Introducing the Memphis Review

The FedEx label said the box was from Memphis, Tennessee. It contained a stack of newspapers and a note from the features editor of the Commercial Appeal.

“Would love to know your thoughts about our arts and entertainment coverage,” she wrote.

The CA of 2001 A.D. had as much arts reporting as any regional paper in those hedonistic days of print journalism. Celebrity profiles, dining reviews, fashion news and movie schedules filled out the daily Appeal features section. The weekend entertainment guide called Playbook had previews and recommendations. Sunday’s Fanfare was a critics’ free-for-all. And throughout the Metro section a smattering of deadline reviews and arts business stories rounded out the coverage.

There was one notable void in the staffing that had warranted the box of newspapers being shipped to a young editor of a teen magazine in Florida who’d been moonlighting as an arts reporter for another big daily, the St. Petersburg Times.

The CA had advertised its vacant theater critic position on a national journalism website. Despite a good salary and benefits, the job lacked one crucial fillip: a nationally renowned theater scene. Memphis wasn’t on most critics’ cultural radar.

The city was barely a blip on my own radar. I sent off a resume more out of pure curiosity.

“It’s a pretty cool place,” a colleague assured me. He’d worked at the CA a decade earlier. “Graceland isn’t the only thing going for it.”

“Oh right, Elvis is from there,” I said, remembering the strange vigil night stories that came across the wire every year.

“Um, yeeeeeah,” he said.

Suddenly, I was a finalist. The paper flew me up for an interview that turned into an audition. I drove my rental car to a dark, sprawling parking lot in the middle of town that would one day become the bustling Overton Square entertainment district. On that winter night, there were a thousand free parking spaces. A few dozen people trickled into a nondescript building called TheatreWorks.

Memphis was a city without context for me. I had no foreknowledge of the venue’s purpose as a home for independent companies. Or that the actors on its stage were part of a zealous, tight-knit theater community. Or that reviews were serious business for them. Alone in the back row, I scribbled pages of illegible notes. At the first smattering of applause, I fled to the office at 495 Union Avenue with 30 minutes to file a review.

An editor polished it up. The copy desk added a headline. At the end of the night, I followed a low rumbling sound through the back door of the newsroom to a long, concrete corridor. Windows on one side overlooked the massive printing presses and the ink-stained men in coveralls weaving a day’s worth of information into the tapestry that is a daily newspaper.

No journalist could watch those presses run without a feeling of accomplishment and a responsibility to those who would soon be reading those words over breakfast.

With that byline, the long, unbroken chain of local theater coverage in this city dating back to before the Civil War would continue. For a few more years, at least. Then Craigslist killed the classifieds. The dotcom boom changed reading habits. The once-venerable Scripps Howard media empire pivoted to the cable television business, then sold the paper. As the newsroom’s old guard retired, replacements never arrived. Layoffs came in waves. And finally, to co-op the title of the prescient 2007 novel, “Then We Came To The End.”

I’ve spent the last decade in public radio. Since transitioning from arts critic to patron, I’ve grown nostalgic for those big-picture conversations about our city’s intellectual evolution that were once required reading for anyone who wanted to take part in it. The army of journalists who formerly led these discussions is now a platoon of general assignment reporters and freelancers doing their best to keep up with the press releases.

No single blog can replace the fabulous, prolific writing that once made us feel that Memphis, despite its economic shortcomings, was still a hotbed of creativity. Paradoxically, we’ve seen a glut of promotional websites offering event guides and recommendations. As well-intended (and certainly needed) as civic-boosterism is — yes, yes, we all LOOOOVE Memphis — what little criticism and analysis remains is a smattering of hot-takes on Facebook.

Its a shame, really, because the past decade has seen unprecedented growth of arts and culture. Our creative energies are at a zenith, driving the redevelopment of public spaces, the building of new museums and auditoriums, the founding of new theater and dance companies, the boom of music festivals, and the need for an elevated level of philanthropy to sustain them.

Sitting in the back row of TheatreWorks today, I am only too-aware of context. Fandom has turned impartiality into impossibility. I wish the best for us all, and every effort will be made to highlight the noble intentions behind so much of our creative endeavors here. No, Memphis is not a Chicago, New York or L.A. But can these cities claim to have a more generous, passionate and charitable artistic community?

Therein lies my principal bias: all criticism or commentary in Memphis must reflect the notion that our entire cultural ecosystem is a product of mutual respect and encouragement.

— Christopher Blank, editor@thememphisreview.com