Coming across an article in the New Yorker called “How music criticism lost its edge” (behind paywall), it got me thinking: Has criticism gone shallow in its quest for safety? And what does that mean for cultural honesty?

What passes for “criticism” right now often feels like risk-managed copywriting wrapped in pseudo-thoughtful language. It’s less about holding art, ideas, or culture accountable, and more about smoothing the way for consumption. Everyone’s hedging, because a sharp opinion can cost clicks, access, or sponsorship. So, instead of real critique, we get carefully branded enthusiasm or faintly apologetic dismissals.

But, when something gets panned, the backlash often has the opposite effect: curiosity spikes. People want to see if it’s really that bad—which shows that honest negative reviews can actually spark more engagement than the neutered middle-ground we keep getting.

The scarier part is that if cultural honesty depends on critics telling the truth about what they encounter—what they actually think and feel—then we’re living in a hall of mirrors. Content refers back to content, “takes” react to other takes, and the original object under review almost disappears. At that point, criticism stops being the fire under culture and becomes part of the promotional machine.

But, rather than simply lament the weakness of current criticism, I want to be sketching a way forward. We need a critical community that values discernment as much as denunciation more than ever! How do we combat this weakening of the critical literary community into being too apologetic in fear of backlash? Well, the antidote isn’t nostalgia for the “good old days” of brutal reviews. Instead, we need a new culture of courage. 

First off, we need the reclaiming of stakes. Criticism matters only if there’s something at risk: reputation, money, ideas, even friendships. Right now, too much criticism is written to avoid risk. To combat that, critics must be willing to burn bridges, to lose access, or to maybe never get that publisher’s advance or studio invite. Still, courage is contagious; if a few voices show it, others might remember how to step forward and speak their minds honestly.

Critics also need to separate from PR pipelines. The critic-as-marketer problem starts because many writers still rely on the same networks that artists, studios, and publishers control. True independence means building platforms outside those pipelines—personal sites, Patreon-backed newsletters, or community journals where critique isn’t beholden to advertisers. Basically, we need more critics who don’t need to stay nice to stay employed.

We also need critics to sharpen their language again. So much “criticism” right now is flattened into market-safe blurbs: “compelling,” “thought-provoking,” or “problematic.” It’s bloodless semantics. To fight back, critics should make their writing itself worth reading—clever, vicious when needed, but always incisive. A sentence with fangs can bite deeper than a page of polite hedging.

We also need to re-center the work of criticism. Instead of endlessly chasing meta-discourse—reacting to reactions of reactions—criticism has to point back to the art itself. What does it do? How does it fail? What does it say about us? Critics should drag works out of the marketing bubble and into the public square, where they can be fought over honestly. 

Some independents try to be anti-establishment, but too often it slides into politics over art—which isn’t healthy, either. Rather than play devil’s advocate, they’re often attacking “powers-that-be” rather than judging the art itself. While that strategy might get views and a lot of hot comment sections, I don’t think this brand of criticism is healthy, either.

But perhaps the boldest move of all is valuing the negative space. This means not reviewing something at all. Starving bad or empty work of attention can be as powerful as tearing it apart. The critical act then becomes about discernment: what deserves to be part of the conversation, and what should wither in silence. 

Silence, or strategic omission, can speak louder than any “meh, it’s fine” review. If critics stop feeding the algorithm with polite filler and instead curate their attention like a scarce resource, audiences would start to notice what’s missing from the conversation. That absence can sting more than a bad review.

Call it gatekeeping if you want, but in an age where everything gets its fifteen minutes, silence might be the only real form of critique left. Otherwise, any content, no matter how awful it is, will get its time in the spotlight just because people are starved for ideas to keep plugging into the endless content mill.

If the community feels weak now, I don’t think it’s permanent. More critics just need to remember that their job isn’t to keep culture comfy; it’s to keep it awake. Critics need to take more risks, but if they’re unwilling, then it’s time for them to step aside for those who will.