Given the destruction technology continues to wreak on the music industry, the lot of the music journalist seems much like that of the farrier at the dawn of the internal combustion engine: ludicrously specialised, definitely antiquated and woefully short on prospects. The truth, as Nick Hornby, Tony Parsons, Julie Burchill or any other graduates of this notoriously poorly paid vocation might tell you, is that as a trade it's always been that way. Plus, the death of rock'n'roll's worn-out business model is hardly the same as the passing of music itself, not when as individuals we possess more of it than ever before and carry that personal archive around in our pockets. Similarly, the steady decay of the traditional music press – the NME, Q, Mojo, Rolling Stone et al – on both sides of the Atlantic isn't necessarily the same as the demise of decent writing about popular music's place in the world as it is now.
Another music press graduate, the Guardian's John Harris, caused ripples of discomfort among his former peers when he examined these issues at length in June. He cited Lipstick Traces, Greil Marcus's highly regarded 1989 exploration of the links between punk, 1960s counterculture and the early-20th-century avant-garde, as an example of what the genre can achieve when it puts in some effort. That strength – an ability to reveal something about the world beyond how rich, famous or high any particular artist might be – is the starting point of this Marcus-edited anthology of some of the finer recent examples of the form.
Previous editors of this well-established, sometimes hit-and-miss annual round-up have included Hornby, Jonathan Lethem and Simpsons creator Matt Groening. But San Francisco-born Marcus, Rolling Stone's reviews editor in the magazine's early years and now an eminent cultural historian, is the perfect choice for its 10th edition. He's part of the reason music journalism was taken seriously in the first place, at least by American outlets, which this edition, like most of its predecessors, almost exclusively favours.
The sole British representative is drawn from this very newspaper: Michael Odell coaxing some gently profound quotes from former Orange Juice singer Edwyn Collins, following his recent recovery from two brain haemorrhages. Elsewhere, Marcus's decision not to bother with any standard profile pieces, on the basis that they say mostly the same glib things, proves sensible. Britney Spears gives interviews consisting largely of gibberish, but by choosing instead to swim with the pond life that surrounds her, Vanessa Grigoriadis skewers both the contemporary obsession with celebrity, and its ground zero ("She's the perfect celebrity for America in decline: like President Bush, she just doesn't give a fuck").
Speaking to famously self-destructive New Orleans rapper Lil Wayne can be equally fruitless, but David Ramsey's reminiscence of his first year teaching in the city, post-Katrina, provides a far better explanation of just what the hip-hop star's success means to fans short on options and struggling to live in the moment. Pleasingly, there's room for smaller-scale characters too, with David Remnick's study of New York jazz fanatic Phil Schaap unfolding into a warm tale of eccentricity that's equal parts Rain Man and Zelig.
For several years, the series has included work first published online. Generally, the zippier, funnier articles, such as Carrie Brownstein from the band Sleater-Kinney's spoof record reviews, survive the transition to old media the best. That said, Tom Ewing's thoughtful posting on the legacy of the late John Peel and his annual compilation, the Festive 50, should convince the last remaining digital refuseniks that the music journalism of the future won't be entirely made up of links and YouTube clips. At least, not just yet.
