Music Journalism for Toddlers.

After deciding that the real world was...well just a tad too real I am about to start an MA at City University in the field of Magazine Journalism. Last week I received my (frightningly long) reading list. On said reading list was a title that caught my eye, and I decided I would begin with this book.

Good Writing for Journalists by Angela Phillips promises a lot in the title, and whether it fulfilled its actual purpose is now completely irrelevant because it has saved my life. I wish I could say I had it in my jacket pocket and it stopped a bullet. Being rather thin I'm glad to say it never had to try. Instead it pointed to me (metaphorically) and said "Jonny, one day you will be a damn fine music journalist, and work for whatever magazine/website you choose".

And how did it tell me this? By pointing out the obvious - That music journalism today is, by and large, and in the style of a music journo.

"Like the bastard child of a dyslexic and a Jeremy Clarkson impersonator." (read poorly written, self important tripe)

Despite being among the most popular forms of journalism and, in my opinion, one of the most important, the quality of writing is nowhere near the standard of other cultural journalisms.

All to often we try to be witty, cutting, original, subversive and offensive. I believe this is because to be a music journalist you don't necessarily have to have a journalist background. If you have an ear and a passion for music, and know a few people in the industry you are half way there. I understand that a slating review is exciting to read and an absolute must for music enzines, but the need for such reviews has overtaken the need for balanced, contextual and factual reviewing. Opinion seems to be far more important than eloquence (to put that in context, taxi drivers have opinions, should they be allowed to air them in print?) Like bulldogs bread to have noses so flat many couldn't breath, NME has recruited writers gradually more and more hateful to the point where when they hear bad music they choke and gasp out a review of such malignance that it makes readers react with pure venom themselves (see here - http://www.nme.com/reviews/sam-isaac/10733 and make sure you read the comments.)

Music journalism of old used to be written for its love of bands, festivals, gigs and albums. Now we take as much pleasure in hating bands as we do loving them, and as journalists we have to rise above this or at the very least justify ourselves when we can't. By writing on the manner of the article I have linked we take away the ability to debate, to critique and to enjoy. There is no music in the world that deserves the slamming that Sam Isaac got (even the schiztophrenic NME seem to think so, having given his single a glowing review). NME, by recruiting these lamtentable and hateful "free spirits" are slowly destroying music journalism, people's interest in it and the forum for the furtherment of musical brilliance.

Knowing this means that I can endevour to be a better journalist than all the "journalists" at NME, who ultimately have jobs that many writers would kill for. Reviewers have a unique opportunity, and therefore responsibility, to write and be a positive part of the world of music. When they waste it they become part of the problem they seek to slate, and to be a honest a toddler could write better reviews than most of them.

A blog is for life, not just for Christmas

I have recently been frequenting music message boards all over the web, and in particular posts about X Factor. For some reason I am still unable to tear my eyes away from the programme, and I am now oblivious to my own words of disgust for it.

It seems I was not as outspoken as I thought in regard to several things. For starters Rhydian wasn't as popular as I thought (while also probably a victim of the "Everyone likes him so I don't" trap) and people were well aware of the fact that he is not that great an opera singer, nor that great a pop singer. Which is a bit of a pickle for a bit of a prick.

But the biggest revelation of my message board surfing is my realisation of the power such sites wield. While my modest site is yet to change the atmosphere of my room, let alone the music scene, many posts on these boards can reach thousands. If the general discourse of a topic goes one way, the thousands of readers that see it will be affected. Whilst reading someone's self important post about how Simon Cowell is deluded to think anyone would buy a "Hope" record, I actually found myself thinking "Fuck you, I'll buy one" before realising I hate everything to do with the band, who are after all 90% make up.

I couldn't say for sure that my words have this kind of effect, I may after all be weak minded, but I do believe that once something is written, whether it is on the web, a book or on your drunks friends face it is there for the duration. Your point of view that Simon Cowell is gorgeous is stuck on the web the duration, as is the memory of your marker pen assertion that your drunken friend is a "Dick."

I think that, while on message boards this is relatively harmless, reviewers and feature writers can lose sight of the power they wield. A case in point is Carrie Bradshaw Layfield's review of the Foo Fighter's new album. Layfield uses the review space not to talk about the album, but to slander the Foo Fighters previous connection to Alive And Well, an organisation that denies a link between HIV and AIDS and claims the African Epidemic is exaggerated.

Whether this exaggeration is true is irrelevant to the album. As is whether the Foo's involvement is questionable or not. As is the fact that they were involved. As is the fact that they no longer are. In fact, barely one sentence of the whole review is relevant to music, except where he compares the "energy" of the Foo's to a dead child.

People reviewing music with an agenda should not be allowed. It's bad enough that politics get in the way of music creation (not always true I accept), let alone its critics. As reviewers, people have a responsibility to deliver an insightful, illuminating and entertaining read, something Mr Layfield fails to do on all levels. In fact, he just embarrasses himself. The words we write mean something. We can't claim we wrote them in the heat of the moment like a harsh word in an argument, because we think the words, spell them, then check them. We think about what we write, so we should think about who reads it.