Music Journalism Is Back!

Friday is always a good time, because it's about music. So there's links. And playlists...today, the reports on the death of music journalism (oops!) were somewhat premature...

There’s been a lot of concern about music journalism in New Zealand. It was here one minute. Then it went away. Where did it go? Did Robbie Williams take it with him, tail between his legs, when he left the country after a review pointed out he was always a bit shit? Well, it might not surprise you to know that’s the scenario that gets my vote.

But others believe it went away more recently. There’s been all these articles, and podcasts, and even people on Facebook lamenting it. They seem to think that music journalism was here earlier this year. They seem to think that if people would just look harder, they’d see people still out there doing it. There was an insinuation that the print publications (what are those?) just need to offer more competitive salaries (um, lol).

But it’s simpler really, init. We just don’t need it. Albums get released on a Friday. And you can check them out yourself. And - whisper this bit as there are a few old collector-types around still - you don’t have to pay. Is it possible that the value of music journalism went south when people no longer needed to make decisions around eating out or seeing a movie or buying someone else a present, or buying a record they hadn’t heard anything from and hoping it might be good? I reckon eh…

Oh, and that same social media we all got fooled into using to “promote” our “work” (thereby just making another job for ourselves, and without a “competitive salary” to boot) also gave punters the right to argue back in real time. No cooling off period before penning their angry thoughts or righteous attack. No second thought as they walked to the post office to buy a stamp. Just wham. Quick as email. But showing up even faster. They were now able to hit you right in your ego. Slapping you across the face with their ego. And it was called evening the playing field. Which, as far as titles go, is neither catchy nor meaningful. But it was (and is) the truth.

Some of the people lamenting the lack of true music journalism seem very sure that we used to have a whole heap of true music journalism. But fandom only gets you part of the way there. You have to be prepared to be critical. And not many were.

Take Dolly Parton’s new album. Which I just reviewed this week in an effort to cosplay a bit of the ole “Music Journalism”. I love Dolly Parton. Who doesn’t? And why wouldn’t you? And what’s not to love? She is an absolute icon. A legend. She has written hundreds of songs. Thousands, apparently. And so many of them are brilliant, in her voice - and in dozens and dozens of cover versions. She’s also 77 and still putting on great shows, still being a kick-ass philanthropist, and still managing to appeal to all genders, sexualities, and the entire political divide, and, basically, there’s no reason to not like her at all. Apart from one tiny little problem: Her new album is a bit shit…but shhh, I couldn’t say that now as a huge Dolly Parton fan could I? It just wouldn’t be fair. And you have to be fair.

So I wrote the kindest review I could. Because if I didn’t that would somehow mean I never ever liked her ever and was always a bully and a prick and a not very good writer too:

Because this is The New Music Journalism.

A far more effective form of music journalism - these days - is the old recommends I feel.

So here we go then.

Last night I watched this PJ Harvey concert. It is the best. Incredible. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s PJ Harvey! And her amazing band. They play the new album in its entirety - and then a selection of back-catalogue hits and highlights. Total class act. Best thing you could see and hear in sometime.

The night before, I found this Violent Femmes concert where they play their debut album in its entirety (because: 40th Birthday!) and then a selection of back-catalogue hits and highlights. What a band. What a deceptively simple sound.

Gosh, I just love this band. Have loved them since I first heard them. Which wasn’t 40 years ago, but was probably something like 33 years ago. I definitely remember being on a school bus-trip, and someone asking to play the tape and the older kids singing along. I was instantly hooked. And obviously the window closed pretty swiftly when “why can’t I get just one fuck” was sung by half a bus-load of kids. A teacher called for the end of that little party. But I was straight to a music store to buy Debacle: The First Decade. And I bought everything by the band that arrived before and after that. Though, these days the first two albums are mostly all I need.

They were scheduled to play NZ ahead of the pandemic, it got shifted around a bit, then eventually cancelled. They are cruising around their home country playing the anniversary shows, but I would love to see them one more time. They sound as good as ever. They sound like they always do. I realised, listening to them the other night, that really, the band they come closest to in sound, at times anyway, is The Velvet Underground. That’s largely that Lou Reed guitar style I guess. The solos in particular seem cut from his cloth.

Speaking of bands that were consistently great and had their own sound, but it came from a tradition (as well as making its own) I spent a bit of time this week listening to The Pogues for the first time in a while. Last week’s news about the death of Shane MacGowan got me.

I pulled double-duty last Friday, staying up late on the Thursday night to deliver my regular newsletter, then hearing the breaking news about MacGowan and deciding I had to commit something to “paper” for the “morning edition of the internet”. It was then or never, as the song doesn’t say.

I’m mostly an albums person. I like a good playlist. And I occasionally love a good old, nostalgic compilation (the “playlists” when we were paying for them).

This was actually always my favourite Pogues “album”. Cherry-picking from the first few records, and giving us all we need. A pet-hate is when a band lives long enough to add a second or third greatest hits to their catalogue (usually it was the record label cashing in of course). But yeah, so often the longer greatest hits album is not the stronger one. I did love the individual Pogues albums and recommend them all for a spin. But it felt right listening to the thing that hooked me, in the wake of the loss.

Anyway, A Pair of Brown Eyes and A Rainy Night In Soho had me close to weeping. Those are proper damn songs. Properly brilliant.

I reviewed Kristin Hersh

And I reviewed Kraftwerk

But I didn’t get paid a salary for this music journalism, nor put it on Facebook to be picked apart. So it couldn’t really be music journalism, right?

But here are some albums I have been loving, that are new/ish and you might also wish to check them out (if you haven’t already). It isn’t that I’m too lazy or bored or unable to say anything about them - it’s that I trust you to decide for yourself:

One thing I did learn from my time at the wheel, is that you can write and write and write and you can mention all sorts of things, and people might never notice. And that is their right of course. No one owes you anything after all. But, by goodness, write about the same thing more than once, make the mistake of mentioning something twice, and you are obsessed. Or bitter. Or probably just jealous. And why aren’t you out there making your own damn album anyway, eh?

It’s a tightrope walk inside a gaslight.

And so of course I am done. Since I kinda got into this already last week.

But I’ve got it out of my system. And there’ll be a playlist at the end of this post as there always is on a Friday, since you might not like any of the YouTube clips or albums already shared.

We shouldn’t worry though. Music journalism is alive. And well. Last night Simon Dallow talked about how much money Taylor Swift has made. And it was one of the lead items on the TV news. Right there in the mainstream! So, music journalism is back baby. It’s back!

Have a great weekend. And thanks, as always for reading. And for listening.