Does It Slap?... or Does It Speak?: The Disappearance of Critical Listening

Sanibonani, molweni nonke. Ngiyanibingelela ngegama likaJesu Krestu, my divine Creator.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of speaking with students in Hong Kong. The central question I had them sit with was:

How does music stabilize societal concerns and community?

But what stayed with me most… was something else.

Many young listeners today are either not listening to music deeply at all, or they are simply consuming what flows to them—what is trending, what the algorithm suggests, what appears on their screens. I must be honest... this is quite unsettling.

Because what does that do to our relationship with music?

There was a time when listening required intention. When my parents played music in our home, it was chosen. It meant something. They spent their hard-earned money to own that music—an LP, a CD, a VHS. That act alone required discernment. “This artist is worth my time.” "This work is worth returning to.”

And with that came something we are slowly losing:

critical listening.

In other words, the ability to sit with a body of work and engage, question, and ultimately, allow it to shape you. Now, we have access to millions upon millions of songs… and yet, we own none of them.

Music appears. Music disappears. Who cares? *shrugs shoulders

And in that constant flow, depth is often sacrificed for immediacy.

So I find myself asking:

What happens to diversity in music when everything is driven by what is trending?

When the goal shifts from expression… to attention?

I love a hit song. But let me be clear, a hit song is not the beginning and end of music-making.

Where is the diversity of message?

Where is the music that asks something of us?

Where is the music that connects beyond the surface?

Where is the music that expresses something greater than the self?

These are questions I am not seeing asked as often.

Instead, the metric becomes:

Does it hit? Does it slap? Is it “lit”? (and yes, I know I am probably using that incorrectly)

But the point stands.

When music becomes a product of profit-driven systems primarily, we risk reducing it to moments—fleeting, consumable, forgettable.

And yet, music has always been more than that.

It has been a memory. It has been a protest. It has been healing. It has been a community.

So where does that leave us?

Interestingly, we are seeing the return of boy bands and girl groups. And I love it. Truly.

But even there, I notice a pattern:

A desire to create for the algorithm. For the clip. For the moment, that can be looped and shared.

And I cannot help but ask:

If everyone is making music for the algorithm… who is making music for us?

I find myself longing for diversity again. Not just diversity in sound—but diversity in intention, in message, in purpose. Because diversity is how we breathe. It is how we remain human in the midst of systems that try to flatten our experience.

So I leave you with this:

As a listener, how are you engaging with music?

As an artist, what are you creating, and why?

Food for thought.

Penny for your thoughts.

All love,

Dr. Nkululeko Zungu