July 2025: The Sound of Peace in a Noisy World
At Rock the Joint Magazine, we sometimes describe ourselves as a music magazine run by Christians—it means we strive to uphold a quiet ethic: professionalism, compassion, and a commitment to peace in how we work, write, and interact with the world. We try to listen as much as we speak.
This month, as our Shia Muslim neighbours enter the mourning period of Muharram, commemorating the death of Husayn ibn Ali—grandson of the Prophet Muhammad—at Karbala, we simply say: peace be upon you in your time of reflection.
But peace is a rare sound in today’s world. Turn on the news, and it’s all noise—anger, conflict, controversy. Even a music festival like Glastonbury can’t escape the storm. Once a symbol of free expression and togetherness, it now finds itself at the centre of debates, headlines, and carefully curated outrage.
Clickbait culture thrives on controversy. The old saying, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity”, is truer than ever. A forgettable rap duo—whose name escapes me—go viral not for their music but for shouting violent nonsense on stage. The performance? Mediocre. But the outrage? Profitable. Streams go up, algorithms reward the chaos, and the noise gets louder.
Contrast that with the courage of Iranian rapper Toomaj Salehi, who was imprisoned and sentenced to death for simply raising his voice in protest against oppression. He was recently released, thankfully. His story reminds us how lucky we are to live in a place where freedom of speech includes the freedom to be wise.
So no, I wouldn’t prosecute the foolish. But I also wouldn’t amplify them. Not every microphone deserves an audience.
Music at its best is not about ego, shock, or hate. It’s about connection. I think of the Quakers—gentle pacifists in the Christian tradition. I think of the Sufis, and the transcendent voice of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who bridged cultures through the devotional art of Qawwali. I think of those who sing not to divide but to heal.
Let this month’s editorial be a call: don’t use your platform to spread darkness. Don’t reward hate with attention. Listen instead to voices that call us to peace—Jesus, Husayn, the Sufi poets and prophets of love.
The world is on edge. Music can be a balm, a bridge, a blessing. Let’s use it wisely.
Mark C. Chambers
June
In a recent piece for NME, journalist Andrew Trendell laid out a stark reality for the UK music scene: we are hurtling toward what’s being described as the “complete collapse” of touring culture. One venue closes every fortnight. Entire regions are left without live music. For up-and-coming artists, the financial burden of existing—let alone performing—can seem insurmountable. It’s a bleak but accurate picture, and one that should concern us all.
What we’re witnessing is the slow transformation of the production of music from a communal culture into a middle-class pursuit (listening to it seems to have become free, also not helpful for artists). The music industry has always had gatekeepers, but the gates feel heavier now, and the entry fees higher. Music lessons in schools are increasingly a privilege for those who can afford them. Instrument hire, tuition, even the time and space to practise—all are becoming luxuries. We risk a future where creativity becomes synonymous with privilege, where stage access belongs to the few who can afford it.
Yet, perhaps this shift isn’t entirely new. When John Lennon penned “Working Class Hero,” he was critiquing the machinery of conformity, yet he himself had a relatively comfortable upbringing. Only Ringo, among the Beatles, could truly claim working-class roots. Similarly, the Rolling Stones may have sung the blues, but Jagger and Brian Jones came from distinctly middle-class homes. Music has often been shaped by those with access, education, and a room of their own.
But there’s still a key difference now: back then, there was a ladder up. Now, that ladder is splintering at the bottom.
Smaller venues—the kind that foster scenes, nurture talent, and offer artists their first taste of a real stage—are vanishing. Places like The Cluny in Newcastle aren’t just “nice to have.” They are essential. These venues are the lifeblood of British music culture. They are where bands are born, where risk is allowed, where sound is forged before it becomes formula. Without them, music loses its grassroots. It loses its rawness. It loses us.
So where do we go from here?
We start by protecting the venues we still have. We fight for music education in state schools, not as an enrichment activity but as a birthright. We champion policies that support young musicians—subsidised travel, grants for lessons, funding for community-led festivals. And we remember that live music is more than entertainment; it’s a public good. It’s where identity, community, and rebellion live.
Music should never be a closed shop. The next great band might be rehearsing in a garage—or they might not even have one. If we want a future where all voices can be heard, we need to keep the doors open, the lights on, and the amps loud—no matter where you’re from.
And this months video choice from me comes from a cover band I found and really like! Check out First to Eleven below.
By Benny (the Ball) Benson
May
A recent piece in The Spectator has been making the rounds, arguing—somewhat cynically—that artists should just “play the hits” and spare us the pain of new material (By Julie Burchill, called “Why Can’t Pop Stars just stick to their hits?”). It’s a sentiment we’ve heard before, and one that the likes of Kiss (of whom I am a big fan, and I went to many live shows) essentially enshrined in their twilight years. They were open about it too: fans didn’t want new songs, so why bother? Stick to the classics, keep the crowd happy, rinse, repeat.
But as someone who lives and breathes music—not just as entertainment, but as a living, evolving artform—this attitude feels not just reductive, but actively harmful to creativity.
Music is not a museum piece. It isn’t there to be preserved in amber and trotted out for nostalgia tours. It’s supposed to breathe, mutate, surprise. Artists grow. Their experiences deepen, their views shift, their skills expand. To demand that they stay locked in the version of themselves that sold the most records 20 or 30 years ago is like telling a painter they can only ever repaint their first exhibition.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with loving the classics. We all have those songs that hit the memory banks just right, that take us back to key moments in our lives. For me, it’s Lucretia McNeill or Michelle Gayle. The moment either voice hits the air, I’m no longer in this version of my life — I’m with a girl I loved. I don’t even know if she still listens to those songs. But I do hear them sometimes. And in that space between the chorus and the bridge, she’s back, in a better time and place. But to attend a gig hoping to freeze time and relive only the past is to miss the point of what a live show should be: a connection between artist and audience now, in the moment, on a shared journey.
Some of the most exciting tours in recent years have come from artists willing to blend the old with the new—who trust that their audience is capable of evolving with them. Springsteen never shied away from new albums, even when they didn’t hit the commercial highs of Born in the U.S.A. The Cure continue to pepper new material into their sets. Pearl Jam regularly shake up their tracklist and give space to recent releases. And there’s a reason their fans keep coming back—it’s not just for nostalgia, it’s for relevance.
If we want music to stay meaningful, we have to stop treating it like a greatest hits jukebox. New material is where risk lives, where vulnerability enters, where truth emerges. Some of it might miss. Some of it might even fall flat. But without that willingness to try, we’re just asking our artists to become tribute acts to their former selves.
So no, I don’t think artists should just stick to the hits. I think they should keep writing, keep experimenting, keep challenging themselves—and us. Let them fail. Let them fly. Just let them create.
Because otherwise, what are we really celebrating? Not music. Just memory.
By Mark C. Chambers
April
Last week-end at the Town Moor in Newcastle, the city pulsed with celebration as Newcastle United lifted the Cup, and the air was filled with music from Sonny Tennet, Ellie Scougall, The Belta Reivers and Paige Temperley that spoke to the heart of the region. Songs like “Coming Home Newcastle,” “Blaydon Races,” and “Fog on the Tyne” weren’t just tunes; they were anthems of identity, weaving together history, place, and the shared pride of the people. Music has an undeniable power to define a region, capturing its spirit in a way that words alone cannot. Whether through folk ballads passed down generations or contemporary songs that echo familiar themes, the sound of a place is as much a part of its character as its landscape and traditions.
This connection between music and place is something we’ve explored in Rock the Joint Magazine, featuring folk artists from Ireland, Scotland, and beyond—each bringing the essence of their homeland into their sound. Whether it’s the storytelling of Irish ballads, the raw energy of Scottish trad-rock, or the unmistakable Geordie charm of Tyneside anthems, regional music roots itself deeply in the lives of those who sing, play, and listen. It’s a reminder that music is more than just entertainment—it’s a thread in the cultural fabric, a bridge between past and present, and, as Newcastle proved this weekend, a unifying force that brings people together in celebration.
This deep connection between music and place isn’t unique to the British Isles. Across the Atlantic, the folk storytelling tradition found a new home in American country music, shaping the legendary Nashville sound. Just as folk songs in Newcastle tell tales of shipyards and coal mines, country music has long chronicled the lives of working people, heartbreak, resilience, and the landscapes they call home. From Johnny Cash’s gritty narratives to Dolly Parton’s heartfelt Appalachian ballads, the spirit of folk storytelling remains the beating heart of country music. It’s proof that wherever you go in the world, music serves as both a reflection of a place and a bridge between cultures, carrying stories that resonate far beyond their origins.
By Benny (the Ball) Benson
March
One of the things about February is that it is suddenly over! I knew it was my turn on the editorial for March, but I was lax in spotting that it had arrived! They do say “as mad as a March hare,” so perhaps this is the month of madness (a link to my YouTube choice of the month). I even considered doing my editorial on mad musicians—but instead, I settled on a commentary about how we value single sales so highly, often elevating them above the album itself.
Let me elaborate. Led Zeppelin is frequently ranked alongside The Beatles and The Rolling Stones as one of the greatest rock bands of all time. Yet if you ask the average person on the street to name a Led Zeppelin song, they might struggle to name one at all—or they might say “Stairway to Heaven.” Despite being one of the most celebrated rock songs in history, it only charted at number 37 in the UK and was never even released as a single in the US. The Who, another legendary band, had just one top-ten hit with “I Can See for Miles.” Sheryl Crow has sold 50 million records, yet her classic “The First Cut is the Deepest” only peaked at number 14 (though “All I Wanna Do” made it to number 2). Bob Dylan, one of the most influential songwriters in history, never had a number-one hit.
And then there’s the flip side—songs that topped the charts but are, frankly, embarrassing footnotes in music history. The truly dreadful “Who Let the Dogs Out” by the Baha Men? A hit. The UK number one spot in 1993? “Mr Blobby.” Need I say more?
So, does selling a lot of a particular single make a musician successful? If success is measured in numbers alone, then sure, a chart-topping single is a win. But true musical success isn’t just about instant sales; it’s about longevity, artistry, and cultural impact. The greatest artists—Zeppelin, The Who, Dylan—built legacies that far outweigh their chart positions. A fleeting number-one single may make a splash, but an album, a body of work, and a lasting influence? That’s where real success lies. This should be an encouraging note for those who focus on those Spotify streaming figures. Loads of streams of a song means a song is popular, but it does not necessarily mean an artist is popular and a mad song is best for March!
By Mark C. Chambers
February
The Algorithm’s Tune: Is AI Curating Your Taste or Killing It?
Once upon a time, discovering new music was an adventure—flipping through dusty record store crates, swapping cassettes with friends (for those older readers who know what I mean), or staying up late for the radio DJ’s deep cuts. Now, in the age of Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube, algorithms have become our tastemakers, analyzing our every click, skip, and replay to serve us hyper-personalized playlists. It’s an impressive feat of technology—one that ensures listeners are never far from songs they’ll probably enjoy. But is it a gift, or a gilded cage?
For fans, algorithmic curation means effortless discovery, introducing us to fresh artists who fit snugly within our sonic comfort zones. It’s a frictionless, data-driven paradise of endless tunes. But for musicians, especially independent ones, the reality is more complex. Playlists can make or break careers, yet the system often favors established names or those who fit neatly into data-defined genres. The human element—the raw, unpredictable thrill of stumbling upon a life-changing track by chance—is slowly being engineered out of the experience. While algorithms claim to understand our tastes, they also reinforce them, nudging us into musical echo chambers where unpredictability is sacrificed for efficiency. My colleague Mark will talk of his experience as a 13-year-old sitting on the school bus and seeing older teenagers holding the album covers for Kiss “Destroyer” and Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of” Hell”—those album covers led him to want to hear the music and discover acts he still follows decades on. That would simply not happen now.
So, are we letting AI refine our preferences or restrain them? The answer isn’t black and white. The industry’s embrace of algorithms has undeniably changed the game, making music more accessible yet arguably less adventurous. Maybe the solution is balance: enjoy the algorithm’s picks, but don’t forget to step outside the playlist, take a risk, and let the thrill of true discovery back in. After all, some of the greatest songs in history weren’t just recommended—they were stumbled upon, unexpected and unforgettable. As for us, Spotify algorithms can’t cope with us at all (lol). Because we listen to loads of music for review, we will often dip into an artist from one genre, then another from another, and so on, rarely arriving at the same base more than a couple of times. My advice is to turn to the reviews we do and have a look at some of the new music coming through. Listening to a song and discovering a new artist is less than five minutes of your life; trust yourself, not an algorithm. For example, the new album by Morganway is a pleasure! A link for one track is below for your listening pleasure. What’s 3 minutes?
By Benny (the Ball) Benson
January
We began these monthly editorials in December 2023 and we are happy that they were popular enough for us to continue all the way into 2025. January, of course, is named after Janus, the god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames, and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces, and I am sure we can all picture a couple of two-faced people at least! I’m doing this opening editorial of the year while a storm is howling outside and it’s New Year’s Day morning. My teenage son is still in bed (of course) and the cats are lazily watching the world go by. Musically, we are looking ahead to a busy January and we are plotting the next stage of world dominance (lol). Musically, for the first time in twenty years, the BPI’s music market report for 2024 showed positive numbers for both physical sales and the consumption of UK-recorded music. According to the BPI, sales and streams of UK-recorded music increased 9.7% over the previous year to 200.5 million albums (or their equivalent), continuing a decade of steady rise. The unparalleled ascent and encouragement of women in the industry is credited with contributing to the success of UK music in 2024. However, there is a cloud on that positive horizon and that is the presence of AI. There are indications of a change in UK copyright law that could allow the introduction of AI models to create music without payment (I refer to this CITY AM piece by Ward-Brennan, here), placing the livelihoods of songwriters at risk. Creatively, the music industry can be at the forefront of the best that is British (or American, as over 70% of our daily readers are from the US), musicians, songwriters and all those involved in the industry require protection from AI in the same way that writers do. For the record, we use zero AI in the writing of anything here. We occasionally use AI (Artfy) for the visuals. For example, the Christmas image of the room that we used for the 2024 reflection piece was AI. Our main images used for merchandise—our witch on the mic, Alice the Red Queen on guitar, etc.—are all human created using an art package. So my first message of the year is to press for legislation to protect musicians and writers from AI. AI is a tool to be used for us, but it is not a substitute for human creativity.
I am finishing with one of my favourite songs in case old acquaintances are forgotten—those we love and have lost never are. But I wish they could get here if they can.
Happy New Year to all out there in reader land all over the world.
Mark C. Chambers