After wading through Richard Meltzer’s convoluted bullshit titled “Vinyl Reckoning” [July 2], I remembered why I quit reading so-called rock criticism a short time after the disgusting genre reared its ugly little head. Similar to Meltzer’s crapola, it was more of an exercise in abject narcissism than it was a review of any record.

Even if it had been done more intelligently than it was, the entire concept was flawed to begin with, because taste is relative to the individual. It has been said that people don’t know what they like, they simply like what they know. So where does someone who happens to know one kind of music get off telling someone who happens to know another kind of music that that person’s taste sucks? The whole business reminds me of those “musical appreciation” classes in school where those wittingly or unwittingly serving elite interests attempted to indoctrinate us with elite notions of acceptability.

As far as the Searchers go, anyone interested in upbeat pop rock with overtones of the 1960s might want to check out their album Love’s Melodies (1981) on Sire records. It certainly rocks harder than their earlier stuff. If Meltzer was at all relevant to rock music he might have mentioned something of this nature as opposed to his personal history (tampon strings and all) which, I would wager, was of little or absolutely no interest to those who attempted to read the barely readable.

Good riddance to Meltzer and the rest of his ilk. Those of us who have truly loved the music have kept our vinyl in good condition and have spent our time listening to it rather than sitting around reading what a bunch of fatuous assholes have to say about it.

Madman Jack