Pitchfork faces the music
Condé Nast's decision to marry Pitchfork and GQ isn't a total reckoning, but it certainly comes close.
VANCOUVER – It was a record scratch heard around the world.
On Wednesday, Condé Nast announced plans to fold Pitchfork into its stupid, sexy cousin, GQ, citing the music publication’s “performance” and a need for a “path forward.”
The move, which included pink slips for several long-serving Pitchfork writers and editors was, generally, a bummer, with many suggesting that music criticism as we know it is on its last legs.
It’s unclear how exactly this arranged marriage will unfold. A cover shoot with Thom Yorke rocking Issey Miyake? A critical re-evaluation of Ryan Gosling’s supernatural side-project Dead Man’s Bones? “The Real Life Diet of Fever Ray”?
But while pretty everyone who isn’t Anna Wintour agrees this is a dumb idea (because, really, what does a men’s magazine have to do with music criticism), it may not be as bad as it first appears.
In January 2019, for instance, Condé Nast promised to pay-wall Pitchfork’s content before the end of the year.
That promise never came to fruition.
Indeed, as of writing, the entire site can be still accessed for free.
This is remarkable, as it means anyone with internet access can read some of the world’s best music-writing on a whim. It is also, unfortunately, kind of insane, given the razor-thin margins most media companies are presently operating on.
As Spencer Kornhaber writes for The Atlantic, Pitchfork is “the most important culture publication of the 21st century.” And yet, no one seems to be willing to pay for it. Former contributors have even gone so far as to share tips for how to read articles without an account, should Condé suddenly require one.
Why?
Answering only for myself, I think a big part of Pitchfork’s problem is that it presently lacks the sort of discernable personality that audiences might support.
Like, everybody and their mom knows the publication’s 10-point rating scale. But could they name a single critic?
I can’t—and that’s an issue, considering I am almost certainly in their key demographic (nondescript white male, aged 25-40, owns multiple vinyl).
Since it launched in 1996, Pitchfork has positioned itself as The Most Trusted Voice in Music. Initially, this authority extended almost exclusively to the world of indie rock. But while authoritative voices can be interesting, they can just as easily be stifling. For every review championing Radiohead and Wilco, there were dozens more shitting on records that were actually pretty good (Jimmy Eat World, Liz Phair, and Charli XCX are among those that have been caught in their critical cross-hairs).
In recent years, the site has expanded its horizons, covering everything from hip-hop, jazz, pop, and more. Ironically, however, this attempt to course correct has more-or-less diminished whatever rizz it once had. Don’t get me wrong, there have been flashes of brilliance. The Sunday Review. Fiona Apple’s perfect 10.
But for the most part, the site feels static and stale. It offers readers almost no chance to interface with writers or share their own opinions. It has no comment section and no forums. Actually, you’d be hard-pressed to find a photo of a single staffer on the website.
And, look, I’m all for spotlighting the Chunes. But the result is that the website feels like a faceless corporate entity.
It’s more Coke-a-Cola than Rolling Stone.
In other words, it’s not personal, it’s a business. And that’s something that people sadly don’t feel the need to bankroll.
After more than a decade of optimizing for individuality online, audiences are primed to expect para-social relationships. They’re the bedrock of everything from podcasts to YouTube videos and, yes, Substack newsletters.
Can we blame them, then, for possibly finding a text-based reviewing website antiquated?
This lack of personality also makes it harder for listeners to trust Pitchfork’s opinion, because it’s impossible to orient yourself to the site’s editorial perspective.
While the aforementioned rating system generates clicks, it also sees albums scored independently from what is written about them. In other words, a writer could think an album was pretty good, or pretty shit, and that opinion may or may not be reflected in the final score, which is determined by an editorial committee.
Think about that: an editorial committee ultimately decides the thing that sparks 99% of people’s interest.
This isn’t nefarious by any means, but it is out of step with the current moment.
Why would I get recommendations from some faceless committee when I could get them from an individual whose taste I trust, or at the very least understand?
Every modern music fan has “their guys.” For me, it’s Jason Tate, Yasi Salek, Norman Brannon, and, god helps us, Chris Black (R.I.P. How Long Gone Radio).
Most of these people aren’t penning traditional album reviews, and yet they are tapping into a new version of criticism, arguing why a piece of art deserves an audience and why it matters at this specific moment.
In many ways, this more personal approach feels akin to the music criticism of the 1970s and 80s, when critics like Griel Marcus, Lester Bangs, and Robert Christgau operated off of sheer name recognition.
It also, frankly, sounds like GQ and its stable of exciting young talent.
Because while “They don’t build statues of critics,” the reality is that a good critic can still move the needle. They just need a better business model.
While it’s not entirely clear what success looks like for a publication of Pitchfork’s size, smaller contemporaries are finding ways to support their creative class of contributors by diversifying their revenue streams.
Here in Canada, the online publication New Feeling has adopted a co-op approach to music journalism, with membership being offered to “four distinct stakeholder groups” including the founders, former writers, readers, and advisers.
The New Yorker’s Kyla Chayka, meanwhile, notes that the literary journal n+1 “operates as a nonprofit, pooling revenue from a combination of reader subscriptions, grants, donations, advertising, and fund-raisers.”
It’s hard to imagine Condé adopting either of these strategies, but they could benefit someone like Hanif Abdurraqib and his passion project, 68 to 05, which features writers from a variety of backgrounds cataloging albums using Abdurraqib’s curatorial lens as a guidepost.
At the bare minimum, music publications should look to brands like Stereogum and Chorus, both of which are independently owned and operated using a mix of ads and paid memberships, and which emphasize the opinions of their passionate communities as much as their writers.
It’s been said that “Opinions are like assholes; everybody has one.” But not everybody can share their perspective in a way that resonates.
I’m not ready to bury Pitchfork quite yet.
But if that day comes I hope the critics and tastemakers will channel the publication’s golden era and embrace new forms of both criticism and commerce.
After all, somebody has to wade through the monkey-piss in search of shooting stars.
Comments, criticisms, collaborations? Bang the inbox – ethan@humanpursuits.org