We all have one friend who is a know-it-all music aficionado, able to cite back catalogues of obscure bands as easily as the rest of us cite our own names. Pitchfork (www.pitchforkmedia.com) is like an online version of this friend: disturbingly aware of the latest Radiohead rumor, quick to christen a new “album of the year” every two weeks or so, and endlessly eager to share these occasionally useful insights.

At Pitchfork, four new reviews are posted each weekday. These reviews are for the most part new releases, but something from the past year or two occasionally sneaks into the mix. This laxity is a testament to the Pitchfork’s dedication in covering the albums that they feel are particularly notable (or notably awful) regardless of temporal shackles. Since 20 albums are covered each week, though, there are clearly a few bum assignments (“A Benefit for Dave Barsamian” anyone?).

As for the writing itself, Pitchfork takes a lead from the Richard Meltzer/Lester Bangs school of music journalism by spitting on formulaic constraints. Nearly all the reviews are written in the first person, many contain dialogue, and a few don’t even mention the album until the third paragraph. Of course, this diversity of prose is incredibly hit-or-miss. A few reviews are pretentious, half-assed, or don’t really give any idea of what the album sounds like. Other times, though, the stylistic gambles pay off, and the result is far more enlightening--and entertaining--than most reviews found in more straight-laced forums. The prevalent tone at Pitchfork is beguilingly sarcastic and irreverent. Quite often the references are obscure (uber-indie scenester Jim O’ Rourke is a frequent punch line) yet when the jokes click, the result is a pleasant surprise: like discovering an unexpectedly fun toy in a box of generic oat cereal.

Pitchfork also charms through its willingness to skewer indie rock icons and institutions that many publications fear to criticize. The site’s review of Sonic Youth’s latest album, NYC Ghosts and Flowers, was perhaps the most merciless (and hysterical) review ever written about the revered alt-rock statesmen. The site is similarly scathing toward the Jade Tree label and many emo bands, despite their fans making up a large portion of the site’s target demographic. Yet, Pitchfork is never (okay, rarely) mean just for the sake of meanness; rather, the writing is brutally honest.

Occasionally, a review on Pitchfork seeps into novella territory or the laundry list of esoteric references borderlines on braggadocio. Thankfully, the online format allows us to leave when we’ve had our share — and unlike talking with that know-it-all friend — without hurting anyone’s feelings. After all, one can only be so interested in the latest “must hear” side project featuring members of the last “must hear” side project nearly no one has ever heard.