comeback-via-American-Pride-Flaunting, actually impressed with - bet you didn't see this coming! - "Pink Houses," with it's refrain of "Ain't that America for you and me?" But, truthfully, sing-along was just right for the mood of togetherness and unity, even if it does only last a few days.

In the surprise of the day, Garth Brooks (yes, Garth Brooks), sang "American Pie," and it was awesome. Honestly, I never would've expected to write "Garth Brooks" and "awesome" in the same sentence, unless they were separated by "is not," but the man puts on a great show, and his voice and energy was nothing short of rousing.

Then Brooks dove into The Isley Brother's "Shout," and shit went crazy.

The only artist who acted too cool for his own good was Usher, who undeservingly performed "Higher Ground" with pop princess/annoying voiced Shakira and living soul god Stevie Wonder. Were the former two have been bypassed for, say, only Stevie Wonder, the moment would've been Wonder-full (awkward pause) and much better.

Wonder even sang "O-ba-ma" as the song faded out.


U2 are not American, but they'd like you to forget that.

Bono has more American pride than an Alabama high school football coach with a bald eagle tattoo and a "Support the Troops" bumper sticker.

The band hit with "Pride (In the Name of Love)," honoring Martin Luther King, Jr. For a band that loves to overdo it, the performance was subdued, appropriate. Bono shouted, his day job as a worldly peacekeeper and motivational speaker shining through, "On Tuesday, this dream comes to pass."

But no rock star could outshine Obama, and he spoke with the dignity and gravity we've come to expect.

"There is no obstacle that can stand in the way of millions of voices calling for change," he said. "Together, we can rally as one nation, as one people."

Springsteen and -what!? - Pete Seeger playing Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land." Seeger is 89 years old and can still shred on the banjo.

As the tune ended, Seeger, old and visibly weak, raised his hands above his head. His arms shook, his face overjoyed.

Music is a powerful thing.

The whole she-bang ended with a Beyonce-led "America the Beautiful," joined by the cast of the whole program. She kept vocal acrobatics to a minimum, allowing the focus to rest on the sheer impact of the filled-stage visual. It worked - even the press pit was swaying and singing along.

Where We Are One could've been a gawky parade of celebrity flash, it never took focus away from the matter at hand - we'd come to celebrate a new chapter in American History. The stars knew it, the crowd knew it and Obama, bearing his rock'n'roll soul throughout the day, showed it in his broad smile, the weight of the world resting a little lighter on his shoulders.

Music is a powerful thing.

Photo credits: Kevin Mazur/HBO