Four Credits Left
Stories From The GRAMMYs And A Brief Story About Blogging
It’s August 27, and that means we’re now one day into the new fall semester at the New York City public university system. For me, it’s also a reminder that I’m close to the finish line. I’m four credits shy of an M.A. in Journalism at the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism, which, thanks to scheduling quirks, means my final two Monday-only classes begin after Labor Day.
Part of finishing this program meant leaving the classroom and stepping back into the field. That’s how I found myself at The Recording Academy this summer, contributing to editorial and digital content for GRAMMY.com. In some ways, it felt like a homecoming—back to the beats (literally) that first launched my career more than a decade ago, when I was covering electronic music, DJ culture, and global sounds for Complex's now-shuttered Do Androids Dance, just as "EDM" was becoming a household acronym.
The work was precisely what I’d hoped for: a meaningful chance to re-engage with music journalism through the Recording Academy’s lens—legacy-focused, mission-driven, collaborative. Among the highlights was a deep-dive feature on the history of superheroes at the GRAMMYs, "From 'Batman' To 'Black Panther': How Superhero Music Has Made Its Mark At The GRAMMYs"—a story I pitched, reported, and delivered, and one I’ll be revisiting on Field of Pixels soon.
It’s worth noting that when I wrote "This Knicks Fan Spent the Season Writing a Song After Every Game" for class this past Feb/March, it was my first proper music feature in ten years. That gap is also part of why, despite being first on the story and several external pitches being denied later, it didn't publish until June via Field of Pixels. The last time I had published one was back in January 2015, during the final days of Do Androids Dance, just months before I finished my B.A. in Communications and Global Media Studies at Goucher College.
From that point until 2025, I didn’t write about music at all. Instead, I stayed connected to it through various roles, including talent management, creative strategy, publicity, artist development, and consulting. Several factors drove my pivot out of music journalism; I won't go into detail, but it was, at least in part, because I was tired of being labeled as “just a music blogger." It felt dismissive, as if it trivialized both the seriousness with which I approached music and the broader abilities I was trying to develop, as well as the value I offered. What I didn’t realize then was twofold: first, that reaction came more from my own internalized insecurity than reality; and second, that writing isn’t something everyone can do well. Just because it came easier to me, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s “easy” and thus, of less value.
When I returned to writing—first as a freelancer, before enrolling at CUNY for my M.A. in Journalism—I deliberately avoided covering music. Resistant to being boxed in, I leaned into threading multiple beats I cared about. In October 2022, for High Times, a year before starting graduate school, I pitched and delivered a story called NHL and Cannabis: A Power Play Goal, about the NHL’s decision to welcome gambling and sports betting onto its uniforms and into its books, comparing it with their policies around cannabis and the potential of such a combination. That story wasn’t just timely and newsworthy; it was also a deliberate step toward expanding my portfolio beyond music. It required a different skill set than the “music blogging” I once felt confined to.
That same instinct carried forward into my first piece for Rolling Stone in February 2025, “Kid-Friendly Gaming Franchise ‘Backyard Sports’ Is Back And Ready to Modernize,” a gaming story that also incorporated sports, business, culture, and opportunities for real reporting. Interviews, surveys, public records filings, and more. It was another way to show, at least to myself, that a single beat doesn’t bind the kind of journalism and storytelling I want to do, but by how different cultural threads—music, sports, games, communities—intersect. That mindset also shaped my GRAMMYs superhero story: not because I’m a comic-book obsessive (I’m not), but because I saw a way to expand into film-adjacent coverage by tracing how iconic scores from Superman to Black Panther reflected the Recording Academy’s recognition of comic book culture.
It’s the same sort of thinking that lined up perfectly with a Mortal Kombat assignment — a story I’d already been digging into — which became my first freelance byline for GRAMMY.com: ‘FINISH HIM! How Mortal Kombat Brought Gaming Music To The Mainstream.’
With only four credits left, I’m not sure what the future holds for me as a writer, a journalist, or—shudder—a blogger. To be clear, I didn’t enroll in journalism school because I wanted to be a journalist. I love to write, tell stories, interview people, and do all the things that come with this work. I also know the skill set and the value of this experience, and having this degree will both align with my past and expand my future—no matter what happens or where I end up. And yes, I still have hangups about the title 'blogger,' probably for good reason. It's also likely connected to why, throughout my time at Newmark, I've made jokes about what it means to be a "Capital J Journalist" and who actually qualifies as one, or even wants to be one.
When people ask me what I’m writing about, or what I like to write about, it’s honestly harder to say than it should be. Saying music would be historically accurate, and once again, currently correct—but also incomplete. Maybe part of being a writer, a journalist, or being a blogger (yuck) is realizing that it’s never going to be just one topic or one job for those of us who don’t just like to write, but feel compelled to.
So now, as I work on stories for Field of Pixels, for freelance outlets, and for school, it’s reassuring to know I can still write about music, be involved with it — or not. When I graduate, I’ll know that stepping away from it, or back into it, will always be on my own terms.