Bad karma is the most grievous occupational hazard reviewers face. While we critics can sidestep the brickbats of offended Jets to Brazil fans or the monosyllabic nastygrams from Kid Rock's posse, the bad karma meted out by panning albums is not so easily avoided.

If critics are expected to be truthful about an album, they run the very real danger of alerting the public to signal lapses in taste made by artists. Pitchfork reviewers are often compelled to slag off a release, and thus incur a downturn in their karma. Though, some Pitchfork reviewers (I can exclusively reveal) take steps to redress this depreciation in their karmic good fortunes.

For instance, editor Ryan Schreiber regularly donates his time and his very special sperm to those who walk this earth seedless, barren, or lonely. Every Thursday morning, he gladly steps into his local genito-urinary clinic and provides them with a lovely spoonful of the fruits of his happy staff. This insures that he can be unreservedly honest about the Yo-Yo's. Brent DiCrencenzo, meanwhile, takes an opposite approach. Rather than helping to extract human waste from the local water source or ladling out a hearty white bean-and-ham broth to indigents, he gives Radiohead a perfect rating, thereby karmically permitting him to ream Joan of Arc.

But wait! Is this always the case? What about all those Pitchfork reviewers who give ratings that range from 4.5 to 5.9? Are they hedging their bets in order to avoid karmic retribution or are they really saying that most albums are mediocre?

Let's take one example: Elysian Fields, the debut disc by Minus 8 (aka Robert Jan Meyer and his sundry pals). Released on Compost, we already know this album isn't going to get all Bhangra on us. Compost artists provide their bosses with serviceable jazzy grooves for former devotees of Class of '88 house music. Compost is the sound of grown-ups cutting an ever-so-sophisticated rug.

Within this framework, Minus 8 (even Meyer's moniker displays his downbeat intentions!) do exceptionally well. A track like "Mondo Bopp" will furnish your wine bar with all the strings and acoustic bass action you'll need to enhance those Chardonnay spritzers. "Seruf and Terah" plays like a hydroponically spliffed Ian Anderson fluting his way through a smooth Yoplait commercial. "Cold Fusion" lollops along at a slow, slow pace and encourages us to drift off into airy slumbers. A little Latin touch begins the vibraphone smooch of "Nonhuman," but this is far from being a Bobby Hutcherson-style hard-bop workout. "Badman and Throbbin'" overcomes its hideous title by serving as this record's most uptempo cut. It's a B-3 spiked, 1970s car-chase theme that vocalist Billie ruins with her faux revival-tent exhortations. Her delivery features none of the grit and gut-bucket power needed for the track to escape from its mere token effort status.

As you will have gathered, Elysian Fields is indeed a mediocre release, and therefore I am justified in giving it a rating that lies between 4.5 and 5.9. Minus 8 haven't fallen into the huge trap of trying to fake it as a jazz act-– they've kept to creating featureless grooves ready for your downtown spa/salon. As for me, do I think my karma has been affected? Well, I did receive a tax audit notice after I finished writing this piece.

-Paul Cooper