By Charlie Gordon-Pratt
Utah’s music community has a new pastime: checking Instagram to see who got lovingly roasted last night. The page Utah Music Artists Directory – UMAD for short – has turned snarky, hyper-specific live show “reviews” into a running commentary on the local ecosystem. What started as a way to text a buddy the jokes you’d whisper during a set has grown into a rotating cast of contributors documenting songs, stagecraft, gear choices, and the questionable things musicians say into microphones.
Why are UMAD?
UMAD swears they’re fans first, cynics second. “Sometimes the call is coming from inside the house,” they admit. The contributors aren’t outsiders; they’re venue folks, touring and former musicians, recording pros, and concert photographers in their 20s–40s.
Their ethos is simple: go to shows, write candidly, and keep the punches aimed at the performance – not the person. They’ll clown on a bassist’s dance moves or the umpteenth jangly Tele with the same two pedals, but they’re not punching down on identity. UMAD’s house rules allow jabs at songs, songwriting, musicianship, live sound, gear, stage presence, dress, crowd engagement, band composition, vibe, and whatever oddities unfold in real time. Off the table are jokes about race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity, body image, and disability or illness. Age is the lone “protected” characteristic they’ll ding, as according to them, “old dudes and young kids must be told.”
The proof, they say, is in the DMs and the analytics. Their posts send curious listeners to band profiles – often at higher rates than the bands’ own content – and spark threads where artists rib, defend, or discover each other. “We’ve seen people who would’ve never heard of a band go check them out because of a review,” they say.
Putting bands under the microscope
UMAD’s contributors feel many groups need to interrogate the “why aren’t we bigger?” lament instead of blaming social media, Velour, or other forces outside of their control. “Are you writing good songs? Do you support the scene that you demand supports you? Is your live show worth watching? Are you or your bandmates total tools? … If you don’t give time for other bands and their fans, you can’t expect other bands or their fans to stick around for you.”
They also want artists to prize risk over replication. “The scene is a little watered down,” they argue, pointing to copy-cat songwriting aimed at chasing the last decade’s success stories instead of taking creative swings. Try cross-genre bills. Prioritize shows and analog hustle over “digital-first” everything. And if your entire brand is “shock the Mormon moms,” you’re not edgy; you’re late. “It’s a well-worn rut we can move on from.”
UMAD’s platform is built on tough love, but that doesn’t mean music has to be deadly serious all the time. “Bands need to stop taking themselves so seriously. Music is supposed to be fun.” Fun isn’t the enemy of craft; it’s the engine.
As for the rest of us…
UMAD’s barbs aren’t just for bands; they’re for the other members of the scene, including journalists, venue owners, and figureheads. They argue glossy, relentlessly positive coverage doesn’t move the needle, calling Provo Music Magazine’s own Battle of the Bands write-ups “overly positive, watered down.” (Honestly, valid.) They’re eager for more all-ages venues willing to book across genres and to become real tour stops. “Let’s tell Corey Fox to stop looking for the next Imagine Dragons and start giving other genres some significant focus. Then tell the Salt Lake venues there’s more than metal and Royal Bliss.”
Satire is useful partly because there’s some truth in the jokes. And if UMAD shining a spotlight on that truth can push bands to tighten sets, venues to increase opportunities, and publications (hi) to sharpen criticism, that’s a net win for the scene.
UMAD’s Music Utopia
UMAD’s biggest hill to die on: play shows. They routinely turn down requests to “review” a band based on a video. “We want live music to be a thing,” they say, nudging artists off the Instagram Reel treadmill and onto the stage. In UMAD’s ideal future, Utah’s live calendar is busier and braver. They hope to diversify the bill, crank the volume, and make heavy, loud bands “the bread and butter in Utah.” Bills that pair unlikely neighbors. Rooms give genuine shots to heavier and weirder sounds. Artists rely less on content mills and more on community. Also, more house shows. Always more house shows.
More shows mean more chance encounters, more jokes, and yes, more accountability. And when someone grabs the mic to say something out-of-pocket, you better believe UMAD will be there, smirking, scribbling notes, turning the moment into the next day’s sizzling roast.
And keep an eye on the UMAD Instagram account for more details about their upcoming UMAD Awards, coming April 1, 2026 that will feature “awards for best artists, venues, and outstanding individuals in the Utah scene” along with some nods to less-than stellar moments of the year, live performances, and more. You can nominate bands here.
Listening assignment (per UMAD): Good Call, Dropout Convention, Glue Coast, Harbor Patrol, Wicked Bears, Victory Lungs, Mom Dad & Me, and Ivy Avenue. If you see their names on a flier in the upcoming weeks, go give them a shot.
And maybe, just maybe, practice a bit?
Editor’s note: UMAD’s contributors remain anonymous; quotes and positions in this piece are drawn from their collective responses to Provo Music Magazine.