I hate reading album reviews. They’re awful and at best, cringy. They don’t tell you much about the music but instead, drown in adjectives and strained metaphors, things like “a kaleidoscope of shimmering tones” or “a visceral journey through soundscapes” and language that only makes sense if you’ve already heard the record. It’s filler dressed as insight and I’m tired of hearing things described as “dissonance”, “brutal”, “majestic” or “epic” and I don’t need to know how the album travels through a tapestry of different sounds. What the fuck is the point of describing all this?

All a music review might need is who it reminds you of and if you liked it and maybe some backstory. I could very much be done in two sentences.

How did it get this way? It’s probably because it started out in a different world. Music journalism grew up in print and listeners had to leave their house to go seek out a record store. But now when everyone can hear an album instantly, this style of music review seems pointless, yet there are people out there still mimicking what they think music reviews should be.

The truth is, the best reviews aren’t reviews at all. They’re the one-sentence blurbs on Bandcamp that are quick, punchy reactions that give you context without wasting your time. They tell you what it feels like to listen, not what the instruments sound like and how the experiences changes over the course of the runtime.

If I’m reading about an album, I don’t need a thesaurus recital. I want something else, why it matters, where it fits and who it’s for. Sometimes that’s more than enough.

“This reminded me of early Abigor…” That’s all I need.

Save the adjectives and give me reasons.