Profitable

Along with being powerful, influential, and sustainable, Pitchfork is also becoming profitable. The organization claims to be an independent source of music news. But even though they are disconnected from a larger corporation, they are not some non-profit organization committing selfless acts for the benefit of the international music community. "The new danger is that independent journalism may be dissolved in the solvent of commercial communication and synergistic self-promotion," say Kovach and Rosenstiel (27).

Yes, Pitchfork is an independent company, but they inextricably tie themselves in to the success of the bands that they cover. One prime example of this is their now-annual Pitchfork Music Festival (henceforth referred to as PMF) each July in Chicago's Union Park. The line-up is constructed mostly of bands that make Pitchfork's "Best New Music" section. They rope in the bands they've hyped the most for a weekend of concerts sponsored by the foremost beneficiary of the event: Pitchfork Media. They create a fantasy line-up, but only have to commit to that once-a-year event.

Pitchfork produces PMF just like AEG Live does Coachella, C3 does Lollapalooza, and Superfly does Bonnaroo. These festivals exist to celebrate the music -- but also because people are willing to buy tickets, and because the production team can make some cash. On the other hand, if ticket sales aren't successful enough, a festival stops happening. Tickets for Saturday and Sunday at PMF 2008 went for $50, as opposed to the 2006 (inaugural) price of $35. As of the start of the festival, both Saturday and Sunday had completely sold out, leaving open only single day passes for Friday (28).

Pitchfork also partnered up with UK promoters All Tomorrow's Parties for the Chicago festival, letting a few bands play an entire album the Friday night of the weekend. To attend all three days costs $65, but these tickets disappeared by May 16 (29). Additionally, the two collaborate for ATP vs. Pitchfork, which took place this year from May 9--11 in England's southern countryside (30). Tickets for that three-day festival started at £140 (approx. $280 USD, including lodging). That festival sold out by March 27 (31).

The point here is not that they're putting on a concert, or even that they're inviting bands whose albums were given rave reviews. The point is that Pitchfork is making money off of these concerts. Therefore, anything they write on their web site about the bands appearing at these festivals is not journalism -- it is public relations. They are engaging in band promotion, but only when it serves their own cause. However, what promotion they do eliminates any chance that they could ever be considered ethical journalists.

Kiera Butler visited Pitchfork's office in 2006 for Columbia Journalism Review to get a sense of just how the music media mogul operates on a day-to-day basis (32). She noted that their office space is humble and not very partitioned. She saw this as key to how the staff makes up its mind about a new album. They chat it up, develop a collective opinion, and then one staffer writes the review. She didn't reveal if the Pitchfork rating is actually an average of scores from multiple staff members, but it seems unlikely.

The lack of rigidity in the process might appear to be beneficial, since it would steer them from any stylistic ruts and promote a cohesive decision. But what happens when a staffer adamantly disagrees with his or her coworkers? Are they shunned until the next round of ratings? Butler makes it clear that there were "lively discussions" ensuing during her visits. Isn't that the equivalent of a raise-your-hand voting system? What's to stop one from being swayed by the person to his or her left, who either is an object of admiration, the source of paychecks, or both?

What's more, the "collective opinion" hangs around like a skin infection all over the web site. Highly rated bands are praised at every mention, accompanied by quick a pat on their own back for previous acclaim. But terms like "jam band" are treated like lepers, and bands grouped under that idiom are bashed when they appear at music festivals along with hyped bands. This reinforces their editorial voice, like a mantra slowly echoing in the minds of readers.

Dangerous

Although the hipsters obeying Pitchfork's creed are deluded to think otherwise, they are as indoctrinated and weak-minded as the slavish fans of radio pop and American Idol. The best one-liner to address this so far appeared in The Onion's satirical jab, when they called Pitchfork's work "overwrought, masturbatory posturing intended to make insecure hipsters feel as if they're part of some imagined elite beau monde" (33). Let's explore that metaphor to the fullest potential. Pitchfork's entire operation is built upon masturbatory actions. One can practically hear them stroking just by reading a review.

The latest review of the Decemberists is a perfect example of this. Colin Meloy's eclectic troupe only took about four years and as many albums to reach widespread fame, but Pitchfork endorsed them all along. Castaways and Cutouts got an 8.1, Her Majesty's The Decemberists got an 8.2, and Picaresque got an 8.3 (34). They even adored The Crane Wife, the band's major-label debut (for the tyrannical overlords at Capitol, no less) and arguably their dullest work yet. The album did, however, reach the #35 spot on the U.S. Billboard charts (35). If Pitchfork had bashed the band once they became radio stars, the website would have sacrificed the opportunity to Capitol-ize on the good fortune. Giving that album an 8.4 was the equivalent of blowing a load in the face of a quarter of a million people worldwide. Let's just read between the lines toward the end of Stephen M. Deusner's review of The Crane Wife (with my additions for emphasis in brackets) (36).

"'The Crane Wife 1 and 2' comprise a medley towards the album's end," [stroke stroke] "starting slow and soft but gradually reaching crescendo in an unfurling finale," [stroke stroke stroke] "with Meloy breaking the word 'heart' into multiple syllables over an unraveling drum beat." [stroke stroke stroke stroke] "Restrained yet resonant, the song's (and album's) climax is a remarkable moment." Rating: [ohhhhh oh oh ooohhhhh] 8.4.

Does that come with a rag?

Now Pitchfork has even begun mocking bands. In February 2008, British Sea Power's album Do You Like Rock Music? received the novel rating "U.2" (37). Reviewer Stephen Deusner implied that the band sounded more like the uncool U2 of recent years, as opposed to the trendy U2 of the 1980s. As a result, and thanks to the convenient two-character nature of U2's name, Deusner (or maybe the whole staff -- one can never be sure) took that criticism way beyond the sphere of expectations and abandoned a numbered rating. They obviously found the result amusing, but such ridicule might have eliminated the band's chance of being heard anywhere -- even by those not tainted by the articles.

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