Earlier this month, The Rolling Stones released Blue and Lonesome, which marks their 23rd British album release and their 25th American. Not only serving as a reminder that all four members of the band are still alive (and in the case of Mick Jagger still virile), the album, which consisted of 12 covers, was widely well received. Rolling Stone rated Blue and Lonesome four-and-a-half stars, NME four, and The Telegraph five. The album is a pleasant ride through the classic take on country and blues that dominated their original records such as the seminal Some Girls. Blue and Lonesome is an enjoyable listen and a good addition to their immense discography, but is it 5 stars?

But how can it be anything less than that? They’re the Rolling Stones. There is much to be said about the cushioning of so-called icons that takes place within rock and pop criticism. We know that The Stones are timeless before they play a single note, and this view of the band means that they do not receive the same scrutiny as their less influential contemporaries. Their music no longer needs to be creative or groundbreaking; it just needs to complement their legacy and what they bring to the rock genre. In an interesting opinion piece, Will Layman argued that “rock is the new jazz”, meaning that rock, like jazz, will soon be “no longer a real style of music for most people and more like a brand of half-priced sunglasses.” If we lean too heavily upon what we expect of a genre and its established artists, we become lazy in our musical criticism.

“If we lean too heavily upon what we expect of a genre and its established artists, we become lazy in our musical criticism”

So the icons of rock music have positioned themselves comfortably at the centre of musical culture. But this phenomena is noticeably absent from the ultimate commercial genre: pop. Here, we see a stronger precedent for dismissing artists for ‘losing their touch’: music journalists' treatment of Lady Gaga comes to mind. From her dominant arrival into the pop world in 2008, there always appeared an implicit undertone in journalistic discussion that her unadulterated saccharine pop could never be sustained. As if the world was waiting for her to fall, Gaga’s 2013 album Artpop was met with lukewarm reviews, garnering 3 stars from Rolling Stone and 6/10 from NME. Their criticism? That Gaga lacked creativity, and that her pop framework was no longer working.

It appears that in the rock world, when dads in leather jackets declare a musician a ‘legend’, that title transcends their responsibility to either create innovative music or face the full force of criticism. It also takes away an opportunity to voice your opinion. I cannot say, for example, that The Rolling Stones are terrible, or that The Beatles are overrated (I don’t think either of these things, but the fact that they are banned opinions bothers me a lot). And while rock and roll hall of famers are untouchable, no one will chastise you for saying that Justin Bieber is complete drivel, even though he's had a huge impact on the development of modern music. We evidently have a culture of overpraise, but only for those who have been deemed worthy.

‘Something happened on the day he died’: the afterword to a musician’s death

Yet I will stand by certain moments when we have allowed an album's praise to be consolidated by the esteem and reputation of the artist. The best example of this in 2016  was the reaction to David Bowie’s final studio album, Blackstar, released just two days before his death. Music journalists had to navigate a careful path when appraising Blackstar: assess the album solely on its isolated quality or interpret it in the context of its being the final artistic statement of a music icon on his deathbed? In the case of Blackstar, I would argue that this context serves as a key which we can use to unlock the album's poignancy. When we hear “look up here, I’m in heaven” on ‘Lazarus,’ Bowie’s depleting health during its composition undoubtedly holds a significance. The album is not simply great because Bowie died, but because his final years led to an important and moving work, in which context was intrinsically part of the creative process.

So an artist’s repertoire and legacy matter. Of course they do; it would be dismissive of the artist's achievements to ignore them. But as listeners and commentators we cannot become complacent. It is never wrong to praise, but we should not be lazy in our criticism. In discussion of whether an album is good, no opinion can ever be ‘safe’. This is how music stays interesting