Not Every Song Needs Approval: Let Artists Breathe

When music first enters our lives, it does so quietly. There are no debates, no technical breakdowns, no loud opinions fighting for attention. There is only feeling. A song finds you in a moment, holds you there, and becomes part of who you are. That was how music worked for me growing up.

As a teenager, Atif Aslam’s songs lived in my headphones during long rides, silent evenings, and moments when words failed. When I picked up a guitar for the first time, Meri Kahani was the first song I tried to play. My fingers hurt, the chords buzzed, and nothing sounded perfect but the emotion felt real. That song made me believe that music was a language I could speak.

Then came noise.

A new music teacher entered my life less interested in teaching and more invested in opinions. Every day, Atif Aslam was reduced to a debate. “He uses auto‑tune.” “He can’t sing without it.” Repeated often enough, those borrowed opinions began to settle in my mind. And like many middle‑schoolers trying to fit in, I echoed them.

Yet something didn’t change. Alone, I still listened to Atif. I still played his songs. Even today, years later, his voice can make me cry. That’s when I learned an important truth: real art doesn’t disappear because someone criticises it. If a song reaches you in your most honest moments, no external opinion can erase that connection.

Today, the pattern feels familiar. Artists like Anuv Jain and Jasleen Royal are constantly dissected through short clips, reaction videos and half‑context commentary. Yet voices from within the creative community Neha Bhasin and Chaar Diwaari, among others have stood up for Anuv Jain, reminding us that respect still exists where creation truly matters.

What hurts isn’t criticism itself. It’s the intention behind it.

Much of today’s “critique” isn’t about improving music. It’s about engagement. Views. Followers. Virality. Criticism has become content, and outrage has become currency. Some people didn’t choose art to create they chose it to compete for attention.

But real artists know this: creation is slow, lonely and often invisible. If your work survives only by tearing someone else down, it was never strong to begin with.

Before judging, we should ask ourselves one simple question: when you first heard that song, didn’t you feel something? Didn’t it remind you of someone, somewhere, or some version of yourself? That feeling that is the language of art.

Followers fade. Trends move on. But the music that once held you together stays.

Let artists create. Not compete for noise.

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