Good Music Criticism Is Nigh Impossible — Here’s How I Try Anyways

Christopher Coplan
Jul 20, 2017 · 6 min read
A rough approximation of the writer’s process.

A few years ago, when I was still working full-time as a music journalist/critic, I went home to Arizona for the holidays. Among a few older relatives, we got to talking about what it was that I actually did. “So, you write music,” someone asked, puzzled given my distinct lack of talent. “No,” I interjected quietly, “I write stories about news events in music, and also review songs and albums.” When pressed about how I went about the latter, all I could come up with was, “I just listen to them carefully and give my thoughts and feelings.”

I’d bet my bottom dollar that other critics have frequently experienced similar moments in adequately explaining their life’s work. Forget that famous old adage— writing about music is like trying to wrap one’s hands around a flaming meteor, pluck it out of the sky, and show it off in a way that’s interesting and totally unique. Oh, and a few hundred other people with longer, more talented arms are doing the same thing. It’s a process that’s only gotten more difficult as the audience has become increasingly savvy in consuming music now more readily available than ever before.

Music criticism has yet to find a true path through this new age, as evidenced by an institution like MTV News (and several others) shifting primarily to video. Criticism still holds value, but it can be hard to define that in a way that effectively demonstrates that important but often nebulous sense of reflection and contextualization. Especially since so many critics have different criteria for what’s “good” and what’s “worse than eating rotten unagi.” Without these well-defined boundaries, critics wind up reviewing an artist and not the album, or focusing on some news story or strand of hype. (I’d point to this recent review-and-reaction as a prime example.)

So, in the pursuit of transparency, let this humble ex-professional critic shed a little light on a few essential criteria and insider secrets he makes use of in reviewing music. This isn’t a handbook for effective criticism — just a set of signposts that help ground my efforts and keep my eyes on the work at hand.

Oh, and even if you’ve never written a critical word in your life, perhaps this can provide insight into your own sensibilities and listening process. At the very least, perhaps keep you from attacking some poor, mostly meager critic.


Listen for Heartbeats

Unlike The Wizard of Oz, heart isn’t exactly some concrete quality you can hold in your hands (or wherever the Tin Man hopes to store it). Nonetheless, it’s easy to tell when an artist is invested in their work. You can hear the enthusiasm in their voice, perhaps through a faint crackle of intensity. Or some perfect detail where most ears will never bother to travel. In a tracklist that rushes so quickly it may burst into speed. Or, on the flipside, a sense of methodical momentum is based of a similar surge of devotion. Regardless, heart is something you can hear from note one. Then the more complicated question arises as to whether that heart has any artistic or emotional value.

A Link to The Past

Not all critics attempt to do as much, but I’ve always felt that the most interesting writers try to ground the newest album with the artist’s canon. (Barring a new artist’s lack of depth, it can be about connecting individual songs.) The aim here is to hold up the various parts of an artist’s career and compare similarities and what’s been abandoned with each subsequent LP. An ongoing occurrence of key themes or ideas can uncover what kinds of things an artist cares about, and if those hold value. There’s also the matter of growth — specifically, how much and if those moves are worth making and were always executed with levels of precision and foresight. History is huge, and with it the critic can explore and dissect a measure of any artist.

The Cheese Stands Alone

As essential it is to treat an album or song as the thread in a grander narrative blanket, it’s just as vital that critics/listeners treat a project as a most singular entity. Existing in some bubble, worth only what exists within these X number of tracks. No back catalog, press releases, promotional schemes, or revealing interviews. I’ve found cutting an album off from the rest of the world encourages you to power down more of your own biases or hang-ups. This part isn’t only easy — it’s those neuroses that make me a thoughtful critic in the first place — but is a powerful way to get to the very core of a product’s worth by coming to things fresh and unaffected as possible.

One Versus Many

As a rule, singles are generally either the most compelling or high-valued bits from a full album. They’re the suit and tie to the job interview before you find out if the person’s a 1) model employee or 2) microwaves fish for lunch. The interplay between these bright spots and the rest of the record can often be the most telling. Why are these songs deemed more valuable? Do they simply sound better? Are they representative of the artist’s themes or larger intentions? Maybe they’re enjoyable because they’re not part of that arc? Albums are a cohesive effort to be consumed as a whole, but like life itself, there is heaps of insight to be found in the many peaks and valleys.

Flip It All Over

Albums are the one form of media you can consume in just about any order you please. Sure, TV and movies engage in a bit of scene-swapping (Memento, all Quentin Tarantino flicks), but the results can be a teensy bit overwhelming. Once you bypass the artist’s intentions, you can remix the LP and discover all sorts of new truths and understandings. Perhaps two songs once separated by an entire tracklist provide new meaning for one another. Or, experiencing one song before another changes your perception of its content or message. It’s a slightly simple trick, but there’s been some surprising revelations from simply allowing myself to rework and re-orientate my relation to something meant to be stagnant and deliberate.

Phone a Friend (or Two)

Even if it’s not meant to be a definitive evaluation (merely one possible reading), most critical pieces are always reflective of a single critic’s thought process and biases and understanding. I like to hear from other people, to get their input and reactions to a song or my ideas about the songs themselves. Not to influence my opinion or final verdict, but to help ground my own thoughts and to see if what I picked up on exists in the head of others or is my own little self-delusion. No piece of art truly exists in a bubble, and our understanding of it has to live among those opinions of others. If it can’t evolve meaningfully, or stand tall among the clashing of other thoughts, then your criticism might not deserve to keep breathing.

Put in The Time

In my discussions with other critics (and reading Twitter rants), some folks believe there is a certain timeframe for meaningful criticism. That is, those sites or publications who crank out a review two days after hearing an album may be missing the point. On the other hand, there is something to be said about that immediacy, and how it tends to make your reactions all the more visceral (if not entirely thorough or well-honed). Generally, there shouldn’t be a rule to how long one should sit with an album before forming a consensus. Some records require days or weeks, and others pounce on you in an instant. It’s less about the quality of the album itself and more your reaction and how comfortable you are with marrying that most lovely opinion.

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Christopher Coplan

Written by

Writer out of Chicago. Former news editor for Consequence of Sound. Music, sociology, marketing, wrestling, and all things data.

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