Kat Says: “Music Journalism Is Dead, Long Live Music Journalism.”

This is the end, but it’s also the beginning, and there’s nothing more inspiring than a new day.

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Hey Friends,

Why the fuck am I doing this?

Like, writing this newsletter. Why am I doing it? 

Let’s take it even bigger and ask: Why did I write any of the 5,000-plus essays, articles, news hits, listicles, interviews and reviews that I’ve written—and published!—since my first ever byline in February of 2009?

If I’m being really, really honest, I wrote at least half of those simply and only because someone paid me to. 

There was a time in my Billboard Dance era (circa 2017, when I was practically the sole writer on the vertical) when I would compose and publish 10 singular blog posts on any given Friday. At least 80 percent of those were 250-ish word write-ups of songs that dropped that morning. Some were chosen for their a priori popularity, some for their inherent and stunning quality, and some because someone knew someone on the artist’s team and wanted to do a kindness or a favor.

I certainly did not have any personal interest in writing up any Chainsmokers music videos ever in my life, but I’ve done it, and if the money were right, I’d do it again. 

Money. Let’s talk about it!

I was freelance writing so many blog posts for Billboard Dance back then because we had a retainer deal that basically promised me a living wage in return for my availability as a daily writer. I was still paid per piece: $25 for those little song reviews and news hits, $50 for listicles, and $150 for feature interviews. From 2017 to 2020, I made about $800 to $1,000 a week. 

I was a W9 worker, so while they had my time as if I were a full-on employee, I received no health insurance or other benefits and had to pay all my taxes in bulk each April. Still, Billboard checks became reliable and consistent, which meant I could plan a life for myself and save some money instead of completely living off of credit cards, which was my situation in the first five years of my career. 

I don’t honestly know how that compares to most retainer situations. I think retainers are pretty rare these days, and journalists don’t often talk about their money with each other. The impression I get, though, is that might be one of the better freelance deals in modern music journalism. I was incredibly privileged for the opportunity, and I look back on it wistfully (although I’m not sure I’d go back if given the chance).

It could not, and did not, last forever. It actually came to a very abrupt end. 

When COVID-19 put the entire world on hold in March 2020, Billboard let me know they were cutting their freelance budget to $0. It happens to be $0 again today. Yay! Music journalism is stable! 

After half a decade of consistent work, I was suddenly and unceremoniously making no money at all. Still, my years at Billboard Dance were a golden era in my career, and it wasn’t because of the reliable pay periods. It was magical because—for a few shining years—I was afforded a reasonable bit of creative control. 

I was able to share the stories of musicians who mattered—to me! I could use *my own money* to travel the country and see an artist whose album moved me to tears, then interview that artist about the physical and spiritual pain, or elation, or breakthrough that begat that music. 

I’d go to my laptop and write about it, adding in a bit of my own pain and elation and breakthrough, and—even more miraculously—share that story with however many people read a Billboard feature (as a freelancer, I never had access to the analytics, but people act like it matters, so I’m sure someone out there is clicking, right? Right?!) 

No one would really tell me I couldn’t do these things, because the other half of the time, I was dutifully publishing not-overtly-cheeky and just-positive-enough reviews of chart-topping dance pop drivel, or penning goofy SEO-grabbing listicles like Songs About Rivers, or just doing whatever they asked me to do as soon as they asked me to do it. 

Further Reading: 10 Songs About Rivers (Billboard 2018)

The work that I didn’t care about pumped the Dance vertical into one of the most productive and popular within Billboard’s parent company, but the work that I did care about made my entire life worth living.

-Record Scratch- 

Wait, there it is! BRING IT ON HOME!

The reason I’m writing this newsletter, and the reason I became a music journalist in the first place, was to share meaningful stories about the music that enchants and enriches my daily life. I write about music because I’m completely obsessed with it, and I write about music as a means to pay it forward because music and music journalism saved my life. 

I will write about music whether anyone pays me to or not (this free newsletter being certain proof), and the experience I’ve had writing about music up until this point is that, stunningly, I am not alone. 

Okay, Kat. Why are you telling us this?

I’ve been asking myself “why” a lot lately because it feels as if the whole industry is asking itself “why” right now. 

Why does music journalism bother when Vice is going to suddenly kill its website and layoff hundreds of staff? This days after Conde Nast fired 12 staffers at Pitchfork and folded the iconic platform into GQ without warning? And this months after major layoffs at Bandcamp in the platform’s editorial department? 

These are just three in a long string of disappointments for anyone who’s tenaciously carved out a safe hole withing the dying industry of mass media, going to bed telling themselves, “I’ve made my dreams come true, and the sun will rise again tomorrow.”

The current outlook among my peers is bleak. Doom creeps on the horizon like a cloud moving in front of the sun, but I’m not here to lament the death of a great institution. There has been more than enough of that already. 

No amount of hand-wringing can save us, and the uncomfortable truth is: This is normal. This is good! This has happened before. It will happen again. 

The only constant in this Universe is that things will change, and I dare to say, if you can move past your fear of that change and look it directly in its awful face, you’ll see that it is not an ugly thing. It is a beautiful thing. It is an opportunity, and we might just be living on the precipice of something truly, awfully and wonderfully exciting. 

I’m not just talking out of my ass. I’ve literally been through this, and I’ve come out the other side.

Have you ever seen The Tower card in a deck of Tarot? Well, now you have, it’s right there above this script. Anyway, according to the great digital goddess Biddy (my Tarot girlies already know), it stands for “Sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening.”

This is us. This is modern media (and most walks of life, actually). We’re jumping out of a burning building—OR! Hear me out: We’re taking a leap of faith.

The Tower card does not represent the end of your life. It just represents the end of your world, but that world was built on a shaky foundation and honestly, you should have moved out of that building a long time ago. You simply refused, because all your stuff was in there and it was easier to just sit on the couch and build someone else’s vision than strike out and build your own.

Unfortunately, the time has come. That building was struck by lightning, and now it’s on literally on fire. You have two choices: burn or jump.

But what if you jump and find you can fly?

Listen, I’m not rambling for no reason. All that shit I told you about my experience with Billboard? It was a set up, and this is the punch line:

Billboard never gave a fuck about me, and these big companies never gave a fuck about any of us. They never gave a fuck about music journalism, or stories, or music for that matter. I don’t mean to pick on Billboard either. I just worked there more than anywhere else, but I’ve had similar experiences or seen similar shit go down at every other publication I’ve worked.

Before I absolutely piss off every editor I’ve ever had, I’m not talking about the people on the staff. Most of those people absolutely care. Unfortunately, all of you staffers and editors and lovely romantics are grouped in the “you don’t matter” category with me and the other jobless nerds. 

I’m talking about the people with the purses. I’m talking about the owners, the shareholders. I’m talking about the suits who use different bathrooms in the office, and probably the people in the marketing department but like, y’know, I’m sure some of them are fun at parties. 

Those people didn’t buy music publications because one saved their life when they were 11. They don’t give a fuck about music. They give a fuck about money, and they saw dollar signs for some reason when they looked at existing platforms that seemed to succeed.

They never had a compass pointing in the direction of what mattered, so they soon became lost in the great sea of content, hustling for clicks with soulless word vomit and “reviews” that were designed to make musicians happy enough to share their links on socials. Musicians don’t even do that 75 percent of the time, so why did we aim for that so hard that we *literally* censored our real opinions?

Also, I’m pretty sure media and digital media has just never made much money, and it’s a terrible way to get rich—if that’s what you’re after.

Good journalism still happens. I got to tell stories that I cared about, and for a while it was magic. Then I got shoved out of the Tower, and instead of freaking the fuck out, I looked out into the void and saw joy. 

I saw DJs streaming on Twitch, and then I saw some guy streaming himself living out of a tent next to a river and said “Oh, you can stream anything. I can stream interviews.” Then I started Kat Calls in April of 2020. I haven’t stopped.

There was a moment when I could have struck a deal with Spin to make Kat Calls the backbone of that publication’s VOD presence. Obviously, that did not happen, but mostly because I learned that when you love something, you have to protect it. 

It turns out my freedom has a big price tag, financially and spiritually, and I’m actually comfortable with that. Over and over again, I have asked myself the question: “Do I do this for money, or do I do this because I have to?” Over and over again, I have come back to my desk to create something I love, whether anyone is paying me to or not.

I started this newsletter in December of 2021. Since then, I’ve inspired and assisted at least four other music journalists in starting their own Substacks. More than once these people have come back to me and thanked me for pushing them to do it, because the rush of making something truly representative of oneself is insane. 

Writing for me is not a choice but a compulsion. I’ve known since I was a child that if I went more than five days without writing something (a diary entry will do), I feel physically fucking unwell. I write about music because, as it turns out, it’s my most driving and deeply rich source of inspiration. 

Music, when it is truly art, attempts to answer life’s questions—or at least it bothers to ask them in creative ways. True artists are philosophers who work to decode the confusing emotional mess of life. Not everyone is going to spend their days mining the depths of human connection, but everyone benefits from that effort. 

Where the work of the artist ends, the work of the critic begins. Art is pure emotional release, and art critique is the process by which we analyze that emotion. We give art place and time within the greater context of culture and history, and we give the viewer/listener/consumer the tools by which to relate that emotional explosion to their own human experience.

Music journalists, when they’re any good, are walking experts in a historical lineage. We are human reference libraries. We’re not here to tell you whether a song is “good” or “bad.” You know that in your heart, and that’s subjective anyway. We’re here to tell you why that song made you ugly cry when you were just trying to wash the dishes. We’re here to make sure you catch every interesting tidbit of that internal reference so that you can be in on it.

zachschlein.plz

A post shared by @zachschlein.plz

My friend and fellow music journalist Zach Schlein shared a really moving post on Instagram when the Pitchfork news broke last month. Here’s an excerpt:

“Music is myth – for us idiots who’ve invested way too much of our lives around our body’s raw responses to sound, it’s the prism through which we make sense of our own narratives and embed ourselves within something greater. The act of dedicating time, energy, and love to the likes of doomed messianic rock stars, ATLiens announcing that ‘The South Got Something to Say,’ pervert poets from Sheffield, disco-fixated French robots, and so on not only imbues your own life with meaning, but enshrines your place within a shared experience. Getting to say ‘I was there’ isn’t just a brag; it’s an act of transcendence.”

All that to say, yeah, I think real music journalism matters a whole fucking lot, and I don’t think its future lies in the hands of these big entities. The corporate players are either uninterested or simply do not have the budget to support the good, goofy and risky ideas that will move this discipline to new heights.

I think the future of music journalism moved out of that Tower years ago, and we’re just now feeling the Universe’s final push out of that dead end.

Like I said, this has happened before and it will happen again. 

I entered journalism school in 2008. It was peak Great Recession layoff season, and I was treated to some of the highest quality education, simply because Florida’s award-winning career reporters suddenly found themselves without a job. 

“This is the worst moment to get into journalism,” they all said, but it was also abundantly clear that it was up to my generation to figure out the future of the journalistic landscape. 

In my capstone course on reporting, we had to give a presentation on some aspect of the profession. I hooked my laptop up to a projector and walked my class through every step of creating and publishing a blog post, with SEO tags, digital best practices, social media shares and more. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” my 50-something professor said about 15 minutes into my presentation.

“Cool, so that means I’m getting an A?”

Now 16 years later, we are so back. 

No one is coming to save journalism but us. We must make the work we wish to see in the world. We need to do it because we love it; because we simply don’t know what else to do. 

I will be here, writing this newsletter, no matter what happens every other moment of my day, of my life. I will be here, writing about music after my day jobs are done, interviewing artists that move me, creating content and telling stories by any other name. 

I don’t want to do it for anyone else anymore. They don’t value it the way I do, the way you do. To them, it’s just a job. It’s just a money-making machine. To me, it’s my life’s work. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning (trust that I do not want to get out of bed). It’s what gets me off my couch and into my car after 9 p.m. (trust that I am old and do not want to drive to Miami at 1 a.m.). 

I stream Kat Calls to a handful of fellow nerds because I end that hour and a half with more inspired energy than I used to feel railing 30 mg of Adderal off of Radiohead’s In Rainbows vinyl—and you just can’t write sentences like that if you’re writing for Spin!

That passion is contagious, and one day it will make money, and I believe that with all my heart. I want you to believe that about yourself, too—because it’s already true.

All these stories we tell, the stories of artists who took a bet on themselves and made their dreams a reality—those are our stories, too! Good music resonates because it’s the proof that art can win over commerce, that beauty can win over madness, that passion can win over despair. 

Remember years ago when everyone was touting the ease with which musicians could create music in their bedrooms and then share it with audiences around the world online? That’s us, now! THAT IS US, NOW.

Pick a tool, any tool! TikTok. YouTube. Substack. Twitch. Instagram. Podcasts. Newsletters. Video docs. Memes. You have a message? Fucking share it! You love a song? Make a playlist! Tell everyone! Tag the artist! Ask for those event press passes! Ask for that interview! Just ask! Worst case, someone tells you “no,” then you keep going and growing and asking, and eventually they say “yes, fuck, god, what’s your deal?”

I’m living fucking proof that you don’t have to know what you’re doing or even be good at it yet to try. I started a stream out of nothing, almost sold it to a major publication in less than a year, and then I said FUCK IT, I’M GONNA KEEP GOING WITH MYSELF.

Four years later, all the passion projects I accumulated have merged into a singular brand:

I want to build Super Kat World into a full-fledged media platform with enough income to pay other writers and creators, to make space for the voices that I know have powerful things to say and fun ideas to share. Super Kat World is experimental and joyful and not afraid to make mistakes. I want to share that freedom with others, but you don’t actually need me to get started. 

Look, someone is coming out of this the next Vice and the next Pitchfork and the next whatever. Why can’t it be one of us?

About a year ago, I started a Discord for fellow music journalists. I started it as a private server because I hoped to create a safe space for folks to talk without the peering eyes of publicists and artists, but fuck it dude. Let’s have the revolution out in the open. 

I’ve shared that Discord link below, and it’s now public for any writers or future writers or publicists or artists or promoters who whoever the fuck cares to know how we work and feel to get in on the conversation. It takes a village, after all, and dance floors are open to all as well.

Writer’s Room Discord Invite Link: https://discord.gg/cdzuddSd

Feel free to join me there if you’d like to continue this conversation. Hit me up literally any time if you want advice or you wanna vent, or you want me to walk you through starting a Substack (you don’t need that, it’s very easy, but I’m here just the same). 

I do still intend to build a music journalism course, in case any minds out there would like to learn from each other and build the skills and confidence to make more incredible work. I’ve got a big to-do list, but I’m aiming to launch that course this summer. Discord and this newsletter is a good place to keep up with that plan as well.

I’m far from the only one proposing ideas and next steps. I wholeheartedly believe in myself and the future of music journalism. I do actually think that, after all these layoffs and closures, something better will come. The illusion of safety and support has been shattered. We can all move on.

Are we going to pay our bills off of DIY music journalism overnight? Hell no! This shit is fucking hard. It’s lonely. I don’t make fucking shit for my hours of work yet, but I have a plan, and I’m working that plan, and I’m not gonna give up because this is what I do. 

The money in this business has always been laughable, and we do all deserve to get paid for our work and expertise—but if you’re going to do something free, do it for yourself and do it exactly how you want to. I promise it’s going to find its audience, however big or small, and that ability to reach even one or 10 of 1,000 or a million like-minded superfreaks will light up your entire soul.

Risky times call for risky fucking moves, and some glorious dawn approaches for those who really, really care.

Okay. I’ve talked enough. You have the floor. 

Fun fact: Just about 14 years ago to the day, I launched a blog called Fresh Wet Paint with my friends. I was a journalism student at UF, and a few weeks later, we were in Miami for Winter Music Conference interviewing DJs and starting the journey that brought me here. 

It’s wild that, 14 years later, I’m still just trying to do fun stuff that makes me happy for no other entity than myself. I’ve learned a lot in the past 14 years, but the mission hasn’t changed. I think it’s kind of magical, the timing of all this—even if this essay drove me fucking insane to write. I hope you got something out of it. I hope you go and make something that makes you happy, too.

Coming Up

It’s March! That means Kat Calls is back! 

Season 5 starts Thursday, March 14, with my buddy Devon James! His debut album Love Reach was one of my favorites of 2023, and we’re going to chat before his big Rvdiovctive party at MMW. The lineup includes Justin Martin, Doorly, Soul Clap, Junior Sanchez and more—and it’s free!

• Kat Calls: Devon James
  Thursday, March 14

  7 pm ET / 4 pm PT

  twitch.tv/katbein

  youtube.com/superkatworld

Speaking of Kat Calls, I have been uploading previous episodes to Spotify, Apple Podcasts and wherever you may listen to podcasts. I’m ramping up the uploads, trying to get the whole show on by the end of the month. 

Go find me there and give a listen to something from the archives, if you’re so inclined. I’ve had some incredible guests! It’s been a wild four years :’)

• Kat Calls on Spotify | Apple Podcasts

Also! I am going to share a new podcast next Monday for paid subscribers. I was listening to Fatboy Slim the other day and was just marveling at his talent, so I think I’m gonna upload my conversation with him and Eats Everything from March of 2020, just before lockdown struck. It’s one of the funniest chats I’ve ever had, for sure lol. Join the paid tier below if you haven’t already and wanna check that out!

Absolutely Necessary

(This is the part where I share songs that are so good, they’re absolutely necessary to listen to. That’s it. That’s the bar.)

I made two Spotify playlists for this section that you can follow: one weekly playlist updated with just the new stuff every week, and one cumulative playlist that will host every song I pick ever (until Spotify tells me it’s full). Check them out! I made them for you—and me, but mostly you.

Here are this week’s five highlights:

Rico Nasty x Boys Noize - “Arintintin”

When I say I heard this song some 30 times on Friendship, I’m not exaggerating. I’ve been singing this damn song in my head for MONTHS. It’s finally out! More certified bangers are coming on a joint EP titled HVRDC0RE DR3AMZ. One interpolates 2LiveCrew’s “One and One.” It’s called “1+1.” I fucking love it already.

The South Hill Experiment - “Bonita” Feat. Buck Raines

You ever hear a guitar riff and a drum beat and a ghostly vocal melody for the first time but feel like you’ve heard it your whole life? The South Hill Experiment’s “Bonita” with Buck Raines is that for me. This shit hits me right in the soul. The South Hill Experiment is two brothers from Baltimore who now live in LA, and their new EP The South Hill & Friends is a collaborative effort. It's all very jazzy, but this song sticks out to me like a piece of food caught between my teeth that I can’t stop tonguing. I don’t really wanna get it out.

Mindchatter - “Dopamine Detox”

Mindchatter's incredible EP This Is A Reminder That You Are Not Behind Your Face is finally out on Foreign Family Collective, and it’s perfect for anyone who likes Royksopp’s “Remind Me” and/or has any experience with being alive and anxious in the modern era. These melodies are beautiful and soft, while the lyrics are humorous and achingly tough. I’m so excited to welcome him to Kat Calls on Thursday, March 28. Definitely study up and join the chat!

Sir Was - “Sometimes You Got To” (Seb Wildblood Remix)

I just think this song is incredibly nice. It’s sweet and a bit melancholy but also upbeat. Makes me wanna do a lil happy dance. Sir Was is dropping real gems in the lyrics. “Sometimes you gotta wait til the fog is gone” might as well be the tagline for my experience writing this newsletter lolol. That’s art, baby! 

Hot Sugar - “Call Waiting”

“Hot Sugar’s Creation Myth plays with the ephemerality of media, data, and recorded memories in our era of content creation.” That’s from the press release about the independent artist’s massive 26-song album which just dropped on DSPs. I am obsessed with the way Hot Sugar plays with nostalgic sounds to create emotional atmospheres. The album is a true epic, an online Odyssey for all the hopeless Homer’s out there. Give the whole dang hour a listen and see what memories it dredges from your past.

Welp! That’s the breaks. I’m so tired, but I’m feeling good. Thanks to being here with me. Thanks for supporting independent music journalism. See you next time :)  

Thanks for tuning into my newsletter. Listen to the playlists on Spotify. One is updated weekly with all the songs from each edition. The other is cumulative with all the updates ever!

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