There’s nothing more irritating to those of us who’ve made our living as critics than hearing somebody who gets a lot of bad reviews whine about critics.

In its edition last week, The Onion’s online “AV Club” section had an interview with Dan Whitney, more widely known as Larry the Cable Guy. Larry’s fairly popular, but a lot of critics don’t care for him. Put me in the critical camp. I like a good poop joke as much as the next guy – more, some of my friends would say – but I find Larry’s act a bit too heavy on them. I don’t mind a little, or even a lot of, lowbrow humor, but he’s a bit much for my taste. Still, as the old saying goes, for people who like that kind of thing, that’s the kind of thing they like.

Like many artists who get primarily bad reviews, Whitney strikes a pugnacious stance.

“I could care less what a critic says,” he says in the interview. “A critic doesn’t buy a ticket to my show. Or if he does, fine. But that’s not who I perform for. Critics do what they do. Critics make a living ripping apart things people create, and if they go out and create something, they’ll see how it gets ripped apart too. That’s just part of the business. Whatever.”

Whitney may simply be intellectually dishonest, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. I’ll grant that he really believes that. Still, it’s a lousy argument and it’s the same one every mediocre artist has ever made: “Hey, the people love me, so who know about what I do think?”

What people like Whitney either don’t understand or don’t admit is that a good critic doesn’t just “rip apart things people create.” No critic worth his salt, or the name, writes nothing but bad reviews. Yeah, bad reviews are fun to write and actually are easier than good reviews. But like any journalist, a critic has to tell the truth. And if a movie or play or book or album or comedian is good, a critic is bound both professionally and morally to say so.

Because criticism is as much a creative pursuit as acting, singing or painting, critics understand creativity. And what they know is that creativity is hard work. And if an artist works hard, generally speaking, he’ll produce something of value, even if it isn’t entirely successful. Ninety-nine percent of the time, bad art isn’t a result of lack of talent. It’s the result of laziness and/or greed.

And part of being a good critic is putting aside one’s personal feelings about the artist or the art form. A good critic umpires the ball, not the man. I loathe country music, but I’ve given good reviews to country music artists. After all, I knew readers weren’t interested in my personal preferences. It’s sort of like a doctor who treats both upstanding citizens and criminals; he doesn’t phone it in just because the guy on his examining table has a less-than-stellar character.

Part of what always motivated me as a critic was a deep sense of outrage that somebody would ask a fan to pay good money for a ticket and then give a lousy performance. One of the worst concerts I ever saw featured Reba McEntire and Brooks and Dunn. I ordinarily wouldn’t walk across the street to see either act, but I went in ready to umpire the ball. And the pitching was lousy. There wasn’t one – not one – spontaneous moment in the entire three hours. Even the ad libs were obviously scripted. And to me, that’s a performer who’s giving a big ol’ middle finger to his audience and saying, “I’ve got your cash, so I don’t have to put out a good effort.”

I also had the privilege of reviewing a Beach Boys concert, which probably was the single worst concert I’ve ever endured. In the first place, they were about as animated as cadavers. And in the second place, only one of them, Mike Love, was in the original group; he pretty much won the legal right to call his group the Beach Boys despite the fact that one of the originals is a burnout case, two are dead and the other doesn’t want anything to do with Love. And watching Love, who’s about 700 years old, prance around onstage singing “California Girls” is more than a bit creepy.

Incidentally, I caught crap about that review (including from friends) for a year. Saying a Beach Boys concert is bad apparently is like mooning Mother Teresa. Still, I stand by my opinion.

But as easy as it was to pan those concerts, I knew two things: Anybody who was there and liked it was going to disregard my opinion. That’s fine. And I also could back up my opinion with observed facts. I was honest.

But still, one of the dirty little secrets of arts criticism is that there also is pleasure in writing a good review. When I saw something good I enjoyed pointing it out and trying to parse why it was good. As I said, I hate country music, but Garth Brooks is one of the most amazing artists I’ve ever seen. I would see him perform again in a hot minute. And the thing about Brooks, or other great artists, is that when you see them you see something sublime and beautiful and ultimately inexplicable. You see someone who has, in some way, felt the touch of God or perfection or whatever you want to call it.

So Larry, maybe you ought to listen to those critics just once in a while. They’re not trying to rip you apart. They’re trying to tell people who may or may not want to spend their hard-earned money on a ticket for your show whether it’s worth it.