This one pans, that one praises, everyone shouts down everyone else. What was once a punchline is now literally true -- "Everyone's a critic." Any schmuck with an internet connection and a gripe can be one. Go to Last.fm (or anywhere else on the internet) and root around for awhile, you'll see.

Do we need professional music critics?

Times of old, we ceded authority to certain writers who worked for rags like Rolling Stone -- Dave Marsh, Greil Marcus, Tony Glover, Paul Nelson and Lester Bangs all passed through at one time. And then there was Robert Christgau and his apostles over at the Village Voice.

They had the power to be kingmakers or spoilers; what they said mattered. They created the criticism industry as we know it, or as we have known it.

That's all over now.

Today music executives poormouth about the state of the industry. They know they are finally being hoisted by their own petard, but they're clueless what to do about it. The internet has democratized access, but talent, alas, remains an elusive and rare quality.

[The following statement is not scientifically verifiable.] Every band is capable of producing ... two (maybe three) really good songs, and perhaps one great song. This is a thumbnail history of pop music. It also explains the industry that arose to service it, from at least the 1950s to the present.

But there is room enough in the marketplace for all kinds of music, from Britney to Municipal Waste, from Lamb of God to Jars of Clay. There is a lot of music out there. MySpace estimates there are more than 3 million musical acts on their site.

The music industry is governed by the same laws that govern the physical universe. Things like entropy, gravity and the Law of 90/10, which states that a full 90 percent of what's produced adheres to the dictates of crass commercialism, greed and exploitation.

For every Johnny Cash there are four and half Bigs and four and half Riches. Cash was a lifer, in it not for money but for some form of love, which as we know can take many forms from transcendent to destructive. Even Cash lost his way at times, swayed by the devil in one of his many guises.

New bands like Arctic Monkeys, Panic at the Disco and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah confound music executives. These bands moved outside the system, their success was fan driven, not a result of industry marketing.

Established acts too got savvy. Trent Reznor and Radiohead gave away songs for free. Recently, Lil Wayne with DJ Rob E Rob teamed up to offer free downloads and people complained, it took too much space on their iPod, or it took too long to download. Truly a bummer.

Everyone knows by now that things have changed, but no one can say where it's headed. But what is crystal clear is how ethically and artistically bankrupt the industry had become over the decades. Panic at the record companies.

Death throes of capitalism! Our cocaine allowance is in serious jeopardy! We gotta sue someone!

Cue industry goon squad, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), who reserves the right to sue even if you make a personal copy of a CD you bought. Make no mistake, the RIAA became a kneecapper because money was going elsewhere.

Today, when entertainment companies are more confused than Dick Cheney about the Constitution, and when they are warring with fans and artists alike, what place is there for someone paid to write about music?

This is a tricky business. Critics are as much part of the system as anyone. Their job depends on it.

If you have ever bought music based on a review, you know what a double-edged sword it can be. Perhaps you were seduced by a critic's beautiful prose (doubtful), profound insight (nah) or their snake oil charm (much more likely), something.

Plan 9's thriving business buying used CD's is predicated on the universal truth that tastes change. Constantly and forever, amen.

There has to be a founding principle here, something to hang your guitar strap on.

Who do you trust? Next to the President, Congress and Charlie Sheen, music critics are probably some of the least trusted people in the country. That might be hyperbole, but just barely.

Things have gotten all screwed up. They have to prove themselves worthy of our trust.

Why should anyone listen to them? Critics, like the government, exist to serve us, not their own ego. They are supposed to do the work most of us haven't the time, energy or money to do -- listen to a bunch of music and yank on our coat -- "Hey pal, listen to this, this here, this is interesting."

It would be nice if they were fans first and passionate about music, instead of failed writers/artists/musicians bashing around metaphors for kicks.

But we're stuck with them, like it or not. Even in a town as small, relatively speaking, as Richmond, who can possibly keep up with the variety and number of bands? We need a guide, someone to help us through the wilderness. So they remain among us, propagating their opinion as truth, justice and the musical way.

Anyone who creates something for public consumption must sooner or later learn to develop a thick skin. Not everyone is going to like what you do, and some are going to be very vocal about their dislike.

What about critics themselves? They are seldom if ever judged by the same methodology they employ in reviewing works by artists.

So faithful reader, we're gonna dig a ditch (our own grave?) here, work no one else seems to want to do. We are going to examine just who is working hard to serve the public trust, who is out there breaking rocks in the hot sun so you don't have to.

In our next installment of Kick Against the Picks, we will review the reviewers, critique the critics, huzzah the honorable, punish the pablum. Stay tuned.