"Journalism lets me test ideas quickly, and academia lets me go deep" - On race, fandom and the ethics of music journalism with Dr. Jenessa Williams

Writer and academic Dr. Jenessa Williams on taste, representation and the politics of being a fan in the digital age.

I first encountered Dr. Jenessa Williams in the way many publicists do—with a carefully crafted email and a hope that she might be interested in covering one of my artists. Even before we ever spoke, I admired the clarity of her writing, her ability to handle complex subjects with thoughtfulness, and the care she clearly took when engaging with artists and their work. She was one of the few music journalists whose features regularly left me thinking differently—not just about the music, but about how we make space for identity, politics and power within it.

Since then, I’ve followed her work closely. Now a postdoctoral researcher in communication studies at Stanford University, Jenessa’s research focuses on the politics of fandom, internet cultures, and the ethics of representation in the music industry. Her PhD, completed at the University of Leeds, explored how fans navigate the moral complexities of loving artists accused of harm—especially in online spaces like Twitter and Reddit.

Alongside her academic work, Jenessa has carved out a dynamic career as a journalist, with bylines in The Guardian, NME, The Forty-Five, DIY, Alternative Press, Music Week and more. She’s known for her weekly subtweets column in The Forty-Five, her writing for emerging artists through Come Play With Me, and her community-building work as editor of Pennycress, a zine that celebrates the creative work of People of Colour based in the North of England.

In our conversation, we talk about growing up with Top of the Pops and Kerrang!, navigating the isolating (and sometimes awkward) spaces of alternative music as a Black woman, and how writing helps us make sense of the world. She shares how post-2020 “diversity” efforts offered opportunities—while also revealing the limits of institutional understanding—and why helping students feel seen matters just as much as the work itself.

We also discuss her current research on emo, K-pop, and digital fan cultures, the subtle resistance embedded in pop aesthetics, and the thrill of interviews where something unexpectedly true is said. Her guiding interest—both in journalism and academia—is deceptively simple but quietly radical: what do our tastes say about who we are, and how we live?

Michelle Kambasha: Can you tell me a little bit about your background and your entryway into music?

Jenessa Williams: I was quite lucky in that I knew I wanted to be in music journalism from a young age, probably around 12 or 13. I’ve never been a musician or had that talent, but I’ve always enjoyed listening to music, following it, thinking through it, and writing about it. So it felt like a natural fit.

I was the perfect age to be getting into blogging as a teenager. I wouldn't say I was big on MySpace in terms of followers, but I spent a lot of time on it, reviewing albums, writing about gigs I went to. From there, I set up a Blogspot—do you remember Blogspot? That was my first experiment in running my own blog/publication around age 16. I used it to apply to university and ended up going to the University of Huddersfield to study music journalism. That gave me a great excuse to move up north. The course had me going to gigs three nights a week, spending time with music students—people who cared about the same stuff as me.

I did some work experience at NME, kept writing on the blog, and built confidence through student publications. Eventually, DIY reached out and offered me some album reviews, which must’ve gone okay, because they let me write features. I always say DIY taking a punt on me led to me being able to call myself a freelance journalist—it was the first time I was doing paid work and getting noticed.

Did you always have an early interest in magazines?

Yeah, 100%. I was a big Top of the Pops fan. Every week, every month—I loved that glossy print feature style with all the big spreads. Even now, getting to write in print means a lot to me. Not that online stuff doesn’t, but I love a chunky feature. It feels more real.

Totally. Especially if you come from a background of buying magazines. It makes me wonder if younger journalists now will have that same attachment, because print isn’t really how they’re introduced to writing.

Exactly. And I think you see that reflected in how artists credit their features—usually it’s the photographer and makeup artist, and maybe at the bottom, you get “I did an interview.” Print is now often seen as fashion-led, not music journalism in the way we grew up with it.

Yeah, and it’s rare that a publicist gets a shout-out! But I grew up loving magazines—S Club magazine, Top of the Pops. When I was 10 or 11, I even snuck in Ms. magazine until my aunts told my mum it had content about sex and masturbation—and that was the end of that. But I collected loads: Kerrang!, NME, Q. Just stacks and stacks.

Same! I think my parents still have mine in the garage—no idea what condition they’re in now, probably a bit damp, but yeah.

Did you ever read someone and think, “That’s who I want to be—like a Features Editor or similar?”

Good question. I’m sure there were, though I can’t remember names off the top of my head. But I definitely noticed writers who liked the same bands I did and thought, “What a cool job.” I remember being excited to see female names, and when Kerrang! got its first female editor, it felt like, “Okay, this can be done.” It was exciting.

It’s wild how, even at a young age, we were aware of how few women were represented—especially editorially.

100%. And even more so for writers of colour. You can’t always tell from a name, but from a young age, I knew this was a white person’s job.

Yeah. I’m always thinking about how people are inspired to keep going. What made you persist despite being a minority in the space? Was it youthful naivety, or something else?

Probably some naivety—I noticed the lack of women and people of colour, but didn’t connect it to, “This is going to be a problem for me.” I just wanted to do it.

As I got older, I got a bit of a kick out of showing up in spaces where people clearly didn’t expect me. Especially in alternative music—there were bands I interviewed who were very surprised to see me, and while I won’t name names, it was clear what they meant. There’s a weird satisfaction in doing a good job and challenging that perception.

Yes! I think I had that same feeling—maybe it’s a personality trait. Not exactly bullish, but driven by passion and maybe even spite. I’ve had artists be visibly surprised that I was their publicist. That makes it hard—you want a good working relationship, but it feels uncomfortable when you know they don’t quite know what to make of you.

Do you feel like things have shifted? Has the dialogue improved?

Yes, especially since 2020. After the resurgence of Black Lives Matter, publications started looking around and acknowledging their diversity issues. That summer, I got a lot of work—far more than previous years.

It was interesting, though, because I started getting offers for work with artists of colour outside my genre expertise. It was like, “You’re Black, you’ll get it.” Which is well-intentioned, but can be confusing. It felt like shared identity started outweighing genre knowledge.

That resonates. I’ve had similar experiences—being suggested for hip-hop campaigns, even though I’ve never done PR for hip-hop artists. The assumption comes from a good place, but it’s not really grounded in what we actually do.

Exactly. It's not terrible that people are thinking of us—it’s just interesting.

It shows that we need more nuance in these conversations, and people in positions of influence don’t always have that.

Yes. And editors are under a lot of pressure and time constraints—they often go to people they know are reliable. Even if they want to do better with inclusion, the time and budget just get in the way.

True. So what keeps you going?

I love what I do. Especially interviews—I’m just a nosy person! I love that feeling of hearing someone talk about an album and suddenly seeing it in a new light.

Now, as I move more into academia, I feel driven to help the next generation. It makes me a bit sad how the industry is shifting to hot takes and influencer-style journalism. But I teach a lot now, and I'm always thinking about how I can pass on the old-school sensibility of music journalism to those who still value it.

That’s such a strong point. I interviewed Guy Mankowski last summer, and he said good journalism is often scholarship. It doesn’t feel like that’s always the case now—but it should be. How do your journalistic principles carry into your academic work?

Totally. I love academia—but also hate how long publishing takes compared to journalism. The good side is you get time to really think and research. I like the balance. Journalism lets me test ideas quickly, and academia lets me go deep.

Most of my work, in both spaces, is around race, gender, politics and music. You can see the thread throughout.

Was academia always in the plan?

Not really. I imagined being a full-time music journalist—maybe an editor. I wanted to write books, longform stuff, but not necessarily get a PhD. It just happened.

Doing my master’s gave me the most balanced life—freelancing part-time, studying part-time. Everything since has been a lot of juggling! But I think most people now have multiple roles. And if I’m teaching music journalism, it’s important I’m still doing it. Students appreciate that.

Yeah, there’s a relevance that students really respond to.

Definitely. Though there are things they’re doing now—like video content creation—that are beyond me. I know I’m a writer first and foremost. But it’s good to blend traditional training with new platforms.

And how have you found being a Black academic? I teach at BIMM—there aren’t many of us.

Yeah, same. Representation is really low. I think there are fewer than 20 Black professors in the UK across all subjects. It’s so important to take up space in the classroom—especially when teaching about diversity, race, and inclusion. Students respond to knowing the person in front of them understands marginalisation and has lived it. It makes a difference.

Yeah. And do you find that—even though it’s kind of hard to gauge unless you ask specific questions—you’re able to build close relationships with students who might come from similar backgrounds to you?

How do you mean?

Well, like I said, it’s difficult to answer unless someone actually says it, but at the end of the last course I taught, one student came up to me and said how thankful she was. She told me I was the first Black teacher she’d ever had. I wondered if you’ve had moments like that—or if you’ve noticed a strong response from students to having a teacher who brings a different kind of identity or perspective into the classroom.

Yeah, I think so. I’ve definitely had students say it’s the first time they’ve been taught by a person of colour. Some, especially on music-specific courses, have said it’s the first time they’ve been taught by a woman—or at least a woman under the age of 50! I haven’t necessarily had students express deep personal gratitude based on identity, but I have heard lots of feedback around how refreshing it is to get different perspectives.Actually, the thing students seem to comment on most is age. I’m 31 now, and I started teaching in my mid-20s, which was quite close in age to many of the students. I think a lot of them found it exciting—like it was the first time they realised you could study music, or creative subjects more broadly, and build a career out of it. That sense of relevance or possibility really resonated.

Yeah—someone who understands memes and TikTok!

Exactly! Someone who can talk about K-pop and actually likes it.

Whenever I’m teaching and a TikTok comes up, I’m always like—do I admit I’ve already seen it and found it hilarious for two weeks?

It’s such a fine balance, right? Obviously, it’s natural to want to be liked and have good rapport, but you also need to maintain authority in the room. Striking that balance between shared interests and being the educator is definitely a thing.

Totally. I was going to ask—when you were coming into the industry, did you have any role models? Not necessarily writers you were inspired by, but people you looked up to—mentors, even unofficial ones?

Yeah, I’ve been really lucky to work with some incredibly talented and generous women.Lisa Wright at DIY was one of the first people to really give me opportunities—bigger features, coverage that wasn’t just tokenistic. She actually listened to what I was interested in and followed that, which was so appreciated.Laura Snapes at The Guardian has also been incredibly supportive. She gives the kind of edits where at first you get that sinking feeling—“Oh no, I’ve done a terrible job”—but then, after working through them, you end up with something somuch better. She’s an amazing editor.And Charlotte Gunn at The Forty-Five has been instrumental—she gave me a regular column, trusted me with fan studies content, and let me run with ideas.So maybe not role models I looked up to from a distance, but definitely women who have been kind and encouraging at moments when they really didn’t have to be. That kind of support is huge.

Yes! Everyone’s busy, but some people still make time to support others—especially younger or emerging writers—and they do it without ego. That generosity stays with you.

For sure.

So what are you working on now in terms of your scholarship? What’s exciting you at the moment?

A few things—probably too many, honestly! The main project is turning my PhD into a book. It’s about the Me Too movement, how it influenced the music industry, and particularly how it’s shaped fan behaviour—like how fans decide who to support or cancel. It looks at how those decisions shift depending on race, gender, social politics, online spaces, and so on.I also have a paper coming out soon with my brilliant academic friend Francesca Sobande. It’s about the emo revival, nostalgia, and how that scene continues to marginalise women and people of colour—even when it claims to be more inclusive. We’re both really excited about doing more research on emo and race.And I’m doing a bit of K-pop research at the moment too—looking at fourth-wave girl groups and how they’re expressing subtle resistance around gender and feminism, especially in the context of idol expectations.So yeah, a lot of different threads, but all really exciting to me right now.

That all sounds amazing—I especially can’t wait to read the emo paper. It sounds so interesting.

Thanks! It’s been a bit of a journey getting it to the point where people really get what we’re trying to say, but we’re really proud of it.

So, final question—which you’ve kind of already touched on—but what drives you now? What keeps you going at this point in your life and career?

It sounds like a cliché, but I think it’s about trying to make sense of things—writing, interviewing fans, being in those spaces helps me figure out how I feel about music and the world around me. A lot of my work is about how fandom begins as a love for a particular artist or genre, but often becomes political—it’s about signalling values, what we care about, what kind of world we want.So by understanding what drives other people, I think I also better understand myself. That’s a big motivator for me.

That makes so much sense. Especially the way you described it—it really resonates. I think a lot of writers start by feeling like they’re writing about other people, but the deeper you go, the more introspective it becomes. Your work becomes a way to reflect on yourself, too.

Totally. Full armchair psychology vibes! And it’s funny to look back sometimes—like, you realise a review you wrote years ago was really just about something you were going through. Some of the albums I gave five stars to—or hated!—say a lot more about where I was at the time than the music itself.

So good. Well, thank you so much for speaking with me—I really appreciate it.

No worries at all!