Dear Music Writer, Enough of the Fluff
Music writers, we’re in a crisis of credibility - as in we’re losing it. Whether we’re confusing readers with our descriptive diarrhoea, numbing them with our misplaced hyperbole or galling them with our shameless clichés, they are gradually becoming desensitized to everything we have to say.
In a moment of clarity Herbie Hancock told me, “Music happens to be an art form that transcends language.” So we music writers deserve some praise, for essentially tackling the insurmountable task of describing the indescribable - of putting into language that which transcends language. So a pat on the back for all of us, very well done, mum would be proud, here’s an award for participation, now it’s time to pull the finger out. The overwhelming majority of publications spouting ‘content’ (as writing has now been demoted to) are now working directly with the artists, or artists’ PR companies, which they are supposedly appraising independently. Advertising has swallowed up critique and the result is suspiciously unbridled positivity – with dance music writers some of the worst offenders. Well, the readers are onto us.
Cliché bashers, you might as well stay at home, we know what you’re going to say. Is this legendary headliner going to be joined by the likes of that gem, this up-and-comer, those residents we haven’t heard of, to name but a few (except you just named them all)? Were anticipations high to see what this beatsmith could do and were you pleased to say he did not disappoint? Did whatshisface whip the crowd into a frenzy and was the bassline, mayhaps, rolling? Doth mine ears deceive me? Is this venue cementing its reputation as a hotspot for forward-thinking music and has it become a name synonymous with quality?
If you answered yes to any of these questions then you need to take a long hard look at your Thesaurus. OK that’s enough looking – because the chinstroking discriptologists are equally culpable! How many times have readers tried in vain to follow you on your self-indulgent journey of literary expression, only to give up halfway in a mystifying tangle of adverbs and black t-shirts? Oh lord, where’s that coyly oscillating synth they’re talking about, have I got the right track? I thought this was the one with the mysterious bass warps tingeing the tone colour with a sense of doom, reminiscent of a late 80s post-neu-disco cavalry charge…on acid. No?
Hyperboladdicts, if we listen to you every DJ is a full-blown, five-year-old-Mozart-eat-your-heart-out prodigal genius. Readers are choking on your hyperbolic hairballs and are starting to feel bad about themselves. Why aren’t I taking my workplace by storm? Why haven’t I been released on eight reputable labels and delivered a slew of hit records and seminal mixes in a few short years? Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve delivered anything seminal - and certainly nothing I do comes in slews…
Either from a desperate urge to be shared, re-posted, re-tweeted and re-pinned by the artist, or simply from pure laziness, we all produce the literary clichés and exaggerations without even realising it - and I’m by no means the first to call it out. I may never be the first to do anything (except balance a pea on a raspberry on my nose and gargle Bohemian Raspody, which I’ve been thinking about doing so as to finally by the original and the best at something, what do you think?). As more and more music websites pop up on the unstoppable avalanche that is the Internet, phrases which once held merit lose their sting from unchecked and widespread regurgitation. Clichés swirl around in a whirlpool that it is almost impossible not to join and be spun round and down to the murky and overpopulated depths of boring journalism. None of us is innocent; all of us should challenge ourselves to something better. The only clear solution that springs to mind is a dictionary and psychedelic drugs.
Jordan Smith