============================================================ nat.io // BLOG POST ============================================================ TITLE: Beyond the Label: What Makes Music Simply 'Good' DATE: March 15, 2025 AUTHOR: Nat Currier TAGS: Music, Culture, Music Theory, Digital Culture ------------------------------------------------------------ It's a warm summer night in 1963. The air is thick with cigarette smoke as Duke Ellington leans into a microphone during an interview, uttering what would become one of his most famous observations: "There are simply two kinds of music, good music and the other kind... the only yardstick by which the result should be judged is simply that of how it sounds. If it sounds good, it's successful; if it doesn't, it has failed." More than a century earlier, in 1856, Austrian poet Franz Grillparzer expressed a strikingly similar sentiment in verse: > The critics, meaning the new ones, > I compare to parrots, > Who have three or four words > That they repeat in every place. > Romantic, classical, and modern > Seems a judgment to these gentlemen, > And with proud courage they overlook > The real genres: bad and good. Two voices, separated by more than 100 years, both cutting through the noise of critical taxonomy to arrive at the same fundamental truth: when it comes to music, perhaps the only categories that truly matter are "good" and "bad." [ The Absurd Proliferation of Musical Micro-Genres ] ------------------------------------------------------------ Fast forward to today, and we find ourselves drowning in an ocean of increasingly absurd musical classifications. No longer content with broad categories like rock, jazz, or classical, we've splintered music into thousands of micro-genres, each more specific and often more ridiculous than the last. Consider this real genre I encountered recently: "Hyper-Virtual Neo-Esoteric Post-Digital Transhumanist Ambient-Acidic Drone Rock Opera." What does that even mean? More importantly, does such a label tell you anything meaningful about whether you'll actually enjoy listening to it? The digital age has accelerated this taxonomic frenzy to unprecedented levels. As noted in one analysis, Spotify identified 6,000 genres of music in 2016, up from just 1,482 a few years earlier. When a streaming service needs algorithms to track thousands of musical categories, we've clearly wandered far from Ellington's elegant binary. The micro-genre explosion has given us gems like "lowercase" (music focused on amplifying barely audible sounds like paper being handled), "gorenoise" (described colorfully as "the sounds your toilet makes after you let it borrow your Carcass tapes"), and my personal favorite absurdity, "sh*tpost modernism" – music characterized by intentionally bad production, nonsensical lyrics, and deliberately offensive content that's so puerile it somehow circles back to entertaining. [ The Birth of a Micro-Genre ] ------------------------------------------------------------ To understand how we arrived at this bewildering point, let's follow the typical lifecycle of a modern micro-genre. Picture this: Three friends in Brooklyn start experimenting with distorted ukulele samples layered over arrhythmic drum patterns and whispered ASMR-style vocals about cryptocurrency. They jokingly call it "CryptoWhisperCore" in their group chat. One of them posts a track on SoundCloud with the hashtag #CryptoWhisperCore. A music blogger with a deadline and a need for fresh content spots it, writes a think piece titled "Is CryptoWhisperCore the Sound of Our Financial Future?" A handful of similar artists, hungry for any kind of classification that might help them stand out in an oversaturated market, begin tagging their music with the same label. Within weeks, a Discord server forms. A few months later, CryptoWhisperCore has its own subreddit, Spotify playlist, and aesthetic – perhaps involving green-tinted photos of vintage calculators and plants. The micro-genre exists – not because the music necessarily shares profound artistic DNA, but because of a taxonomy-obsessed music ecosystem that rewards novelty over substance. As Vice noted in an analysis of micro-genres: "At the turn of the decade, kids whipped themselves into a frenzy by throwing together a few signifiers and plastering the results across a new constellation of social platforms." A handful of artists would agree on aesthetic principles, coin a term, create some content, and suddenly a new "scene" would exist—often before the music itself had fully developed a distinctive sound. [ Who Do These Micro-Genres Actually Serve? ] ------------------------------------------------------------ These absurdly specific classifications aren't without purpose. They serve specific stakeholders in the music ecosystem: For digital native communities, micro-genres provide a sense of belonging and identity in an increasingly fragmented cultural landscape. Young listeners who've grown up online can find their tribe through these hyper-specific categories. For marketing strategists, micro-genres are valuable tools for targeting specific audiences. The advice to "Target bands that are slightly larger than you in your micro genre" reveals how these classifications function as strategic frameworks for promotion. For music journalists and critics, micro-genres provide fresh angles and distinctive frameworks. The proliferation of categories creates opportunities for critical analysis and think pieces, giving writers new vocabularies for describing musical evolution. For artists seeking differentiation in an oversaturated market, associating with or creating a distinctive category offers a way to stand out. But in serving all these practical functions, have we lost sight of music's primary purpose – to move us, to sound good to our ears? [ The Cost of Category Obsession ] ------------------------------------------------------------ This taxonomic approach to music comes with significant costs. The rapid turnover of micro-genres has created increasingly short attention spans among listeners. As one critic noted, "the hype cycles sped up faster and faster, until the constant turn-over began to feel kind of grotesque. Eventually, the system burnt out, like an overclocked washing machine ripping itself apart." When genres rise and fall within months or even weeks, listeners develop only superficial connections to the music before moving on to the next trend. The focus on categorization often overshadows the music itself. When artists and listeners become preoccupied with which micro-genre a piece belongs to, the actual quality of the music may become secondary. This approach can lead to formulaic production that aims to satisfy genre conventions rather than create compelling art. Most micro-genres have extremely short lifespans, emerging and disappearing before developing real depth. This pattern of rapid turnover promotes shallow engagement rather than the deep appreciation that develops when musical traditions have time to mature and evolve organically. The constant pressure to innovate and categorize can lead artists to focus on novelty over substance. When success depends on creating or fitting into the latest micro-genre, musicians may prioritize distinctive gimmicks over meaningful artistic development. [ Returning to "Good" and "Bad" ] ------------------------------------------------------------ So what happens if we take Ellington and Grillparzer at their word? What if we momentarily set aside our taxonomic obsession and consider music solely through the prism of "good" and "bad"? Immediately, we face the question: what makes music "good"? Is it technical proficiency? Emotional resonance? Cultural significance? Innovation? Accessibility? Authenticity? The answer, I believe, is deeply personal yet paradoxically universal. Music that moves us – that makes us feel something genuine – transcends genre classifications. It speaks to something fundamental in the human experience. Consider these examples that defy easy categorization yet undeniably succeed at being "good": **Burundi Drumming**: Recordings of traditional Burundi drummers feature complex polyrhythms performed by large ensembles. This music follows none of Western music theory's rules, yet its power is undeniable. The visceral, driving rhythms connect with listeners on a primal level that needs no micro-genre label to explain its appeal. **Glenn Gould's 1955 Recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations**: Is this classical music? Technically, yes. But Gould's idiosyncratic interpretation – his humming, his unorthodox tempos, his reimagining of Bach's intentions – creates something that transcends the classical label. It's simply good music, regardless of how you categorize it. **Tom Waits' "Rain Dogs"**: Is it blues? Folk? Experimental? Avant-garde? The album incorporates elements of all these and more, but trying to classify it misses the point. Waits created a sonic world entirely his own, one that succeeds purely on its own terms. **Björk's "Vespertine"**: Electronic? Avant-pop? Ambient? Experimental? The Icelandic artist's 2001 masterpiece incorporates intimate microbeats, harps, music boxes, and choirs into a deeply personal statement that defies categorization yet succeeds magnificently on its own terms. What these diverse examples share is authenticity and artistic vision. They sound good not because they adhere to genre conventions but because they express something genuine. Their success lies not in fitting into a predefined category but in creating something that resonates with listeners on a deep, often emotional level. [ The Death and Rebirth of Musical Appreciation ] ------------------------------------------------------------ Perhaps it's time to consider a radical idea: what if we collectively agreed to a temporary moratorium on music genre labels? What if, for just a month, music platforms removed all genre tags, and critics were forbidden from using genre terminology? Would we listen differently? Would we judge music more on its intrinsic qualities rather than how well it fulfills the expectations of its category? I suspect we'd rediscover what Ellington and Grillparzer knew all along: that music either moves us or it doesn't, and all the taxonomic gymnastics in the world can't change that fundamental reality. This isn't to suggest that genre terminology has no value. Categories help us find similar music we might enjoy and provide important context for appreciating different musical traditions. Understanding the conventions of jazz helps listeners appreciate the brilliance of improvisational departures; knowing the history of hip-hop enriches our experience of contemporary innovations in the form. But when categorization becomes an end in itself – when we value novelty and specificity over quality and resonance – we've lost the plot. When artists focus more on fitting into (or creating) micro-genres than on making music that sounds good, we all lose. [ Finding Your Way Back to "Good" ] ------------------------------------------------------------ How then, as listeners navigating the overwhelming modern musical landscape, do we focus on finding simply "good" music? 1. **Trust your ears, not labels**: If a piece of music moves you, it doesn't matter what obscure micro-genre it belongs to. Your emotional and physical response to music is more reliable than any taxonomy. 2. **Seek depth over breadth**: Rather than skimming across dozens of micro-genres, consider diving deeply into music that genuinely resonates with you, regardless of classification. 3. **Value longevity**: Ask yourself, "Will I want to listen to this a year from now?" Music that stands the test of even a little time often has qualities that transcend momentary trends. 4. **Appreciate authenticity**: Artists creating from a place of genuine expression, rather than trying to fit into or create a marketable category, often produce the most resonant work. 5. **Embrace mystery**: Sometimes the most affecting music is that which defies easy categorization. The inability to neatly label something can be a sign of its uniqueness. [ Where do we go from here? ] ------------------------------------------------------------ The proliferation of ridiculous micro-genres represents both the creative potential and the absurd extremes of our digital music ecosystem. While these hyper-specific classifications can foster communities and push creative boundaries, they risk prioritizing novelty over substance and fragmentation over shared experience. As Duke Ellington wisely observed nearly 60 years ago, perhaps there are indeed just two kinds of music: good music and the other kind. The only yardstick by which it should be judged is simply how it sounds. In a world obsessed with labels, categories, and increasingly absurd taxonomies, there's something refreshingly honest about this approach. When you strip away all the jargon, all the micro-genres, all the critical frameworks, you're left with the most fundamental question: Does this music move me? If it does, then no matter what bizarre string of adjectives someone uses to classify it, you've found good music. And in the end, that's all that really matters. So the next time someone tries to tell you about their favorite "Hyper-Virtual Neo-Esoteric Post-Digital Transhumanist Ambient-Acidic Drone Rock Opera" artist, feel free to ask them a simpler question: **"But does it sound good?"** And that, ultimately, is the only question that counts.