I might be extremely pleasant, and indeed I am, yet it hasn't stopped me from calling Simon Reynolds on his bullshit.
Amidst the bad grammar and typos of one of his recent chewy posts, you notice there's no irony lost on this hapless yet harmless copy'n'paste merchant as he helpfully includes some definitions of Racket for us all, and thus allows us to enjoy one of those exquisite moments when the art itself acts not only as the reflection in the well, but the hands pushing him in. Makes it all worthwhile.
We can see that, in his usual slack sloppy style, Reynolds clearly doesn't know the lyrics ('why should I?' you can hear him protest, 'Gen's already told me everything I need to know'), for otherwise he'd soon realise that his own entire career is a poignant embodiment of the point he's trying to make; and the fourth applicable definition of Racket, sadly not included in his Collins, is an it he will never get, even if we were to dedicate a further three decades to it.