Does Jazz Journalism Still Matter? A Look at Its Past, Present, and Uncertain Future

For much of jazz history, journalists and critics shaped how the music was understood, celebrated, and, at times, dismissed. From the swing era to the avant-garde movements of the 1960s, they defined the narrative of jazz—for better or worse. But that power dynamic has shifted. In an era where musicians engage directly with audiences through social media and streaming platforms, one has to ask: does jazz journalism still serve a purpose?

Criticism has always been a double-edged sword. On one side, it has elevated artists and provided historical context. Writers like Nat Hentoff and Leonard Feather were instrumental in documenting and championing bebop when mainstream audiences still clung to swing. Publications like DownBeat gave space to discussions of race, culture, and jazz’s legitimacy as an art form.

But jazz journalism has also been a gatekeeper, often shaping public perception in ways that didn’t align with musicians themselves. Critics dismissed John Coltrane’s later work as “anti-jazz.” They failed to fully acknowledge the contributions of Black musicians in early jazz history. They drew rigid genre lines that sometimes alienated innovators. Nowadays, it may be just the opposite. They're probably to quick hail a developing musician still finding their way, as the future of the music. Which is dark on many levels. 

Now, the intermediary role of the critic is vanishing. Musicians don’t need journalists to tell their stories. More importantly, neither do fans. Social media allows for direct engagement, and platforms like Bandcamp, Facebook, and YouTube let listeners discover music without waiting for a magazine’s approval. Personally, I get more engagement from Instagram than I ever would from a jazz publication. I can share ideas, get immediate feedback, and—best of all—not spend loads of cash on a publicist.

So, who is jazz journalism really serving now? Are they properly informing the public? Or just talking among themselves? With shrinking readerships, struggling legacy publications, and younger audiences consuming music differently, one has to wonder whether traditional jazz journalism has a future at all.

That said, there’s still value in informed, thoughtful writing about jazz. Not every musician has the time or skill to articulate their artistic vision through the written word. And while there’s novelty in a musician penning their own memoir or book of poetry, the literary quality often falls short. Of course, a poorly written book filled with truth and wisdom is still better than a well-written book that’s biased and misinformed. Musicians have an insight that resonates with other musicians—and with fans. I've self-published a couple of books of personal essays that most jazz writers would not consider to be noteworthy writing. But I guess it doesn't have to be, because my writing resonates with musicians. In fact, I doubt a single DownBeat writer has written anything as compelling as the pieces I’ve published on Soprano Sax Talk. And I say this humbly speaking. I'm free to be free in a way that they're not.

But if jazz journalism is to survive, it must evolve. Writers don’t all need to take piano lessons, but they do need to get out and hear the music in the trenches. They'll go to the Village Vanguard, or some show at the Winter Jazz Festival. But you won't see these folks at iBeam, Record Shop, P.I:T., Freddy's Backroom, or the Downtown Music Gallery, where new sounds, and players are emerging. Instead, they cling to establishment figures, recycling the same safe names. Meanwhile, the possible innovators of tomorrow go unnoticed while they continue to write yet another piece on A Love Supreme or Kind of Blue. It’s not that those records aren’t important, but the constant recycling of the same stories signals a lack of engagement with what’s happening now.

And then there’s the issue of forced narratives—where we’re told someone is “the future of jazz” based on little more than checked boxes--age, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation. Take your pick. The industry’s push for representation sometimes prioritizes optics over substance, and calling that out isn’t about dismissing diversity—it’s about demanding that all artists, regardless of identity, be judged on the strength of their music, not their demographic profile. If jazz writers want to stay relevant, they should take risks, embrace unpredictability, and let the music—not industry politics—lead the conversation.

I’m not speaking from the sidelines here. I’m writing from the trenches—as a musician, as someone who has been on the receiving end of criticism, and as someone actively shaping the conversation through my blog. I know firsthand what’s being ignored, what’s being misunderstood, and what narratives are being pushed. The public no longer needs jazz journalists as intermediaries. So if they want to matter, they’d better start proving why they should.

At this point, what do they have to lose?