…the music press is in danger of becoming a Hacienda-nostalgic version of the House of Lords
—
via this brilliant ‘The Problem With Music Critics’ blog post by Eve Barlow, Deputy Production Editor, Q/MOJO/Empire/FHM.
As one of the few ‘younger voices’ for The Sunday Times, I feel like I should defend the publication (especially as I do try to include the sort of things Eve is looking for, like my recent piece about Hippos in Tanks, and this week’s column that I’ve just filed basically snogs the Walls album’s face off!) but I pretty much agree with the sentiment of this piece as a more general problem with coverage in music publications and coverage of music in the press.
I started my email fanzine which turned into DiS because I didn’t feel that you could hear the voice of music fans bubbling beneath the surface of music magazines. It could be argued that in wanting to be ‘serious critics’ who are taken seriously like proper grown-ups (I am 30 in a few months, after all), we lost some of that spunkiness which made us “special” in all senses of the word. However, I really hope that despite us often giving a record to someone who’s a fan of an acts catalogue or loving a specific genre a record to review, that we’re not a glorified fanzine in anyone’s eyes but I’d far rather be a place for people to be so passionate that they embarrass themselves, than the sort of place that people file style-guide-friendly copy to with some impossible quest for objectivity.
As DiS took off, I soon realised how sick I was of reading the same puff pieces about acts, which seemed to be artists answering the same tired questions from someone who was only vaguely interested in the band, rather than the sort of READ THIS NOW YOU BLITHERING IDIOT thing where you read the argument for dedicating space on the page to the band before reading anything they had to say (sometimes, not even bothering or caring what the act had to say). I guess I mostly like to get a sense of the journalists clammy hands gripping a dictaphone whilst in the presence of greatness or to read a review that’s more like a proclamation of war. I mean, who needs to read another 300 word ‘feature’ about Cat Power and what’s the point of page after page of those 50-75 word reviews?
Considering how few jobs there are, it does baffle me why some people are still music journalists/critics. When the fire in the belly is snuffed out it’s probably time to start writing about politics or books or going off to do that novel (“Yeah! Yeah! MOVE OVER GRANDAD!”). I realise it’s a job to some that was once a calling but there’s so much grey slop churned out on black and white print pages, and far too few personalities fit to burst. I miss reading Swells every Wednesday. I miss MissAMP talking about used condoms in secondhand coat pockets in Careless Talk. I feel genuinely inspired every week reading Wendy’s singles column. I often wish someone would commission a proper Charlie Brooker like column about music - and not just somewhere that no-one is reading it but somewhere where they’re paid to be a critic and to surprise, rile and inspire fist salutes from people. Instead there’s just the rare short piece by Peter Robinson or someone like that in the Guardian guide, which seems to end before it has even started or the odd bit every now and again by SFJ in the New Yorker and the odd thing you stumble across via links on Twitter that were probably written by volunteers (and it kinda saddens me that there are so many sites and publications full of volunteers and a web blogged-full of voices churning out what they think music writing is, rather being given the freedom to write what the cock they wanna write, expressing themselves like a big ol’ burn mark in the page!). Meanwhile, you pick up a weekend paper but find lengthy pieces that seem to be re-writes of press releases and all those pithy Bumford & Cunts reviews which seem to dominate the pages of ‘professional’ magazines.
This, like Eve’s blog, isn’t a gis-a-job whine, it’s merely the sound of frustration with myself, for my peers and with a bunch of things so boring that I’m surprised they haven’t inspired more people to start more things. In fact, it’s probably all so boring that no-one really wants to be a music writer any more if you’re just signing up to pander to the lowest common dominator, pasting together the same quotes the act gives in every interview or writing a paragraph of ‘prose’ about a record you only had a few days to digest. Or maybe this is just the fear that by the time ‘our time’ finally comes, there won’t be much in the way of a music press left.
—-
Anyway… Glad I got that out of my system. Here’s the skinny on what Eve says in response to The Times’ review of Rihanna’s new album…
…Those most likely to read the review are the listeners anticipating the release, who may have heard some of it and await a professional’s entertaining and argued assessment…This is about the reviews themselves, and more importantly, the reviewers commissioned to write…It’s just that reading your review of Rihanna’s album, I can’t help but get the sense that you’re not enjoying yourself and you’ve missed the point…Of course, there isn’t an equal level of excitement displayed among music journalists about different releases… there isn’t a diverse enough group of people writing about them…you probably wanted to listen to something else the entire time you reviewed it….It’s becoming more dangerous to assume which types of music deserve proper critical assessment and which don’t. Correct me if I’m wrong but it seems you wanted to find a reason not to like Talk That Talk before you pressed Play…I merely consider it imperative that more entertainment titles recruit younger writers so that we can have a music press that challenges the blogosphere by being intelligent, informed and excited, not alienating…In your review you ask what the point of a record like this is. As a young writer eagerly awaiting its release, I’ll tell you; the point of a Rihanna record is to rave your face off to it.
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