The Pitchfork Effect: Still Revered, Still Resented

Why Indie Band Tennis clapped back — and why music criticism still matters

Screenshot of Tennis’s Instagram post responding to Pitchfork’s review of their latest album

On Friday, May 2nd, Indie band Tennis posted a review of Pitchfork's review of their latest album. Tennis’s response to Pitchfork is about as positive as Pitchfork’s review was of their album, and it’s making waves in the music community.

The Review in Question

Pitchfork’s review of Face Down in the Garden wasn’t a takedown — it was a slow exhale. The reviewer described Tennis’s final album as “sumptuously produced” and “polished to a mirror sheen,” but ultimately concluded the band was “coasting on vibe.” That line lit the match.

Tennis’s response, shared via Instagram, wasn’t just emotional; it was surgical. They called out Pitchfork’s long-standing tendency to flatten their work into a style-over-substance narrative. “What frustrates me is not the low score,” they wrote. “It’s that the review contains almost no analysis of the actual music.” In other words, if you’re going to hate it, at least be able to speak to what’s not working objectively. But that’s not easy if people who don’t know how to make music critique the work of people who do.

The Historical Weight of Pitchfork

For those who’ve been orbiting indie music for the past two decades, Pitchfork has been more than a website — it’s been a weather system. In its heyday, a glowing 8.7 could skyrocket an unknown band into national tours, while a harsh 3.4 could stall momentum overnight.

For some, this wasn’t just taste-making — it was gatekeeping. Artists like Arcade Fire (Funeral), Bon Iver (For Emma), and Wilco (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) were anointed by the Pitchfork elite. Meanwhile, careers were kneecapped by flippant pans like the infamous 0.0 review of Travis Morrison’s Travistan, which Pitchfork later admitted may have gone too far.

And yet, despite criticism of its authority, Pitchfork has stayed culturally sticky. Its rating system became a meme. A 7.8 became an inside joke. Even its visual style influenced how people thought music journalism should “look.”

“What many people never quite got about Pitchfork was that the ratings were also a performance. No individual score was particularly meaningful. The point was simply that new music was worth taking seriously — so much so that you needed the finer granularity of an extra decimal point.” - Former Pitchfork writer and music industry vet, Nick Sylvester

Traditionally, a score of 8.0 + warrants the coveted Best New Music title, but some albums unexplainedly reach the mark…but somehow still miss it

The Modern Landscape: Still A Tastemaker?

The internet has neutralized Pitchfork’s power. Music fans have TikTok trends, hyper-personalized Spotify feeds, and entire Discord servers dedicated to niche subgenres. So why does Pitchfork still matter?

Because cultural capital lingers.

Pitchfork still represents something: legitimacy, even if that legitimacy has shifted. To some artists, a decent Pitchfork score still means your music has been filtered through a critical lens that matters. To some fans, it means the album is worth talking about, even if it’s just to argue with the reviewer.

And to a band like Tennis, who built their career in that ecosystem, Pitchfork’s opinion doesn’t just land, it weighs — whether it’s good or bad. And it’s not just Tennis. Even revered producer Flying Lotus posted a positive Pitchfork score for his most recent EP. Up-and-coming artist Nourished By Time did the same.

The Emotional Toll on Artists

Artists may say they don’t care. Then Pitchfork drops a 6.3, and suddenly everyone cares again.

Tennis’s frustration isn’t just about one review. It’s about a pattern. The feeling of being misrepresented over and over by a publication that frames you as “vibey,” as if good taste and emotional resonance can’t coexist with critical depth.

This tension is baked into the artist-critic relationship. But in a post-Instagram, post-Substack world, artists (and fans) now have platforms to clap back. And that’s what makes Tennis’s response so potent — it flips the power dynamic. Instead of letting the review shape the narrative, they took control of the conversation.

So What’s the Future of Music Journalism?

This moment raises a bigger question: what kind of music journalism still matters?

Is it scores? Is it snark? Or is it context — the stuff that makes you understand why an album feels the way it does?

Maybe Pitchfork isn’t dead. Maybe it’s just a reminder that people still want music writing to matter — but they’re hungry for criticism that feels generous, informed, and curious instead of coldly clever.

We don’t need reviews that make us feel small. We need ones that make us feel more connected. To the music. To the moment. To each other.

And maybe that’s what Tennis is really asking for — not a better score, but a better conversation.

Former Pitchfork writer Nick Sylvester wrote in 2024, “I'm not so naive to believe that Substack is the answer. It was a historical anomaly that any of us were paid to run fanzines (i.e., the original spirit of Pitchfork) in the first place. But right now, Substack more and more closely resembles the constellation of DIY blogs and websites that made new music so exciting to me 20 years ago. The goal was not to land media jobs. We wrote because finding our people and creating meaning around the things we love is a basic human impulse.”

Thanks for reading Musically Proper.

If this piece resonated with you — whether you’re a fan, an artist, or someone who’s ever felt seen (or unseen) by a review — I’d love to hear your take. Hit reply, leave a comment, or share it with someone who still checks Pitchfork scores before hitting play.

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