I am a satisfied, if occasional, reader of the personal Weblog of Sasha Frere-Jones. I met his brother Tobias, the type designer, when I had lunch at the Hoefler Type Foundry two summers ago. (It’s pronounced “Heffler” and there definitely is not a grave accent on Frere.) I can explain why I am an occasional reader of his site: It’s because Sasha’s splorpist photos of New York are so stunning I simply feel inadequate. I get overwhelmed. That doesn’t happen a lot.

Nonetheless, Sasha’s fisking of Nick Hornby does not include a declaration of conflict of interest. The New Yorker went for a couple of years without a pop-music critic. (All well and good as far as they’re concerned, I assume: Pop music is something the wrong kind of people like.) However, it was recently announced that Sasha Frere-Jones will take up that mantle.

Who was the previous pop-music writer for the New Yorker? Nick Hornby.

(Cf. “Chronicle of Our Accusations of Conflict of Interest Foretold?”)