Anthony Fantano doesn’t approach music like a passive listener. He approaches it as a practice—one built on attention, context, and an insistence on explanation over reaction. Over the years, that mindset has turned The Needle Drop into one of the most influential platforms in modern music criticism, shaping how albums are discussed, debated, and remembered in the internet era. In this conversation, Fantano reflects on his early roots in radio, the evolution of his critical voice, and the responsibilities that come with having an audience at scale, while offering candid perspectives on genre cycles, online culture, AI, and what it really means to listen with intention.
I. Origins & Foundations
When did you first realize you had a genuine passion for music—not just as a listener, but as someone who wanted to analyze and speak about it publicly?
Probably late high school at the earliest, senior year, and maybe a couple years into college at the latest. That was the period where I was very intent on working in radio, with the hope that I’d end up at some kind of music-based station.
Growing up in Connecticut, we had a handful of solid music and rock stations, and I loved listening to them to hear about new music. I thought it would be really cool to work at a radio station, be a DJ or a programmer, check out new music, talk about it, and share it. That’s where the idea really started.
Things developed further once I realized that the kind of career in radio I imagined wasn’t really possible. If I wanted to stay involved with music, it was going to have to take a different form.
“I thought it would be really cool to work at a radio station, be a DJ or a programmer, check out new music, talk about it, and share it.”
Before The Needle Drop, you worked at your college radio station. What did that experience teach you about music discovery, curation, and building trust with an audience?
Because it was a very small AM station with little to no real listenership, it didn’t teach me much about building an audience or earning trust in that way. What it did teach me was curation—figuring out the flow of songs I wanted to play in a given set.
I was the music director for a year, so I stayed closely connected to new releases and the CDs coming into the station every week, even later when I became general manager.
The biggest lesson I took from that experience, which still holds true today, is that some of the best and most interesting music isn’t on the surface. You have to dig for it. The deeper you go, the more rewarding things often get.
There’s this idea that the cream always rises to the top, and I don’t believe that’s true. There’s always something interesting happening in the mainstream, but the most creative, challenging, and rewarding music often doesn’t rise to the top—especially given how the industry currently works.
“Some of the best and most interesting music isn’t on the surface. You have to dig for it.”
What originally motivated you to become an online music critic rather than pursuing a traditional path in music journalism?
By the time I started speaking with the voice of a music critic, online music journalism was already well established. Publications like Rolling Stone and Spin were still relevant, but platforms like Pitchfork had already set the blueprint, and there was a whole ecosystem of music blogs building off that model.
Deciding in the late 2000s that I was going to become a traditional print music journalist would’ve been unrealistic. That path was basically dead on arrival.
What separated me from others doing similar things online was the decision to put it on camera. I needed a way to stand out and give what I was doing a defined style. I believed my critiques and observations were valid, but they weren’t landing the way I wanted them to.
Video allowed the ideas to come across with more impact and personality.
“Video allowed the ideas to come across with more impact and personality.”
Was there an artist or band early on that fundamentally shaped how you listen to and evaluate music today?
Yes, definitely. One of the most significant examples is the band Earth, specifically their album Earth 2.
That record is very heavy, very loud, very droney, abstract, and abrasive. It showed me the power of music at its most abstract, and how different concepts can be fused together in bold, boundary-pushing ways.
It combines elements of drone, new age, and meditative music with guitar tones, feedback, and noise typically associated with metal. Conceptually and sonically, it was incredibly ahead of its time and completely reshaped how I think about experimentation in music.
“It showed me the power of music at its most abstract.”
You recently collaborated on a song with Yuno Miles. Before becoming a critic, did you ever seriously try making music yourself, and how did that experience shape how you approach reviewing artists now?
I played bass for a long time and still play today, as seriously as I can for something I do casually at home. I’ve been in a few bands, recorded demos, and played with other musicians.
Early on—and even more so now—the idea of fully competing and performing in the music industry always felt like a turnoff. Making music itself was fun. Everything surrounding it—promotion, releases, logistics—was not. And that’s what you end up spending most of your time doing.
That feeling is even stronger now with social media and platforms like TikTok. I’ve collaborated with Yuno Miles a few times, including a track I made called “Who Done It.” Making the beat and the song was fun. Everything after that—videos, visuals, distribution, artwork, making sure the release went smoothly—was exhausting by comparison.
All that work just to make sure the song wasn’t floating unnoticed on the internet was far less enjoyable than actually creating it. I understand why some artists avoid the business side entirely, because it makes the creative process feel less exciting.
For me, thankfully, doing criticism professionally hasn’t made listening to music or talking about it less fun. Talking about what makes a record great or terrible is still the best part. Everything else—editing, social media, logistics—is less enjoyable, but it feels like a more sensible trade-off.
“Talking about what makes a record great or terrible is still the best part.”
II. Building The Needle Drop & the Come-Up
When you started The Needle Drop, what was the original vision, and how different is it from what the platform has become today?
The original vision was an NPR-affiliated podcast. I was working at an NPR-affiliated radio station in Hartford after it transitioned from an all-classical station to an all-talk station. They were repeating a lot of programming, so I pitched a music-based radio show to the general manager, and he approved it.
I didn’t get paid for the show. I was doing it for free, even as it eventually picked up a bit of syndication. I ran it from about 2007 to 2012. It started as a half-hour show and later expanded to an hour.
The news director suggested that I also start a website or blog alongside the podcast. That turned it into both a podcast and a music blog, which was rewarding but very draining. It gave me a platform, helped me build a body of work, and led to writing opportunities with weekly publications and NPR’s Song of the Day, as well as playlists that are still online today.
At the same time, growing a music blog organically was difficult, and there were a lot of issues with platforms shutting blogs down due to piracy accusations.
What it is now is completely different. It’s primarily a YouTube venture, a much larger website with contributing writers, and a presence across multiple platforms—streaming, social media, and spaces that didn’t even exist when I started. It’s been a steady progression of broadening outward.
“What it is now is completely different.”
If you were launching your channel in today’s algorithm-driven landscape, what would you do differently to break through?
It’s hard to say. The type of music reviews I do were copied a lot after my channel took off, but that format has cooled off compared to essay-style content, reactions, or streaming.
If I were starting today, I probably wouldn’t focus as heavily on formal music reviews. I might lean more into streaming or podcasts and experiment with different formats.
That said, copyright issues around music commentary and fair use are still a mess, which makes building a career purely off reaction content difficult from a monetization standpoint.
Ultimately, regardless of the era, the core challenge is the same: understanding who your audience is, where they are, and how to reach them. Answering those questions matters more than the specific format.
“Understanding who your audience is matters more than the specific format.”
Was there ever a moment where you seriously considered quitting? What ultimately kept you going?
Yes, especially early on, when it wasn’t my full-time job yet or when it had just barely become one. Every few months I’d have an existential crisis and wonder why I was doing it, who it was for, and whether anyone even cared.
What kept me going was liking what I was doing and being curious about what was on the other side. I always approached things thinking, “I’ll try this, and if it completely fails, then I’ll quit.” But I couldn’t quit without trying and seeing what happened.
As long as I was getting some kind of feedback—something that told me I could adjust, improve, or try again—I kept going. If I had ever reached a point where I got nothing back at all, I would’ve quit a long time ago.
For the most part, everything I’ve put into this has given me something positive in return, or at least taught me how to avoid mistakes. I haven’t found a compelling reason to quit, and that’s probably why I haven’t.
“I couldn’t quit without trying and seeing what happened.”
What is a goal or milestone in your career that you are most proud of achieving?
There are the obvious things—millions of subscribers, over a billion views, recognition from outlets like The New York Times. But what matters most to me is the personal, one-on-one impact.
I value having a brand and an online persona that I’m proud of. There are a lot of people on the internet who cultivate terrible audiences, and there have been moments where I realized parts of my audience weren’t aligned with who I am or what I stand for.
In those moments, it’s important to be clear about who you are and what people are going to get from you, whether they like it or not.
Having an audience, reputation, and presence that generally leads to positive, respectful interactions—whether I’m at a show, a record store, or just out in public—is something I take real pride in. That feels like a genuine achievement.
“That feels like a genuine achievement.”
III. Methodology & the Act of Criticism
Your job requires you to listen to music critically and professionally. Does that ever interfere with your ability to enjoy music casually, or have you learned how to separate work from pleasure?
It’s not something I’ve had to think about too much. I just like consuming media with my brain on. Thinking about art is what makes it enjoyable for me. Having something on without considering it or grappling with it in some way feels boring and uninspired.
That said, I do recognize that sitting down to inquisitively critique an album is a very different mindset than how most people listen to music. There’s a lot of music that doesn’t hold up particularly well in that kind of focused, isolated listening experience, but might make more sense in a live setting, in a social context, or in some other environment.
There’s a time and place for everything. Some music is just bad no matter the context, but a lot of records feel mediocre when reviewed closely and make much more sense elsewhere. Context matters a lot.
“Thinking about art is what makes it enjoyable for me.”
What is your criteria when rating music? How do you decide what earns a certain score, especially across genres with very different standards?
There’s no set criteria. I’m mostly listening to and analyzing music through the Western popular music canon—rock, pop, hip-hop, electronic, jazz, folk, metal—and judging it based on standards that have held up over time within those traditions, including music from other parts of the world that has become influential or popular in the U.S.
Different genres have different standards, but there are still shared fundamentals. Does the song have a strong melody? Is the production good? How does the groove feel? If it’s a band, do they sound good together? Is there chemistry? Are the lyrics interesting or communicating something meaningful? Does the performance work? Is the drummer tight? Is the guitar playing effective? Is the bass line imaginative? Is the rapper on tempo? Is the horn player in key?
Those basics apply regardless of genre. Beyond that, it becomes case by case. I also try to consider whether a record works for a specific artist, especially in the context of their back catalog.
So much of how we understand and appreciate music is contextual—where we are culturally, what music came before it, and whether a project makes sense or does something exciting within that larger musical history.
“There’s no set criteria.”
Do you still listen to music purely for enjoyment in your free time, and if so, what does that listening look like compared to when you’re reviewing?
Yes. It’s much more casual. I’m not overthinking it. I might be dancing, driving, cooking, reading, drawing, or just sitting there looking at the album art, reading liner notes, or staring at the ceiling and taking in the sound.
Especially when I’m playing a record and it sounds really good, it becomes more about the physical and emotional experience of listening. I don’t think that’s very different from how most people enjoy music.
“It becomes more about the physical and emotional experience of listening.”
Would you say you still approach music primarily with love and passion, or has it become more of a job over time?
I still approach music primarily with love and passion. Talking about it is the job. Listening only feels like work when it’s something I genuinely don’t want to hear.
If I like something and think it’s great, even when I’m listening for work, my personal interest takes over. I’m grateful for that, because turning something you love into a job doesn’t always work out the way people expect. In my case, the passion is still there.
IV. Influence, Responsibility & Cultural Power
At what point does music criticism stop being commentary and start shaping culture itself? Your opinions can affect careers, fan perception, and even how albums age—how do you think about that responsibility?
I try not to think about it too much or overthink it. There are detrimental downsides to getting high on your own supply as a commentator, especially with something as massive as music. It’s more important to keep your head down and do the work, and if it makes a lasting impact, it makes a lasting impact.
At the size my platform is now, if I think a record is really bad, and the artist is super fledgling, obscure, tiny, and has no commercial impact, stepping out of my way to crap on it would probably do more harm than good. What would anyone really get out of that? In situations like that, I’ll rethink whether it makes sense to talk about it at all, or if it makes more sense to dig for something I actually enjoy and talk about that instead.
You have to do some negative reviews. You’re not going to like everything. But if I’m going to really rip something apart, I try to make sure it’s an artist or a band or a group that can withstand it—people with a real following that’s passionate no matter what anyone says.
Even with millions of followers, I don’t see myself as someone who can look at a multi-platinum artist’s album, call it bad, and suddenly everyone accepts that as truth and their career is over. I don’t want that responsibility. People are free to disagree with anything I say. I’d be way unhappier and more hesitant to speak if I felt like everyone treated my opinion like gospel.
“It’s more important to keep your head down and do the work.”
Music opinions move extremely fast online. Do you feel pressure to have an immediate take, and is there a stigma around publicly changing your opinion later?
There can be a stigma depending on how you do it. If you come in with an extremely negative take and you’re savagely shitting on an album, then forty-eight hours later you’re like, “Actually, it’s pretty good,” people are going to question your judgment.
I’ve done thousands of reviews, and I’ve had maybe around thirty albums that grew on me significantly after I originally thought they were bad or mid. When I’ve talked about that, it’s usually years later, and I explain why. Most people react like, “Cool. I respect it.” Most music fans have a few records like that—things they didn’t like at first and then later realized they were wrong about. If that never happened to me, that wouldn’t feel like a reflection of reality.
Do I feel pressure to be fast? Yes and no. It feels like the moment an album comes out, people decide how they feel within twenty-four hours. But my format slows me down. I have to write things out and edit a YouTube video, and that forces more processing. Even when I feel the pressure, I try to think through what I’m going to say, because immediate takes aren’t where I think I do my best work.
If I just jumped on Twitter or Twitch and said, “This is how I feel, bam,” I could tell you what I like and don’t like, but I wouldn’t have much explanation. And that’s the point. Anybody can say they don’t like something. That’s not critique. Critique is the explanation, and that doesn’t always come instantly. Sometimes flaws are obvious, but some things need time to put into words.
“Critique is the explanation.”
Have you ever reviewed an album that you later changed your mind on? Which ones, and what would your revised ratings be today?
Yes. Some of the most prominent ones are Kanye’s The Life of Pablo, which grew on me after he fixed the mix, because the original version was shit.
Earl’s I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside grew on me too. I originally thought it was okay, but to me now it’s very dark and ahead of the curve for a lot of the moody, abstract hip-hop that’s become more common.
Mac Miller’s Swimming also grew on me. I didn’t like it for a lot of the same reasons I didn’t like The Divine Feminine, but going back to it, and considering what happened after it came out, and also enjoying his first posthumous album, it resonated more—especially the tracks with more rapping and the more personal cuts about his mental state.
I’ve done redux reviews for Swimming and The Life of Pablo. I gave both of those eights in retrospect.
How do you respond to the criticism that reviewers are ‘just profiting off other people’s art,’ especially from those who don’t understand the work behind detailed criticism?
That’s not a criticism I see often. Everybody in the industry is profiting off people’s art. Artists profit off their art too, and in my opinion not to the degree they should, but the vast majority of the music industry is not musicians. It’s promoters, show bookers, agents, music writers, sound people, and the list goes on. All of these people are profiting off artists’ art.
I don’t see how doing that through reviews and criticism is any worse than what anybody else is doing. The whole industry is profiting off artists’ art. That’s just the industry.
And in my opinion, there are way worse ways to profit off other people’s art. You could literally be stealing it or using AI.
V. Image, Branding & Modern Artist Strategy
What are your thoughts on artists who rely heavily on image, aesthetics, or persona as their primary marketing tool rather than letting the music lead? Do you think image-first careers are sustainable long-term?
It’s hard to quantify, because it’s one of those things where you kind of know it when you see it. What does it really mean to lead with the image versus lead with the music? Is it just a campaign full of photos, costumes, and visuals that turns the artist into a model, using persona to sell the music itself?
In my opinion, as long as the music is good, you can market it however you want. Image-heavy careers can absolutely be sustainable if the music holds up. MF DOOM was extremely image-heavy—he was wearing a mask constantly and rapping about wearing a mask. Even when you weren’t looking at him, he was putting that image in your head. Daft Punk were trying to convince everyone they were robots, and they made some of the most powerful, generational electronic music ever.
The issue isn’t leading with image. The issue is when there’s clearly more effort going into the image than the music. If the music isn’t getting that same level of care, even the strongest image will eventually fail. Long-term, that’s not sustainable.
That said, not everyone is aiming for a long career anymore. Some people are chasing short-term hype and don’t care about longevity. It’s often easier to manufacture attention quickly than to actually plan and build a sustained career.
“As long as the music is good, you can market it however you want.”
Do you think critics sometimes unintentionally reward strong branding over strong music, or penalize artists who lack a visual identity even when the work itself is strong?
Yes, that can happen, but critics aren’t unique in that. The industry as a whole does this, especially now—with TikTok, vertical video, streaming culture, and fast-moving hype cycles.
The way you avoid that as a critic is by doing your due diligence and not rushing out a reaction. It’s easy to get caught up in hype if you haven’t taken the time to really think about why something works beyond good marketing.
There are albums that have great marketing and great music. There are also albums with great marketing and mediocre music. Being able to tell the difference takes time and experience. The more album cycles you cover and the more projects you really sit with, the faster you start to recognize what’s real and what’s just presentation.
“The more projects you really sit with, the faster you start to recognize what’s real and what’s just presentation.”
VI. Genre Evolution: Rap, Rage & EDM
You’ve been rating newer rage albums more favorably in recent years. Early on, you were more skeptical of the genre—what changed, and which artists helped unlock it for you?
What changed is that there have been more recent releases in the genre that I’ve either enjoyed outright or seen real promise in. Projects like the new Osamason record, Che’s Rest in Bass, and the 2Slimey project showed me that there’s still room for creativity and progression within the sound. Even Die Lit had clear precursors to rage aesthetics, and I enjoyed that album quite a bit.
Most of my negative reviews of rage haven’t been about the core sound or concept of the genre itself. They’ve been about album quality, vision, and imagination.
For example, Whole Lotta Red and Music have aggressive, edgy, rock-influenced aesthetics that I think are cool, and there are good tracks on both. But as full albums, they’re tedious and boring. They have no macro vision, no flow, and feel like a bunch of ideas thrown at the wall. Some of it sticks, but the albums themselves don’t work as complete listening experiences.
What’s actually keeping the genre interesting, in my opinion, is the younger artists outside of Carti’s label. Artists like Che, Osamason, and 2Slimey are pushing the sound further—making it noisier, more distorted, more abrasive, and more unhinged. That feels like the logical conclusion of rage, and that’s what made it click more for me.
What do you consider the best rage album you’ve heard so far, and what made it stand out beyond the aesthetic?
Probably Che’s Rest in Bass. The 2Slimey project and the newer Osamason releases are also strong, but Che’s stands out the most to me.
What makes it different is that it actually embodies an aggressive, rock-and-roll spirit that a lot of rage albums gesture toward but never fully capture. Che really locks into that energy in a way that feels authentic rather than just aesthetic-driven.
“It actually embodies an aggressive, rock-and-roll spirit.”
What is one new-generation rap album you consistently return to?
Che’s Rest in Bass. I also played the 2Slimey project a lot when I first heard it because it was genuinely shocking, but Che’s album is the one I return to the most.
“Che’s album is the one I return to the most.”
You recently reviewed 2Slimey, which many people didn’t expect. How did you come across that project, and what specifically drove you to review it?
I first stumbled across it through an Instagram reel. I thought it was a joke or a parody at first. Later, it was recommended to me in a New Music Friday stream, and I realized it was real and that he was serious.
What drove me to review it was how interesting the aesthetics and sound were. Texturally, there’s a lot of crossover with noise music and power electronics. There’s a level of distortion and abrasion on that record that reminded me of noise albums I’ve heard.
A lot of fans of new-generation rap probably don’t have much exposure to noise or power electronics, but if they’re enjoying 2Slimey, they might actually enjoy that world too. There’s a whole history of abrasive, blown-out noise music—especially Japanese noise—that isn’t that far removed from what 2Slimey is doing, aside from the auto-tuned vocals.
My broader point was just to encourage people to broaden their horizons. You don’t have to stop listening to rage, but if what excites you is how loud, distorted, and aggressive it is, there’s a whole underground history that might resonate with you.
Is there a genre, movement, or emerging sound right now that you’d be willing to bet everything on? What makes it feel special, and which artists represent it best?
I don’t know if there’s one sound I’d bet everything on, but I do think a lot of people—young and old—are moving through a period of nostalgia because the future feels bleak. Rage, in a way, is an embrace of nihilism in response to that.
The other side of that is artists who look backward to create something that feels safer, more personal, and more human. That’s why nostalgia for eras like 2016 is so strong right now.
That’s also why a band like Geese is resonating. Their music feels raw, organic, and disconnected from streaming-era optimization. Their songs don’t sound like they were designed for playlists or algorithms. They just feel like real rock songs made by people playing together.
I think artists who reject streaming fatigue, avoid hyper-optimized songcraft, and aim for something more natural and expressive have a real future. That kind of approach feels refreshing right now and worth believing in.
The EDM scene has been gaining momentum again, and you’ve supported artists like Jane Remover, Lucy Bedroque, and Ninajirachi. From the newer wave, who excites you most right now, and why?
Ninajirachi excites me the most. Jane Remover and Lucy Bedroque incorporate EDM aesthetics, but Ninajirachi is making straight-up EDM.
What makes her stand out is that she feels like a genuine DIY artist who cares about album craft and organic audience growth. Compared to mainstream EDM, which often feels impersonal and engineered for festivals or streams, her work feels personal, relatable, and intentional.
That personal touch matters more and more in an era where streaming has pushed artists toward shorter songs, bloated albums, and flattened creativity. Any artist pushing against those trends—prioritizing craft over optimization—is going to stand out moving forward.
“Prioritizing craft over optimization is going to stand out.”
Looking ahead to 2026, what do you think is the safest bet in EDM that will get praised all year, even if it’s creatively empty?
I honestly don’t know. I don’t feel confident pointing to a specific trend or artist and saying that’s guaranteed to dominate. Whatever ends up defining the later half of the 2020s hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.
VII. Hot Takes, Unpopular Opinions & Cultural Friction
In your opinion, who is the most overrated artist of the last five years, and what specifically do you think people are overvaluing about them?
Drake. He’s not an artist who emerged in the last five years, but his output over the last five years has been terrible, and a lot of people are pretending otherwise.
What’s being overvalued is everything—his creativity, his songwriting, the quality of the music. There’s been a drop-off across the board. The Kendrick Lamar battle and the way he’s behaved afterward has been embarrassing and cringe, and in a sane society it would be career-ending. Instead, he maintains a fan base that refuses to acknowledge it. That disconnect is what makes him the most overrated to me right now.
“That disconnect is what makes him the most overrated to me right now.”
Do you think hip-hop as a genre is declining right now? If so, is it a creative issue, an industry issue, or simply a transition period?
I think it’s mostly about mainstream tastes changing. Hip-hop hasn’t been “the same” over the last ten years, but what’s dominated the mainstream for the last five to ten years has become very samey, and people are getting bored.
The hit makers from the 2000s aren’t making waves anymore. The hit makers from the 2010s are fewer, less active, or less impactful. And a handful of artists can’t carry the commercial weight of an entire genre.
At the same time, younger artists aren’t interested in pop appeal. They’re focused on underground, loud, noisy, distorted, weird music. They’re not trying to be the next Drake. So you don’t have a new generation of hit makers stepping into that role.
On top of that, the industry itself is shifting away from broad hits and toward niche appeal. That’s why artists like NBA YoungBoy can put up massive numbers while plenty of people still claim they’ve never heard a song. The same thing applies to Taylor Swift—huge numbers driven by extremely dedicated fan bases.
The idea that hip-hop is “in decline” is bullshit. There’s tons of great hip-hop out there, especially underground. You just have to go listen to it. If you define a genre purely by its most mainstream artists, you’re doing it wrong. Even if every major hit maker disappeared tomorrow, hip-hop would still exist and thrive.
“If you define a genre purely by its most mainstream artists, you’re doing it wrong.”
What is an opinion about music you believe people only hold because they saw it performed online first, rather than actually feeling it themselves?
That Anthony Fantano never has a good take.
A lot of people arguing with me online are shadowboxing. They’re fighting with a version of me they’ve invented in their heads, not what I actually say. It’s sad.
“They’re fighting with a version of me they’ve invented in their heads.”
Is there a critically acclaimed album from the past few years that you think will age poorly once the hype and discourse fade?
I don’t think I can make that call right now. I can think of critically acclaimed albums from further back that aged terribly, but in the last few years, nothing stands out to me in that way yet.
Do you think the internet has lowered the standard for what gets labeled as ‘experimental’ or ‘boundary-pushing’?
I don’t think the internet lowered the standard. I think it introduced a lot of people to experimental ideas they wouldn’t have encountered otherwise.
A lot of these listeners are young and not well-versed in the history of experimental music, but everyone has to start somewhere. Some of them will grow out of it. Others will use it as a gateway and actually dig deeper into more obscure, left-field music.
Every music fan goes through a phase where they listen to cringe shit or things they later grow out of. That’s normal. What’s worse is being thirty-five years old and still listening to exactly the same music you liked at fifteen without your taste evolving at all. That’s genuinely sad.
“Everyone has to start somewhere.”
Is there a genre right now that you think is being propped up more by aesthetics and community than by the actual quality of the music?
Anything surrounding Taylor Swift.
She’s not a genre, even though some fans act like she is. But if you treat her newest era as its own genre, it’s being carried almost entirely by aesthetics and community rather than the quality of the music itself.
What is a take you’ve held onto for years that you know would still upset people if you said it today?
I wish I could be more into MIKE.
He seems like a genuine DIY underground artist with a good head on his shoulders. He’s made at least one project I really liked and gave a very positive review to. But most of his songs just don’t stick with me, and his rapping sounds like he just took a bite out of a peanut butter sandwich.
You don’t have to agree. Most people will probably hate that take. But that’s how I feel.
VIII. AI, Authenticity & the Future
Do you believe artists can use AI creatively without it becoming a shortcut? Where do you personally draw that line?
The AI I’m most concerned about is how it’s being used to launder plagiarism—stealing artists’ ideas, aesthetics, and even voices. You see people generating songs that sound like Future, Drake, or whoever, and complete hacks are profiting off other people’s creativity without putting anything meaningful in themselves.
The problem isn’t that AI is a shortcut. There are already plenty of shortcuts in music production. The issue is theft—training models without permission, cloning voices, and passing that off as original work. That’s the core problem.
Anything is possible in theory. One example I’ve pointed to before is Holly Herndon. She was working with AI long before the current craze, and she had authorship over the models she used. The AI was trained on music and ideas she created herself.
That level of involvement and effort makes it more permissible to me. It’s still creative labor, even if it’s not a process I personally find that interesting. It’s miles away from someone typing “make a song that sounds like Travis Scott singing a Weeknd song.”
There are ways to use AI creatively and legitimately, but that’s not what most people are doing. What we’re actually seeing is social media getting flooded with low-effort, derivative garbage. Whatever potential upsides exist are currently outweighed by the downsides.
IX. Backlash, Identity & Longevity
Hip-hop culture can be very selective about who is ‘allowed’ to critique it. As an Italian American, how do you respond to people who feel race invalidates your perspective when reviewing hip-hop?
That kind of gatekeeping happens everywhere, even within hip-hop itself. People’s opinions get dismissed for all kinds of reasons—race, gender, age, where they’re from, whether they’re perceived as an insider or outsider.
Music discourse is messy. People are always going to have reasons for deciding whether they see your perspective as valid. All you can do is focus on doing the work—researching, thinking critically, and presenting the strongest, most honest critique you can.
People who approach things with open-mindedness will judge your perspective on its merits. People who are closed-minded were never going to engage fairly anyway.
That said, skepticism toward white commentators in hip-hop is rooted in real history. There’s legitimate disappointment and harm tied to how white figures have historically impacted the culture. Conversations like the backlash around Adin Ross show why that skepticism exists, and it’s valid.
If someone decides they don’t want to take what I say seriously because of that, that’s their choice. It’s not something I can force. People are entitled to feel how they feel, just like I’m entitled to feel how I feel about music.
“Music discourse is messy.”
What is one major obstacle you’ve encountered in your career, and how did you overcome it?
A lack of perceived legitimacy.
Overcoming that is slow, gradual, and imperfect. Some people see legitimacy in the consistency of my work, the collaborations I’ve done, the outlets that have engaged with me, or projects like writing liner notes for The Velvet Underground & Nico reissues.
Others will never take me seriously because of a single take they hated, something I said years ago, or a disagreement they never let go of. That’s just reality.
If you mess up, you apologize and move on. Gaining and maintaining trust is the hardest part of this job, and you’re never going to have everyone’s trust. But that doesn’t mean you stop striving for it.
“Gaining and maintaining trust is the hardest part of this job.”
How do you cope with hate and backlash, especially when controversial takes go viral?
It depends on where the backlash is coming from.
If it’s coming from sane people offering a fair critique, I take that seriously. I talk to people who care about me and are honest with me. If something I said doesn’t read well, or genuinely deserves reconsideration, I’ll rethink it or address it directly.
If the backlash is coming from parasocial stans who are irrationally obsessed with a celebrity, there’s nothing you can do. Their entire reality is built around defending their favorite artist at all costs. You can’t reason with that, and you shouldn’t try.
The first step is figuring out which group the backlash is coming from. If it’s valid criticism, address it like an adult. If it’s not, you ignore it.
Despite years of criticism and polarizing opinions, your audience has remained loyal. What do you think makes your platform feel dependable and worth returning to?
Consistency.
X. Reflection & Legacy
What skills have you developed from listening to music at this volume and depth that the average listener likely hasn’t?
I don’t know if I’d call any of it a skill in the traditional sense. It’s not like being an electrician or something.
What it’s really done is make me very attuned to modern production aesthetics—how contemporary production techniques show up across new recordings. It’s made me more plugged into trends and very aware of recurring formulas in music, especially when it comes to song structure and how recordings are put together.
I’ve developed a strong sense of the patterns that make a lot of popular music tick. Recognizing those formulas, understanding why certain things work or don’t work, and being able to identify that quickly comes from listening with intent.
It’s not just about consuming music constantly. It’s about listening closely enough to break down what I’m hearing and explain why it sounds appealing or unappealing. That kind of focused, analytical listening is very different from just having music on in the background all day.
“It’s about listening closely enough to explain why something works or doesn’t.”
If you stopped reviewing albums tomorrow, what would you hope your contribution to music culture ultimately was?
That I influenced some people to listen to and get into music they ended up loving—and that those records became part of the soundtrack of their lives.