We're still trying to prove to our parents – and ourselves – that we're real professionals doing important things with our lives.
Noisey isn't a music blog. I mean, we are, but we're not. We're not going to create a multimillion-dollar marketing campaign surrounding the announcement of a Grimes GIF residency. We're not going to bring you an in-depth exclusive with Thom Yorke on how brewing kombucha is a lot like writing concept albums. Our capslock album reviews are given ratings in terms of "dutch guts," for fuck's sake. We do things differently around here.
As Associate Editor of Noisey, I spend all day everyday hooked up to Noisey's Twitter @replies like a steady IV drip of pithy criticism and unsolicited artist spam. Sure, it's probably caused irreparable damage to my mental health, but it's the price I pay for guest list spots to shows and free Red Bulls from the VICE reception fridge (yes, Mom, I get health care too). I really don't care too much about the snark and the snarls—"Haters gonna hate" might as well have been a clause in my employment contract. But what's really confounding for me to see is the amount of people who, for lack of a better phrase, just don't "get it." These are the people who respond to Luke Winkie's undoubtedly absurd comparison of Ty Segall and Skrillex by proclaiming that there is "no hope for the future." These are the people whose gut reaction to a post about a nine-year-old rapper named "Lil Poopy" is "This shit is a disgrace to hip hop and the parents of this kid need to be choked." The people who continue to tirelessly threaten Ben Shapiro's life for an obviously-tongue-in-cheek takedown of fucking Phish. To these people, and the rest of the music writing community, I have one question: Why so serious?
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