Why Music Journalism Still Matters

Let’s not lie to ourselves: the music industry is being run by algorithms that care more about “finish rates” than feelings. Your favorite songs are now data points, your attention span is a commodity, and half the “music discovery” content online is written by AI that’s never been to a show, never cried over a bridge, never felt a bassline shake their bones.

So yeah, music journalism still matters, maybe more than ever, because someone needs to tell the truth about what’s actually happening to art while everyone else is pretending the system is working.

Algorithms don’t love music. People do.

The For You Page doesn’t care that a song saved your life. Spotify doesn’t feel chills when a vocalist cuts through the noise and hits that one note that ruins your entire day in the best way. Data can track streams, but it can’t translate impact.

Music journalism isn’t just reporting; it’s remembering that music is more than consumable sound. It’s culture, identity, rebellion, healing. When you lose the storytellers, you lose the meaning.

Without real journalists, the industry gets away with murder (sometimes literally).

The music world has always had shadows, exploitative contracts, stolen credits, predatory behavior, and labels playing God with artists’ careers. You think the algorithm is going to investigate that? Platforms benefit from silence.

Writers, critics, and independent publications are often the only reason corruption even gets exposed. When we stop asking uncomfortable questions, powerful people stop being held accountable. And trust, some of them are counting on that.

Fans deserve better than recycled press releases.

We’re drowning in content that says absolutely nothing. “Rising artist.” “Genre-bending.” “Pushes boundaries.” That’s copy-and-paste PR language disguised as journalism, and it’s insulting.

Music journalism should explain why a song hits, how an artist is evolving, and what their work means in a larger cultural moment. Otherwise, it’s just unpaid marketing.

Artists need someone in their corner who isn’t trying to own them.

Labels want profit. Platforms want engagement. Publicists want narratives that won’t make anyone uncomfortable. Journalists? The good ones? They want the truth. They want context. They want to amplify voices that the industry ignores.

Independent artists especially depend on publications willing to take risks and spotlight them before a playlist decides they’re worth something.

Music is not just a product, and we refuse to treat it like one.

If culture is going to survive, we need people who can listen deeply and write honestly. We need music journalists who know when a song is a turning point, not just a trending sound. We need critics who are annoying, obsessive, emotional, and impossible to buy.

Because music journalism isn’t about nostalgia, it’s about resistance. If we let algorithms tell the story, we will eventually forget we ever had one.

At the end of the day, music journalism isn’t here to please algorithms or stroke industry egos. It’s here to protect the parts of music that can’t be quantified, the stories, the subcultures, the weirdos, the breakthroughs, the voices that refuse to die quietly.

As long as artists keep creating from the gut, we’ll keep writing from the same place if the machines want to compete with that, good luck.