The Critic is Lord: How the Internet Reshaped Music Criticism

While likely alien to today's generation of young music nerds, there was a time when getting a review in a magazine such Rolling Stone or Creem could make or break a record. I'm talking about the days where musical discourse was ruled by a sort of typewriter totalitarianism. I'm talking about a time where names like Lester Bangs, Greil Marcus and Robert Christgau were household names in music circles, and a single paragraph could send a label into a PR crisis. Critics were seen as curators of taste, ultimately holding the keys to musical canon. Music criticism wasn't defining the difference between what was good or bad—it was serious commentary on the state of music culture. Fast forward to 2025 and I'm just as likely to hear my friends cite a TikTok reaction or a YouTube breakdown as I am a Pitchfork review.

That said, music criticism hasn't died. It's mutated, and we as listeners are mutating with it.

Largely within the last decade, there's been a shift in how we talk about music—and more importantly, who gets to yap their gums. Traditional publications like Rolling Stone and Pitchfork haven't exactly vanished, but their influence on discourse and public opinion has definitely waned. Platforms like YouTube, Twitch and TikTok have created a new generation of critics: some are trained musicians, others are just passionate fans with the gift of gab and a camera.

Music criticism's recent history is one of decentralization—of how the discourse migrated from gated institutions to a digital market of hot takes, exaggerated reactions and occasionally thoughtful insight.

It starts with the old guard of publications. Rolling Stone – once the top authority on rock n' roll – has expanded its scope over the years, albeit out of necessity due to the rise of hip-hop in the 1990s. Meanwhile, 2000s indie tastemaker Pitchfork got bought out by Condé Nast and eventually folded into GQ, which speaks volumes about the value of music criticism to the magazine empire. In many ways, Pitchfork walked so the algorithm could run.

Both publications still produce quality long-form criticism, but it's telling just how few Gen Z music fans could name their current writers. Their thought leaders often include the likes of YouTube critics, the most notable of whom is Anthony Fantano—aka The Needle Drop. Fantano's YouTube reviews have drawn in 2.9 million subscribers, cementing him as a modern-day curator of taste. What sets his content apart from the massive pool of internet pundits is that it gets as close to traditional criticism as you can beyond writing columns. He listens to full albums. He gives scores. He dives into lyrical content, production choices and cultural context. Most online "critics" don't even bother with this structure. On TikTok, criticism can be wrapped into a 30-second micro-take. A song plays. A head bobs. A shrug. Maybe an eyebrow raise or an energetic dance, or an initial "reaction" That's it. Yet this kind of content has the ability to sway thousands of music fans more than a 1500-word writeup ever could.

The music critic has been replaced by the music influencer. Opinions aren't necessarily any less valid, their function has just changed. Today's critics perform the art of taste in real time.

For instance, there's Kai Cenat livestreaming his reaction to a new Drake track on Twitch, which gets more engagement than most music blogs will in an entire year. When Kendrick Lamar dropped "Like That," the resulting social media frenzy wasn't just about the song's content—it was about who reacted to it, who clipped it, who meme'd it. It was even revealed that Drake messaged Cenat directly during the beef with Lamar, much like a label publishing a press release. This interaction says it all.

Other YouTube critics like Deep Cuts, Alfo Media and ARTV have found audiences by leaning into their personality just as much as they do their analysis. By establishing a parasocial relationship between critic and viewer, they earn the trust of fans. This trust isn't based on credentials, but because of the creators' consistency and perceived authenticity. While the barrier for entry is lower, the quality doesn't have to be.

Of course, this transition isn't always a resounding win for music culture. The democratization of criticism has spurred a flood of content, with the algorithm rewarding engagement over nuance. This means headlines and thumbnails that scream "[insert album] is NOT GOOD" or "J Cole is WASHED" whether or not the take is even defensible. The result of this combo? Hot takes become currency, outrage drives traffic and superficiality reigns supreme.

This new marketplace has real-world implications. A viral pan can tank the perception of an artist's work before most people even hear it. Reaction videos often replace thoughtful listening with performative judgement. It's now more about who has the most entertaining reaction rather than who can offer the most interesting take. A prime example of this was the Internet's reaction to Chance the Rapper's 2019 album The Big Day. Before many fans had even finished the full project, clips of TikTokers mocking the album's lyrical content began circulating. The song "I Love My Wife" became a running gag – one that Chance himself even played into – spawning memes that often overshadowed any serious discourse about the album. As a result, The Big Day was quickly labeled a flop not just in reviews, but in the broader cultural conversation. This just proves how quickly perception can be shaped by viral ridicule rather than nuanced critique (although there were plenty of negative in-depth reviews, the album was trash).

Even labels have had to adapt, with some sending advance copies of singles to influencers rather than critics. Others are crafting campaigns built entirely around getting TikTok traction, thus prioritizing virality over artistry. Marketing-drive commentary is now masquerading as thoughtful critique.

Despite this alarming change, all is not lost. There are still bastions of music journalists doing great work. NPR Music continues to produce intellectually stimulating reviews and their Tiny Desk Concert series remains one of the most authentic platforms for artists today. Additionally, publications like Stereogum still champion in-depth analysis and emerging voices in music discourse.

I've also noticed a counterculture of independent critics and podcasters is emerging. These are creators who intentionally defy the algorithm, leaning into long-form discussion, deep dives and genre history. Podcasts like Dissect break down albums song-by-song, lyric-by-lyric. YouTubers like Middle 8 create mini-docs on artist evolution. The best amongst these creators aren't simply critics—they're historians and educators.

In some cases, artists themselves are reclaiming the narrative. I've seen artists release self-made documentaries, open letters to fans and even self-reviews. Some go live on Twitch or Instagram to break down their own work, engaging directly with fans and making the wall between creators and critics thinner than it's ever been.

Where does this leave us though? We're in an era of utter pluralism, with more voices, more platforms and more opinions being shared than ever before. While as a consumer it may be exciting, it's also rather overwhelming. The role of the critic has been blurred. Are critics still the arbiters of taste? Are they cultural commentators? Influencers? Simply entertainers?

The real shift is this: music criticism has grown from being a singular path to a series of branching roads. Some lead to disquisition, some to spectacle. Some to self-promotion, others to service journalism. The Lester Bangs and Griel Marcuses of today are the ones who navigate it all. As fans, our job is to be better listeners. It's up to us to know when we're being sold something and when we're being told the truth. We must seek out the voices that challenge us, not just the ones that echo our tastes.

Critique still matters, and perhaps now more than ever. It doesn't always look like it used to, and maybe that's okay. The tools have changed, the platforms have changed and the people have changed.

But the music? The music always hits.