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Though any "greatest" list is inherently subjective based on who is compiling it, to have even a scintilla of credibility, isn't it fair to ask that the compiler(s) has actually toiled in the field - just a little - especially when their list is likely to be widely read, like one published in say, the New York Times? In other words, doesn't any list of "greatest" authors or "greatest" filmmakers or "greatest" plumbers - no matter how subjective - carry more weight when created by someone who has actually written a book, made a film, fixed a toilet? 

In early May, I was excited when a good friend brought to my attention a Times piece called The Thirty Greatest Living American Songwriters. If anyone cares to know how much this travesty incensed me, contact my wife, who suggested medication as my rant approached an hour in length. Is apoplectic an exaggeration? I think not. I have not included here a link for this absurd piece of music journalism lest you waste precious time reading it.

But I did research each of the six contributors to see which of their songs I'd heard. Guesses anyone? And then - to help calm myself down - I listened carefully to Lullaby (Goodnight My Angel) for perhaps the thousandth time. While reveling in the artistry of Billy Joel's modern-day masterpiece, I briefly considered writing a letter to the Times editor, a suggestion my wife made to me somewhere around the thirty-minute mark in my toot. After deciding not to waste my time, I calmed down some more by listening to These Days and By the Time I Get to Phoenix. I knew I'd get around to writing a blog post about the garbage I'd just read but wanted to wait for a clear head. Two + weeks listening to songs by the three most egregiously overlooked songwriters from this insulting list was the perfect recipe for soothing my raging beast. I also listened to some stuff by the songwriters unfamiliar to me from that same list. Before I write of that experience, more calming down is required. Stay tuned and caveat emptor.       

Here's the thing: If you've never spent time carefully analyzing the songwriting craft of the two compositions mentioned above by Jackson Browne and Jim Webb respectively - putting aside the massive, consistent body of work both of them and Billy Joel have produced over the past fifty years - you can't call yourself a reputable music critic. Just try and create something as majestic as any of those three songs, Mr. or Ms. New York Times contributor. I'm waiting.