Every few months, Pitchfork publishes a review so objectionable that former readers email me to ask me to review it even though this blog has been basically inactive for years. It happened on Friday with the RiFF RaFF review. But I didn’t know exactly what to say about it, other than that it hasn’t been thoroughly copyedited (“[O]ne of Diplo’s weaknesses is songwriting, so the his production…”), so I drafted a special guest Pitchfork review reviewer (above), who points to the fact, more than any particular thing wrong with the review, that the artists actually read these, and sometimes they hurt. Some reviews, at Pitchfork and elsewhere, are extraordinary distillations of movements, people, and small moments that give listeners paths to love and understand music in ways we never could have without the hours and years of thoughtful listening that the reviewers put in before we got there. Others deserve to be forgotten, and not because they hurt the artist, but because they’re careless, bloviating, and undergraduate (much like a lot of my own writing). In the winter, indoors, there’s plenty for time for reviews, but now, it’s summertime, so maybe instead of reading the Neon Icon review, you should go here, buy Neon Icon ($8.99), and blast it in the car with your friends.