For a long time, Jewish music had standards. Not every song was great, but the expectation was clear. If an artist released an album, it was supposed to be serious work. Albums by Mordechai Ben David or Avraham Fried were not just collections of songs. They were carefully built projects, with real compositions, strong arrangements, and lyrics that carried weight. People waited years between releases because quality mattered.

That culture is disappearing.

Today, Jewish music is increasingly shaped by speed and volume instead of craft. The goal is no longer to create something lasting. The goal is to release something quickly that will get attention online.

When standards drop, the results are predictable. Songs become simpler, more repetitive, and easier to produce. A hook matters more than a melody. A slogan matters more than lyrics. Instead of albums meant to be listened to over time, we get short, disposable tracks designed to work for a few seconds on social media.

This is not about nostalgia. It is about process.

In the past, becoming a Jewish singer required real preparation. You needed musical knowledge, experience, and most importantly, a good voice and taste. There were filters. Not everyone who wanted to release music could do so, and that was a good thing. It protected the quality of what reached the public.

Those filters are gone. Today, anyone with basic software can release a song, brand it as inspirational, and put it out immediately. Once there are no standards, everything floods the market. Good music gets buried alongside mediocre and careless material, and listeners slowly lose their sense of what quality even sounds like.

The “Thank You Hashem” style is a good example of this problem. Repeating the same phrase over a generic tune does not automatically produce meaningful music.

Over time, this reshapes expectations. A younger audience grows up thinking this is what Jewish music is supposed to be. Something simple, upbeat, and instantly digestible. That makes it harder for serious composers and musicians to justify doing real work that takes time and thought.

This is not a call for elitism or for music to be complicated for its own sake. It is a call for standards. Music improves when there is friction, when artists are pushed to earn their place, and when not every idea needs to be released.

Jewish music was stronger when fewer things were published and more care went into each one. If we want that strength back, the solution is not another slogan. It is restoring the idea that quality matters.