One evening long ago, I was bored with the sites that I habitually surf.  So I went to RollingStone.com. I like RS and I like that I can read some of their better stuff online. (I occasionally buy the actual rag — and miss the original large format.)

I didn’t see anything worth reading on the “front page” so I selected “Music” from the second or third or whatever-level-it-was menu bar.

I don’t know if it was that page or the one after it, but Ho Leek Rap. I couldn’t believe how many “Best Lists” there were. You know: those long ass scorecards of Best Bands, Best Guitar Solos, Best Albums, and Best Best Lists? I can’t stand these things!

All you do (yes, that “you” includes me) is scan the list for your favorites so that you can see where you stand in the grand scheme of Bestness. Bestness is, of course, defined through a democratic voting process whereby People Who Really Know get together and choose what they think is Best.  Your preferences are validated.  Your preferences are ranked on a universal scale of Goodness.  You can put yourself among the Pantheon of Critics and be in a Club of Coolth.

I was all for the Top 100 Albums of the 1980’s back when RS came out with it. The Clash topped the list with London Calling, so right away you figure these guys aren’t suckling at the pop teat, right?  Even if you didn’t like — or know — The Clash, you had to respect the fact that serious rock critics chose it and they explained their choice with authority and eloquence.

So that was a good list to me at the time.  Probably because I was in my 20’s during that decade and it seemed important.  But it wasn’t.  It was just a list.  The kind of list that people waste endless hours of time and breath debating.

But that’s not the point.  The point is that Rolling Stone took a mildly entertaining, occasionally revealing, and always controversial concept and made it … stupid.