It’s safe to say that there have been art critics in existence for as long as there has been art to critique.  But until the 1960s or so, critics in newspapers and magazines tended to focus their efforts on the fine arts, film and theater; popular music was dismissed as fleeting and unworthy of such scrutiny.

Beginning around the time The Beatles took the long-playing record album and turned it into an artistic statement, “rock journalism” became a thing, led by pioneering wordsmiths like Robert Christgau, Dave Marsh and Lester Bangs writing for Rolling Stone, The Village Voice, Crawdaddy and Creem.

When I was in high school in the early ‘70s, I started subscribing to RS and always looked forward to reading the album reviews.  They gave us the lowdown on the latest releases of not only our favorite and familiar artists, but new and unfamiliar groups as well.  These reviews proved helpful to us (if not always accurately) in determining which records to add to our growing album collections.

By the time I was pursuing a journalism degree at Syracuse, I came to realize that the type of writing I enjoyed most was reviewing, or “critical writing,” as the course was titled in the curriculum.  It was impressed upon us that a review couldn’t merely say that we liked or disliked something.  We had to explain why.  We were assigned to analyze and evaluate movies, plays and TV shows, always giving reasons for our opinions.  Of all the art forms we surveyed, I most enjoyed using my passion for music and my knowledge of specific genres and bands to offer informed opinions about the latest rock albums and live music shows.  I became a regular contributor to, and eventually an editor of, The Daily Orange, SU’s daily independent student newspaper.

I felt rather privileged to have access to this forum.  Just about everyone has an opinion, but in the pre-Internet age, very few had the chance to share those opinions with the public through the media on a regular basis.  Once I got a job as a reporter/reviewer at a chain of community newspapers in my home town of Cleveland, I felt I had the dream job: I was being paid to attend the concerts of dozens and dozens of major and minor artists and then to publish my observations about the performances.  Friends envied me for this, and I don’t blame them.

I soon learned I had to develop a thick skin, because not everyone agreed with my opinions.  (Imagine that.)  Some readers were sufficiently annoyed with what I had written that they wrote angry letters to the editor or called me at the office to rant about how I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.  Usually these were rabid fans of some band that I had had the audacity to criticize.  Even if I had given what I felt was a positive review, the reader could not abide even one negative remark.  And on those occasions where I disliked the concert and wrote disparagingly about it or the artist in general, the gloves really came off.  “You’re a complete idiot, Hackett.  How can you call yourself an objective reviewer?” one letter said.

That always made me laugh.  A review is, by its very nature, not remotely objective.  It is a subjective commentary, merely one person’s opinion.  But because I had the forum to print my opinion and he didn’t, the reader found it unfair.  “Who does this guy think he is?” was the gist of his response.

I certainly understood his frustration.  I, too, still get a little irritated when a favorite artist of mine receives a scathing critique for a new release or appearance.  But having been on both sides of this equation over the years, I have learned some important truths about this intriguing “critical writing” profession.

The primary definition of “criticism” in Webster’s is “the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes.”  And there you have it, the main reason why many people don’t like critics: They tear down, they find fault, they harp on the negative.  And it’s a fact that some critics seem to delight in writing what are known as “hatchet jobs,” which, depending on the clout and reach of the critic, can unjustifiably ruin artists’ careers, or at least their self-confidence.

However, the converse is also true.  If a review unendingly gushes compliments to the point where it sounds like it was written by the artist’s publicist, it lacks credibility, especially if the critic routinely writes this type of “puff piece.”  That’s why it’s interesting to note that artists often claim to dislike overwhelmingly positive reviews nearly as much as the brutally negative ones.

The secondary definition of “criticism” is “the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of an artistic work,” and that’s a more apt description of what a really great critic does.  He/she uses knowledge and expertise about the subject, seasons them with his/her own particular taste and sensibility, and renders a meaningful judgment about the work in question.  Typically, the most worthwhile reviews include a mix of pro and con, because in almost every case, even the very best stuff has weaknesses and even the worst dreck has some redeeming value.

It’s frowned upon these days to pass judgment on anyone or anything:  “Judge not, lest ye be judged,” and so forth.  But the key word here, I think, is meaningful; if the judgment has depth and authority based on knowledge, it has more weight and credibility than a mere thumbs-up or thumbs-down rating.  The critic who offers perspective – weighing new songs against previous work, for instance, or why and how yesterday’s concert compares to shows from years past – is adding substantive discussion to the understanding of the artist’s message and milieu.

Some say music critics are merely frustrated artists who don’t have the juice to write songs themselves, and their envy motivates them to take shots at those who do.  No doubt there’s some truth to that; some critics seem to either have a hidden agenda or develop a bias against (or for) certain bands or musical styles, doing the artists and the readers a disservice.  But if the critic’s motives are pure and honest, and he writes with expertise and a desire to search for the how and why, the reviews can be illuminating, well-reasoned and fair.

Artists know going in that their work is going to be put under the microscope and evaluated, sometimes in a manner they find decidedly unfair.  They can ignore it, they can complain bitterly, or they can have a sense of humor about it.  The title of this essay comes from a 1974 song called “Only Solitaire” written by Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, who cleverly used actual phrases from critical reviews to poke fun at himself in the lyrics.  Critics who found the flautist’s exuberant “Pied Piper of Rock” stage persona tiresome saw their disdainful words thrown back at them in lyrics like: “court-jesting, never-resting, he must be very cunning to assume an air of dignity, and bless us all with his oratory prowess, his lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air, and every night his act’s the same and so it must be all a game of chess he’s playing…”

There are a few maverick musicians who have proposed doing away with music criticism altogether.  The late iconoclast Frank Zappa once said, “Most rock journalism is written by people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t talk, for people who can’t read.”  Elvis Costello – channeling the school of thought that says “those who can, do; those who can’t, teach” – had this to say about what he feels is the futility of music critiques: “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”

I doubt that critical writing of the arts will ever go away.  Indeed, the explosion of social media outlets in recent years has made that once closely-held public forum available to anyone with a laptop or smartphone, so now “everyone’s a critic.”  Hell, pretty much anyone can start a blog…

I regret the trend in recent years away from the longer, thoughtful essays on artistic work and toward the quickie “capsule reviews” found in most publications.  These tend to be woefully superficial and almost pointless for those of us searching for reasons why we should consider investing in the album/song/concert/artist.  My advice would be to take any review only for what it is: One person’s opinion.  It would be wise to read multiple reviews, particularly those that go into greater depth, to get some sense of balance.  If you find you invariably agree (or disagree) with a particular critic’s reviews, you’ll probably end up giving more (or less) weight to his/her opinion, much like viewers who get their political news from sources that reinforce the views they already hold.

Or you might do with music reviews what my daughter does regarding movie reviews: She refuses to read them at all, or at least not until after she’s seen the film.  Understandably, she grew weary of staying away from a movie because it was panned, only to see it later and totally enjoy it.

Perhaps that’s the best approach:  Judge for yourself.

Paul McCartney got out of bed one morning in late 1964 and sat down at the piano, driven to play the melody that was pouring out of him.  It seemed so perfect, so fully formed, that the experience totally freaked him out.  He said, “Wow, what is that? I must have heard it somewhere else before.”  For weeks, he played it relentlessly for his bandmates, for producers, for his music-minded father, for his friends and colleagues, asking if they recognized it from somewhere.

They all agreed:  Nope, that’s a new song.  Nice job, Paul.  And the standard “Yesterday” was born.

Even songwriters are a little spooked by what happens when a song is created.  They can’t explain it.  The muse strikes.  An intriguing chord progression, a compelling rhythm, a memorable melody, a bit of lyric.  But many will tell you that they often wonder: Did I really just come up with this?  Is this really new?  Or did I hear this somewhere before?

Popular music has long been criticized as derivative.  But as John Lennon once famously said, “Well, you know, there are only so many notes to work with.”  True enough, but there are so many more combinations and permutations of chords, melody lines, tempos, arrangements and production techniques that can make near-identical songs on paper become radically different treatments on records.

So the question is: When is a song original, and when is it a copy (intentional or not) of something that already exists?

There are many examples of songs that sound like obvious ripoffs of something else.  Many of these go by unnoticed, especially when the works in question are obscure.  But if a new release sounds a lot like someone else’s former hit, then often a challenge is made, and credit and/or money is rewarded in out-of-court settlements.  Particularly nasty disputes end up in contentious court actions, where lawyers must prove to a jury that the artist knew of the earlier work, and that the new song too closely resembles the old one.

The latest version of this phenomenon involves “Stay With Me,” the song that won the Grammy last week for Song of the Year.  While the Record of the Year award (which “Stay With Me” also won) goes to the performing artist and the producer of the recording, Song of the Year is awarded to the composer.  Taking the stage to collect the trophy were Smith and his two co-writer colleagues, James Napier and William Phillips.

But wait a minute, not so fast.  There are those who detect an uncanny resemblance between the chorus of “Stay With Me” and the chorus of Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker’s 1989 hit, “I Won’t Back Down,” penned by Petty and producer Jeff Lynne.  Petty’s publisher approached Smith’s people about this several months ago, and they conceded that although Smith and company were unfamiliar with Petty’s song, it did indeed sound similar.  A 12.5% stake in royalties was offered, and accepted, and the matter was settled amicably, according to all concerned.  Petty’s and Lynne’s names are now officially listed as co-writers of “Stay With Me.”

Petty’s fans groused that he and Lynne should have been up on stage with Smith Sunday night, or at least mentioned in Smith’s acceptance remarks.  On the other hand, those who don’t hear the resemblance between the two songs criticized Petty for being, well, petty.

Petty himself has said matter-of-factly, “It’s happened to me. I think every songwriter must have had that problem from time to time.  You’re working on a song and then you realize you’re channeling a melody from somewhere else.  If I just change a note or two, it’s still going to be in my head that it’s that other song.  I usually just pitch it, and start over.”

Smith, all of 22 years old, said, “It’s a very regular thing that happens, and I didn’t realize that. I’m still learning about all this stuff.”

Indeed, it is a learning process for any aspiring songwriter.  As veteran Los Angeles composer-producer Marc Tanner puts it, “Sometimes you’ll write a whole song and think it’s amazing and new, and then your publisher says, ‘It’s too close to that Arctic Monkeys song! Change it!’  And you say, ‘I’ve never even heard of them! How can I steal it?!’  But ignorance, not knowing a song, is no excuse.  It’s all about who wrote it first and copyrighted it.”

The late great George Harrison learned this painfully. In 1970, after years of operating in the long shadows of Lennon-McCartney, Harrison released his landmark solo album, “All Things Must Pass,” with its flagship single “My Sweet Lord,” a phenomenally popular #1 single in more than a dozen countries.  It didn’t take 60 days before a modest fellow named Ronald Mack filed a lawsuit against Harrison, claiming that “My Sweet Lord” was a blatant ripoff of his 1963 composition “He’s So Fine,” a #3 hit for the girl group The Chiffons.

This was not exactly big news.  People in the industry rolled their eyes, knowing these kinds of claims are almost always dismissed or settled out of court for a few bucks.  The rest of us didn’t know much about it, and we didn’t much care.  Harrison, meanwhile, listened to the comparison and thought, “Whoa, maybe I did accidentally copy it.”  His lawyers offered to settle for a very generous 40% of royalties, but the offer was refused. In 1976, a court ruled that Harrison was guilty of “subconscious copying” of the earlier Mack song.  Because he admitted to knowing “He’s So Fine,” it cost him a boatload more in royalty money, and worse, it had a lasting effect on his career.  As he admitted later, he found himself paranoid every time he tried to write a song, thinking he might be channeling some previous work.  “Let’s face it,” he said, “99% of popular music is reminiscent of something else.”

Indeed.  Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams are currently being sued by the estate of Marvin Gaye, who claim that the pair’s 2013 smash “Blurred Lines” borrows far too liberally from Gaye’s 1977 hit “Got to Give It Up.”  Were Thicke and Williams familiar with Gaye’s song?   And if so, can it be proven they intentionally (or unintentionally) copied it?  A jury is now hearing arguments.

Seventies hard rock icons Led Zeppelin had a notorious reputation for blatantly lifting guitar riffs from old blues tunes and folk songs as the foundation for album tracks, almost defiantly goading the authors to prove it.  Two tracks from their debut LP in 1969 have been successfully challenged: “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” was in fact written by folkie Annie Bredon and recorded by Joan Baez in 1961; and “Dazed and Confused” was in fact written and recorded by Jake Holmes in 1967.  Both composers now receive songwriting credit on those LZ recordings.  Zep’s early defining anthem, “Whole Lotta Love,” is in fact based rather obviously on blues great Willie Dixon’s “You Need Love,” and his name now appears as a co-writer on that track as well.

And then there’s this amusing example of intentional song copying:  The Four Tops had a monster #1 hit in 1965, “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” written by the Motown songwriting team of Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier and Eddie Holland.  Because the band’s former label had rush-released an older Four Tops song to capitalize on their success, Motown head Berry Gordy demanded a legitimate follow-up single to be released within 48 hours.  The songwriting team, pressed for time, reversed the chord pattern and used the same beat and similar melody line and brazenly called it “It’s the Same Old Song,” and the record went to #5.

I’m pretty sure you can’t plagiarize your own song… And yet…