Music journalism has lost its edge, wrote Kelefa Sanneh in the New Yorker recently, causing a huge stir online amongst critics and music fans. Was the age of witty and brutal music journalism dead, they wondered? Are we doomed to fawning, ever-positive album and live show reviews for evermore?
Reading his piece, I found myself nodding along with many of the points he raised. As a music journalist myself, I know there are problems. To name just a few: the clicks-driven online economy, a reliance on advertising from a monopoly of big labels, publications dealing with tightening budgets, a sharp decline in the number of specialist outlets covering music and – this one’s not to be underestimated – vicious stans ready to dox at the drop of even a middling three-star review. Such factors are all scaring publications away from taking risks or delivering the harsh-but-helpful truth.
In years gone by, critics were the ultimate gatekeepers to success. They told fans, with plenty of their signature bluntness, which records were a complete waste of their time and money. They had the power to genuinely make or break artists.
But in 2025, it’s a different story. With an infinite number of albums just a couple of clicks and an underpriced subscription away, people can very easily spare 40 minutes to make their own mind up. While BBC’s ‘Sound of’ poll once set the cultural agenda, it is now scrambling to keep up with listeners’ tastes: for instance, leading to a belated nod for Chappell Roan long after she had already become the hottest ticket in town.
Of course, new forms of music criticism have emerged over the years. Sanneh was right to highlight the new wave of critics who opine from the hallowed frames of Youtube instead of the pages of a magazine. The Needledrop’s Anthony Fantano and fellow YouTuber AJay Deluxe, to name just two, are still commanding huge followings. Yet Sanneh’s piece – which claims music writers were once known for being much crankier than the average listener – spurred plenty of wider discourse elsewhere about whether music journalism was on its last legs altogether.
I’ll be honest, I don’t think music journalism is dead. I also wonder whether mourning for a bygone age of criticism is helpful or fair – or does it do readers a disservice by suggesting they have no appetite for an old-fashioned critical panning of an artist’s latest LP? Sure, there is a lot of effusive, pandering praise out there. But there are still plenty of writers going against the tide. For instance: a memorable Pitchfork review for Benson Boone’s latest album branded his newest music an “invasive species in the garden of good taste”. Likewise, the Guardian pulled zero punches in its biting appraisal of Katy Perry’s hollow feminist anthem ‘Women’s World’ last year. “It’s a song that made me feel stupider every sorry time I listened to it” wrote Laura Snapes, candidly.
I’ve been bombarded with endless slurs and death threats – and my crime was handing out a lukewarm album review
You could say music journalism’s role has changed dramatically anyway – after all Boone and Perry are admittedly unlikely to lose much sleep over the occasional dissenting voice amongst the sycophancy. But you also only have to spend five minutes being buffeted around by Spotify’s insipid algorithm to decide that there is still clearly a place for thoughtful curation that has a real person at the helm. There’s only so much ‘soft office’ (is that really a genre?!) and Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Espresso’ any human can take.
Contrary to what some people are suggesting, I’d argue there is still a place for interviews that put insightful, sometimes difficult, questions to artists, just as there’s still space for analysis that presents a fresh take on the album that everybody is listening to right now. Without early coverage, or deep dives that put forward fresh, slightly divisive spins, what are we left with but a collection of blank avatars lacking in any bite or proper backstory? And where’s the fun in that?
With such a high volume of music to sift through, we sorely need independent music publications such as DIY, Crack, Loud and Quiet, Dork, and The Quietus to continue taking punts on the most exciting new names, covering artists like Bob Vylan, Kneecap and Lambrini Girls long before they began making headlines for other reasons in the mainstream arena, and larger publications devoting page-space to newer names who could well be headlining festivals in years to come. The number of listeners tuning into niche podcasts or radio shows devoted to alternative, emerging music, and the punters heading along to discovery-centric festivals like Wide Awake or RALLY in London also tell a different story.
In my experience, it always makes for a memorable day when a famous artist turns on you for giving them a bad write-up. Over the years I’ve had everything from rap stans bombarding me with endless slurs and death threats on social media for weeks on end, to disgruntled pop stars threatening to pull up outside the NME offices in front of millions of followers – and in most cases, my crime was handing out a lukewarm album review. While I’ll never be dissuaded from saying exactly what I think, even if it means going head to head with cheesed-off Taylor Swift fans, I can also totally understand why some writers don’t feel it’s worth the bother in exchange for low and stagnating levels of pay.
Irritable stans aside, most music fans can handle a negative review or a newer name – don’t underestimate them. And if you ask me, it’s the effusive listicles that need axing instead. Music journalism may need a shakeup, but it’s far from dead and buried.
El Hunt is a freelance journalist
