The ocean of online releases nowadays is absolutely impossible to fully sift through, even for the most dedicated music fans. But why shouldn’t we be happily overwhelmed by the bounty?
On one hand, there are some undeniable perks to our new ability to supply ourselves with an endless stream of nearly free music. Scrolling through the songs handed to you by Spotify’s algorithm is quite convenient, certainly more so than going to a record store and needing to buy — yes, buy — each record just to listen to it at all. Gone are the days of saving up for an album that you heard about in a Rolling Stone review, which only disappoints once you finally put the needle to vinyl.
No longer must one, if they seek an alternative to paying the price for records, be compelled to put the work into engaging with a local scene. Now, for better or for worse, all is at our fingertips.
But while the music world may have made a move towards openness, this does not guarantee freedom for musicians or listeners.
This changed landscape can be seen as beneficial for musicians as well; farewell to pleading for a record deal if you want to record something with more equipment than your four-track tape recorder. Music’s shift to digital and its newfound home on streaming platforms might be more liberating. But the question still remains underneath the noise and excitement of the virtualized music world today: Is the move to streaming depriving both musicians and listeners of a more intimate connection to the art form?
I’m personally glad that other listeners and I aren’t constrained by our wallets when we want to sample a new record. It’s also ostensibly positive that budding musicians can share their art on a wider scale, without needing a record deal to do anything besides passing around cassettes. With the past financial constraints that limited musicians now out of the way, one pro-virtual argument asserts that music has been democratized. That is, “democratized” in the simplest sense: Online, the people are free to listen and upload as much as they please.
But while the music world may have made a move towards openness, this does not guarantee freedom for musicians or listeners. The power that the music industry has over artists and fans remains; this time, its payoff comes from more than just the sale of a record.
As helpful as these algorithmic features may seem, they force listeners to cede control over their musical consumption.
For one, those on either side of the musical equation are now beholden to the motivations of the platforms through which they “democratically” consume or release music. Listeners using streaming platforms are inundated with the platform’s attempts to curate what they hear: the app’s pre-made playlists, the order of results in its search bar, which songs are suggested in autoplay.
Additionally, artists who want their music heard are subject to the whims of how the platform decides which music to show listeners. Spotify, for one, is notorious for favoring larger artists in crafting its autoplay suggestions. Oh, and they’re rewarded with about $0.004 per stream of their songs. A ludicrously unfair payout for all artists, it’s especially brutal for those who lack the cushion of large tours, royalty checks and brand deals that larger artists now commonly support themselves with.
Therefore, when you rely on automatic shuffle or an algorithmically-generated personalized playlist to deliver you new songs and artists, you’re effectively allowing these corporate entities to decide how you listen to music. As helpful as these algorithmic features may seem, they force listeners to cede control over their musical consumption.
A case can be made that the suggestions offered by the algorithm outweigh its outsized power; in simpler terms, if you found a good artist’s music, who cares how you got there? I myself have encountered some musicians that I wouldn’t have otherwise, if not for their being chosen by the algorithm. John Doe, FCLC ’24
However, our online-focused musical landscape is robbing artists today of something crucial. Now, many develop themselves as artists without the necessary benefit of a connection to a musical lineage or community.
There are a myriad of styles and traditions that have burgeoned throughout the history of music; such an inclination towards new invention is what allows any form of art to keep existing. Artistic idolatry in worshipping a golden calf of traditions, old standards and creative influences can sound the death knell of creative potential.
Still, one must have a past in order to have a future. Being connected to any one of the plethora of musical bloodlines serves as an immeasurable benefit to an artist. An artistic future can’t be created if an artist doesn’t know what’s already been done. In aligning oneself with musical histories, one can learn from the pantheon of those who came before them.
This vital connection to the past takes the form of a connection to a current musical community — that is, a scene. The style previously created and the scene of those who continue to be inspired by it, who invent new ideas influenced by said style, go hand in hand. However, the current musical landscape has moved away from the grounding vehicle that is the music scene.
This vital connection to the past takes the form of a connection to a current musical community — that is, a scene.
In the past, it was true that the record company dominated the recorded music world. Labels’ choices on who to sign essentially dictated what music reached listeners, at least anything beyond a trunk full of cassettes or CDs in the parking lot of a show. Nonetheless, labels most often signed artists who were discovered in independent scenes.
Musicians were able to develop their craft and form a musical identity in a fertile environment, as artists symbiotically pushed one another to improve and invent. The past of musical styles was both consummated and transformed through communities of people dedicated to carrying the torch of their influences together, charting new territory as encouraged by those around them.
Nowadays, the scene is no longer the beating heart of the music world, with the industry’s motivations serving as the scaffolding surrounding it. Instead, it’s the internet that sits at the center. Artists can get their music out more easily than ever, and listeners can find it for the low price of nothing.
But the new musical landscape is still restrictive, even if the limitations it poses are not as overtly apparent as those of the music industry’s past: The algorithms of the platforms we use to virtually consume music are in charge of what we find, and artists are at the mercy of this reality.
This move to virtual poses a potentially more existential threat: Musical bloodlines and communities are fizzling out at a dangerous pace. The artists that would have joined their local scene, who would have contributed to this communal project and reaped the benefits in their own work — now, why should they? One can release music individually to a potentially global audience without the effort of belonging to an artistic community.
One can let their tastes be ruled by streaming platforms. One can be dissuaded by the closing of local venues, or how it may take a few more minutes to find the artists active in their respective scenes than it would to just let the algorithm pick for you. But one does not have to be. We can take the extra moment to find the art that’s happening on the ground, out in the world — and we can reap the rewards of music freed from the corporate demands of streaming platforms. Artists and listeners alike can — should — choose to tap into the scenes that strain their hardest to pump music’s lifeblood.