From Editorial Clarity to Algorithmic Clutter
There was a time when music journalism wasn’t afraid to cut close to the bone. Writers with a spine wrote not to appease or pacify but to document, dissect and call out the industry’s rot before it spread. Music reviews weren’t boxed into metrics of virality or aesthetic cohesion, and editorials were weapons, not just web content formatted for SEO. That time, tragically, has passed.
With the shift in how media is monetised and consumed, the motivations behind music journalism have been warped beyond recognition. Now, editorial spaces are littered with empty headlines, pseudo-progressive echo chambers, and gossip regurgitated through curated grids for maximum engagement. The problem is systemic. Music journalism hasn’t evolved, it’s eroded. In a desperate scramble to survive in a content economy, even the loudest voices have been muffled. We are left with whispers where there once were calls to arms.
Substance is diluted to appease ad buyers and algorithms alike. Outrage becomes a tool not of activism but of reach, and if a headline can’t be condensed into a digestible meme, it rarely gets the time of day. There are still journalists daring to take risks, putting their reputations on the line to raise questions no one else wants to ask, but their numbers are dwindling. When comedians like Bill Burr are asked for their takes on the socio-political climate, it is clear that cultural commentary has been outsourced to entertainers because journalism refuses to shoulder the responsibility. And with cancel culture lurking behind every misinterpreted phrase, more and more platforms are choosing passivity over purpose. But when neutrality becomes the default, mediocrity thrives.
Clickbait Killed the Critic: The Algorithmic Guillotine
The shift from reader-funded media to ad-funded clickbait is where it started. Platforms no longer care if you read the article; they just need you to click. Longform editorial pieces are now seen as relics of a bygone era because they don’t rank well. They don’t share well. They don’t monetise well. What does? TikTok drama repackaged as think pieces. Listicles padded with SEO fluff. Tweeted screenshots of celebrities reacting to other celebrities.
In this cycle, where immediacy is prioritised over insight, criticism becomes a casualty. The kind of analysis that is used to distinguish a publication’s voice is now considered a luxury. Music journalism is being strangled by its own need to stay afloat in a hostile digital landscape, and the industry is worse off for it. Editors now advise writers to “keep it surface level” or “avoid being divisive”. Platforms want traffic, not truth. And while the audience laps it up for the serotonin spike of hot takes and polarising headlines, the long-term cost is a music press that is utterly toothless.
That cost is reflected in how music is received. Artists are rarely challenged anymore unless the target is already deemed fair game by the internet. Everything is either glowing PR in disguise or shameless bandwagoning. There’s little room left for nuanced critique when every reaction must either be rapturous or a takedown. The middle ground, where truth usually resides, has been deleted in favour of performative outrage and attention economics.
Music Writing as Performance: Journalism for the Timeline
A growing number of writers are no longer working to document culture; they’re auditioning for attention. With media careers now dependent on social media presence, journalism is becoming indistinguishable from content creation. That includes hot takes designed to inflame rather than inform, op-eds crafted around trending hashtags, and articles that exist solely to go viral rather than say anything of worth.
What once was a space for subversion has turned into a factory for likes, retweets, and shares. Music journalism no longer thrives in the niche corners of the internet but fights for scraps in algorithmic arenas ruled by brand-safe influencers and paid partnerships. Writers now construct entire pieces based on predicted engagement rather than honest opinion. Authenticity has been replaced with brand alignment. Instead of publishing what needs to be said, writers are encouraged to publish what will perform.
This performative shift is what makes it impossible for music journalism to cut through the noise anymore. Every piece reads like a calculated manoeuvre, designed for reach, not risk. That lack of risk translates to a lack of bite, a lack of bravery. And if journalism won’t speak plainly and honestly, we’re left relying on comedians and musicians to say the things that should be in editorials. That’s why Bill Burr is fielding questions about Elon Musk while journalists act like stenographers for PR companies.
The Fear of Fallout: Self-Censorship and Cancel Culture
The backlash to honest commentary has always existed, but the scale and speed of it in the current climate have birthed an atmosphere of self-censorship. Writers have every reason to worry. A poorly received tweet can cost a freelance gig. A slightly off-centre review can bring about digital lynching. And so, writers water down their voices until there’s nothing left but murky consensus.
Resulting in a dull, predictable press incapable of challenging its readers or the industry it covers. Nobody wants to be the one to say the new album from a beloved artist is subpar. Nobody wants to question why the industry props up certain artists over others. No one wants to ask why so much new music feels safe and designed to be as broadly palatable as possible. Instead, we’re flooded with the same hollow praise, the same overuse of genre tags, and the same five-sentence reviews padded out with press release quotes.
Cancel culture didn’t kill music journalism. The fear of it did. And in the vacuum created by that fear, engagement farming took its place. This is why you’ll see think pieces about Taylor Swift’s every breath while albums pushing boundaries go unreviewed. It’s safer. It performs better. It keeps writers employable. But if you spend your entire career avoiding the point, what’s the point of writing at all?
There Is Still Fire, but It’s Underground
Not every publication has bent the knee to algorithms or run from accountability. There are still independent music blogs, zines, and platforms that refuse to play by these new rules. They don’t have VC backing or marketing departments, but they’ve got guts, and in 2025, that matters more than ever. Writers willing to take risks are still out there, they’re just harder to find now because their voices are being drowned out by influencers with media titles.
These are the writers calling out tokenism in line-ups, the industry’s obsession with nostalgia bait, and the corporate puppetry behind so-called “indie” artists. These are the voices reminding us that journalism should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. And they are proof that not all is lost, even if the terrain has shifted beyond recognition.
If the mainstream media continues to prioritise shares over scrutiny, it’s up to independent outlets to carry the torch. That means writing like it matters. It means publishing pieces knowing they won’t please everyone but might just wake someone up. It means remembering that music journalism isn’t about lifestyle aesthetics, it’s about pushing culture forward. That job used to belong to major publications. Now it belongs to whoever has the guts to do it.
Conclusion: Reviving a Dying Art Form
Music journalism isn’t dead. But it is on life support, hooked up to drip-feeds of metrics and data, kept alive by vanity rather than values. The industry has traded its conscience for clicks, its passion for performance, and its purpose for PR copy. That can’t last. People are growing tired of empty content. Readers can tell the difference between a headline and a howl of truth.
The reset is coming. It always does when things get this bloated. And when it arrives, it won’t be ushered in by influencers or engagement experts. It’ll be carried in by writers with nothing left to lose, willing to say the things no one else will. Music deserves more than curated feeds and algorithmically optimised approval. It deserves real voices, real risks, and real journalism.
Until then, the job of music journalism isn’t to go viral. It’s to survive long enough to matter again.
Article by Amelia Vandergast