I recently read a First Floor newsletter on the influencerization of music journalism, and it gave me fuel for thoughts on Dungeon Synth, its community, and what am I doing with these journals. In the First Floor newsletter, Shawn Reynaldo laments the rise of
'a different kind of music journalism, one in which objectivity—or, more accurately, the pantomime of objectivity—is deprioritized (or discarded altogether) and journalists themselves are often part of the story.'
The article includes also a quote from Pitchfork's Mano Sundaresan:
'I think we’re in this age where we turn to individual tastemakers for validation when we’re curious about new music.'
Even if Reynaldo doesn't state it explicitly, from the article (and from similar ones, such as this one on Bandcamp's decision of opening a TikTok account) I got the impression that he hints at the fact that relying on 'tastemakers' or, basically, music influencers instead of properly trained journalists, is a loss for the fans.
I have a background in scientific journalism and work in an adjacent field, so I believe I can recognize the importance of 'the pantomime of objectivity' (that, in the sciences, is pretty much vital and also a point of reflection in the post-truth era and in light of a crisis in replicability of some medical, economic, social science experiments... but these issues take us too far off the beaten path). Taking into account my respect for seeking a sort of objective truth when it's meaningful to do so, when I started my Dungeon Synth journals I deliberately stayed clear from the format of review-based, objectivity-striving music journalism. Instead, I've chosen to offer a personal and non-technical perspective on the artists I love and on this weird little genre that gave me a home. I wasn't motivated by the aspiration of becoming a tastemaker or a Dungeon Synth influencer, but rather to give back to the artists first and foremost, and maybe also to the tiny DS community I'm a part of.
This goal would be unreasonable in mainstream music. I could put out one article a month on why I love some of the "big bands" music, and it would make literally zero difference in the world. Instead, when I write a journal on someone's music, I know for a fact that I've brought a little joy to a real person, one with whom I don't have a parasocial relationship but an actual dialogue, maybe even an ongoing friendship that gets built also through these acts of reciprocal kindness (not necessarily in the form of long articles, even a one-sentence Bandcamp review or a word of encouragement when discussing works in progress might help starting something). It's the beauty of a community small and vibrant enough that most artists are not only approachable, but enthusiastic to talk to fans (and fellow artists as well), probably because they are fans themselves in the first place.
In talking about Dungeon Synth, I also use a very strong word: 'love'. It's not a manner of speech, a catchy or quirky substitute for 'like'. When I say that e.g. Bruna is one of the artists I love, it is because I've openend my heart and let his music become a part of me.
This brings me to another topic related to the first one. As much as music journalists try to upheld a 'pantomime of objectivity', Rate Your Music's keenest reviewers are proud of using the full-spectrum of 1-to-5 stars in their ratings. Most of the time, 4.5 stars and above are reserved for life-changing music.
The more I listen to Dungeon Synth, the more I am convinced that one gets out of it no more than what is willing to put into it. If I was to judge Sylvan Passage with an "objective" meter (but how you can be objective with beauty, feelings, and all the other ineffable qualities of art?), would it deserve more than, say, two stars? After all, there are literal centuries of more deserving music on all metrics: composition, technique, production, who knows how many more. However, if I step down the high horse of "objectivity" and allow myself to be open and vulnerable, music such as Sylvan Passage (but I could write a very very long list and, in a sense, I am doing it with my journals) can really become a part of me: it brings me back to wonderful times in my life and it motivates me to find ways to keep the magic alive also in the present. In this sense, Bruna's music is indeed life-changing and, as such, it deserves five stars in the ratings of my heart (and I fully embrace the subjectivity of this judgment: different music can talk to different people, and it's great that we artists aren't all attempting carbon copies of the same handful of projects).
(Ithildin's take on Tolkien's legendarium is unique, and a work of infinite love. For without love such an immense project would grow stale over time, while instead each new volume of the herbarium is of higher and higher quality. I was blown away by it since I first listened to it).
I started writing these Dungeon Synth journals because I really really want Bruna, Lichdom, Willow Tea, all the other artists I wrote about, and all those who will eventually be featured, to know that their music touched my life and stays with me way beyond the one minute it takes to write a review. I share the journals publicly as a tribute to the Dungeon Synth community, especially the parts of it that welcomed me when I was starting my journey and that still support me daily. And, if anyone besides the artists finds joy in reading them, I'm happy not as a successful tastemaker, but as a fellow fan who's as willing to listen to friends' recommendations as to share the music that speaks to his heart.
ᚼᛁᛆᚱᛐᛆᚿᛋ, September 2024