The days of trusting Pitchfork with new music releases are clearly over. Once responsible for informing the masses of such great records as The Wrens' The Meadowlands, Pitchfork Media has evolved into nothing but a bunch of hipster bafoons in tight jeans, oversized shades and tight, nips-bearing ironic t-shirts. In years past, whenever Pitchfork would lay praise to a record, I would often go out and pick up that release, and four times out of five, I was not disappointed. This all changed right around the time that Pitchfork launched their atrocious music festival. Suddenly the top reviews were handed to the most watered-down crap designed to reach the widest range of wanna-bes. This is an utter shame as Pitchfork used to be the premiere source for sorting out the good from bad. Now it's nothing but the Wall-Mart of the hipster generation.
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