But the fact that the dialectic of the universal and particular, the Dialectic of Enlightenment, is still forcefully and fatefully alive in popular music does not mean that it is not also doomed, and well in advance. For rock music, too, must seize its possibility in the context of its impossibility. Hornby's review is not an objective evaluation of an artwork. It is the reassertion of a familiar, grim and very repressive aesthetic. Hornby begins his review with the obligatory homage to Ray Charles and Elvis Presley, thus establishing his orthodoxy, his faithfulness to the one true Church of the Commodified Vernacular.
Art is about exchange.
We give the artist our hard-earned money and the artist . Hornby gives more content to what it is we expect in return for that which we've given from our paycheck. Now, beyond the obvious fact that this is an old romantic tautology and Hornby has no idea what he's talking about, it does reveal that the fundamental premise of Hornby's aesthetic insistence is pleasure. Hey, some folks are. You're supposed to use your gifts for songwriting, and singing, and playing.