Pitchfork: The Escorts Of Music Criticism.

Pitchfork reviews music the same way narcissistic parents name their kids: with zero soul and way too much performance. These dimwits don’t review music. They chase moments. They are like a thirst-trapping influencer refreshing her notifications. They’re the escorts of music criticism: pay them enough, and suddenly your project is “important,” “genre-pushing,” and “redefining the conversation.”

All Pitchfork wants are headlines, outrage, and retweets more than they want to stand for something within our culture. They’ll slap an 8.2 on an album that sounds like recycled demo tapes made by a 7-year-old just because suburban white kids on the internet pretend it’s the 'new wave'; meanwhile, albums with real craft, detail, ambition, and identity get tossed a dry 6.5.

Pitchfork writers are a bunch of coke-sniffing sellouts who don’t realize that they are actually side characters and guests in our culture. That’s the real joke. These morons try to sound like real writers and journalists just to hide the fact that they have no ear for music and our culture. This is how you know they fell off. A critic with a real ear stands on their taste and doesn’t compromise!

Pitchfork stands on trends and clout and doesn’t deserve a place within our culture. They pander and sell out. They don’t care about music. They care about attention.

Music deserves better than that. Our culture deserves better than that!