8Sided Blog

thoughts about music’s place in the 21st century

Commodifying Coziness and the Rise of Chill-Out Capitalism

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In the article Why Are So Many Brands Pivoting To Coziness?, Vox’s Rebecca Jennings reveals a curious marketing trend: brands displaying promises of comfort to attract millennials and Gen Z’ers. In youth-oriented magazine advertisements, we’re used to photos of adventurous consumers climbing mountains or traversing an exotic, unfamiliar city. Now you’re as likely to see a picture of someone sitting at home seated on a couch or maybe even — gasp! — reading a book. Combined with emerging products like weighted blankets and CBD shampoo, it’s evident that chill is ‘in.’

Media theorists point out that horror movies are popular during times of unease and distrust in society. Jennings has a similar reason for the rise of coziness: “Things are bad, and people are anxious about whatever ongoing horrors are metabolizing in geopolitics, the environment, and capitalism.” However, there’s an always-online twist to this movement. “The selling point is that this product will make you feel calm and safe, but the experience of using it is still supposed to look good enough for other people to see.”

Ambient music isn’t exactly mainstream, but it’s more in vogue — and pervasive — than it’s ever been. The flavors are varied, from dark drones to nature noises, from New Age throwbacks to chill-hop YouTube streams. If we’re defining ambient music as music that sits in the ambiance, politely ignored as we go about our lives, then all of those styles qualify. And, like brand-marketed coziness, the music is often pushed as an antidote for a hectic life. There’s something spacey and unobtrusive playing in the background as that person sits on the couch reading his book.

Streaming has enabled an even more utilitarian strain of ambient music, something that The Baffler’s Liz Pelly refers to as “emotional wallpaper” and “music that strategically requires no attention at all.” This music is made to fall into playlists that play on repeat as we study, or meditate, or slowly fall asleep. The primary purpose isn’t to calm our brains but to rack up Spotify plays as the playlists churn in repetition. Ambient music is perfect for this — we can only listen to the same pop hook so many times. An ambient drone might as well be endless.

Of course, music has always had calming and self-healing properties. That’s ancient history. And it’s untrue to say that ‘western’ music ignored this aspect, with blues and — of course — gospel as examples of genres containing elements of spiritual remedy. But the connection came as a surprise to many of ambient music’s forerunners. Take John Cage, whose life and direction changed after a conversation with Indian composer Gita Sarabhai in the 1940s. She pointed out that it’s okay for music to be meaningless, to exist solely to “sober and quiet the mind.” It makes sense to us. But this was a revelation for Cage, a stone thrown in the pond with ripples continuing outward.

What’s new is our era’s odd commoditization of relaxation music. Sure, the New Age genre was a small phenomenon in the late ’80s — those Windham Hill CDs flew off the shelves at the Camelot Music I worked at as a teenager. But playlists targeted to sleeping ‘listeners’ for money-making purposes is a bizarre twist. Consider the Sony-affiliated Sleep & Mindfulness Thunderstorms playlist, featuring 990 one-minute tracks containing sounds of rainstorms. Why a single minute each in length? Because Spotify will deliver a micropayment to a track that plays for at least 30 seconds.

But let’s get something straight. Personally, I love ambient music. I work to it. I relax to it. I sometimes sleep to it. And, if you can’t tell, I’m fascinated by it. That presents a quandary as I’m using the music in the same way as those studying to ChilledCow’s YouTube channel. What makes my cozy space so sacred?

Simon Reynolds’ recent Resident Advisor long-read about the state of ambient music is worth a look. He grapples with chill-out capitalism in his article, stating:

Still, there is something unnerving about the idea of ambient and New Age music uncoupled from any higher purposes and applied to the task of self-repair. Like power yoga or microdosing, it is taking an agent of change that was originally part of a culture of liberation and discovery, and putting it in service of the status quo. As David Toop, author of ambient bible Ocean Of Sound, wrote recently, “if ambient music only serves as an app to incentivise or a backdrop to productivity, networking and self-realisation, then it has no story of its own, no story worth hearing.”

Are we adding too much baggage to ambient music? Perhaps it’s just meant to be, like a soothing wallpaper hue or the bird sounds outside my window. Burdening this music with a special purpose or the responsibility of solace might be self-defeating. But, true enough, so is placing a profit incentive on our coziness.

This post was adapted from Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care, a weekly newsletter loosely about music-making, music-listening, and how technology changes the culture around those things. Click here to check out the latest issue and subscribe.

The Ongoing Collision of Music and Podcasts

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Recently, the co-host of the Geeks and Beats podcast posted the news that Spotify removed all 250 episodes of his show. This inexplicable act was the result of a takedown request from Universal Music, caused by an allegation of copyright infringement. The notice, sent by Spotify, did not specify what triggered the complaint, so the show’s host doesn’t know how to respond:

As you can see, we have no idea what’s being contested. All we know is that Geeks&Beats has been kicked off Spotify. And not just for the mysterious offense. All 250+ episodes are gone. Wow. Obviously, though, the sniffing algorithms found something and triggered the takedown. Try appealing to a robot.

It would be great if a copyright identification system for podcasts resembled Content ID on YouTube, where the use of songs is approved and, if desired, monetized. Perhaps that’s on the way. But, Spotify’s present one-strike-and-you’re-toast application of the tool is a problem.

If you recall, SoundExchange and PodcastMusic.com are preparing to launch a music licensing platform for podcasters.1However, I haven’t seen any updates on the launch since August, so I don’t know when this service will finally become available. Drawing upon SoundExchange’s extensive collection of pre-approved masters, the platforms expect labels and artists to set licensing prices for catalog easily, and podcasters to easily obtain those license for their shows. The service will include commercially known songs as the majors come on board.

But how will Spotify’s song-sniffer know that the podcaster acquired a legitimate license from SoundExchange? I don’t see the two platforms ‘talking’ to each other to verify music usage. What I expect to happen: Spotify automatically pulls the podcast down (every episode!). The podcaster disputes the claim with proof of the license, with no idea if she’s sending the correct documentation for the disputed song. And then she waits for the podcast to (hopefully) get reinstated. How long do you think that will take? And if it’s a podcast that regularly uses music from SoundExchange’s licensing platform, then fielding takedown notices could become the podcaster’s part-time job.

The intersection of music and podcasts is more like a collision. It’s a total mess. And the indispensable podcast The Future Of What covers the topic in detail in the latest episode. Listen and feel the frustration of everyone involved.

🔗→ This is how insane music copyright claims have become: Totally. F**cked.
🔗→ Episode #178 : Licensing Music For Podcasts

Why a Tip Jar on Spotify is a Bad Idea

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In discussions with artists, in think-pieces, in Twitter threads — here’s an idea that comes up all of the time: streaming platforms (Spotify, etc.) should add a ‘tip jar.’ If you enjoy an artist, you can ‘tip’ them, like a dollar bill in a busker’s guitar case. It’s a way of helping the artist in a time of dwindling streaming payouts.

The suggestion is well-meaning and, at first, sounds like a great idea. But there are a lot of problems.

Let’s start with logistics. The streaming platform would need to implement a direct payment system. And the only way a ‘tip jar’ would work is if the payment goes directly to the artist. A label or distributor could be a conduit, but if the idea is to eliminate the ‘go-between,’ then having someone in the middle — accountable for payments and likely taking a cut — defeats the purpose.

For this ‘tip jar’ to work, the artist would need to contact the platforms and set it up personally. And, unlike a single distributor that maintains relationships with multiple platforms for an artist, the artist would have to directly manage each platform (assuming different spaces come on board to the idea).

But could we even get to that point? This concept wouldn’t work unless Spotify came on board. And what’s the incentive for Spotify to do something like a ‘tip jar?’ It would take an investment and change in infrastructure to set up this feature and facilitate direct payments. What’s in it for them? As a shareholder-controlled company, there needs to be a profit motive embedded in everything they do. And, again, if a platform takes a cut of the ‘tips,’ then the purpose is defeated.

I don’t harbor an illusion that Spotify would install a ‘tip jar’ without a profit motive simply to support the artist community. It’s not hard to discern Spotify’s interests, given the company’s recent moves: the opposition to raising copyright payouts to songwriters, the shift to podcasts, Daniel Ek’s insistence that Spotify is an ‘audio company,’ not a ‘music company.’ Spotify, and other corporate platforms, seek profit above all else, and a ‘tip jar’ doesn’t fit into that equation.

Now let’s pull back and look at some broader problems. We have to accept that, on its face, a ‘tip jar’ on streaming platforms is a bad idea. It disguises the insufficient payouts to artists — as well as the lousy record deals where many artists find themselves trapped — by claiming they can (and should) live off tips. There are already ethical problems with paying service industry workers far below minimum wage due to the possibility of ‘tips.’ We shouldn’t continue to normalize this practice by extending it to recording artists.

Also, an artist tipping system harms non-artist songwriters. Songwriters would not receive these tips. If fact, non-artist writers would probably receive less royalty. It’s possible services and labels would use the tipping feature as an excuse to reduce royalty payouts.

If we can ignore this bad behavior, then there’s an additional danger. A tipping system on Spotify, used by artists for income, would ironically increase reliance on the platform. It’s another method of separating artists from their fans, with Spotify standing in the middle. If the domination of corporate streaming platforms is what brought us here, wouldn’t it make better sense to offer solutions that lessened an artist’s ties to them? I worry that including Spotify et al. in plans to help independent artists shuts us off from outside-of-the-box ideas that further artist independence.

I also don’t think that artists should have to busk and beg on the side of a road that runs alongside corporate property. It’s a bad look, and it’s demeaning, and, despite what we’re led to believe, there are other options. Yes, artists need to make a living, and streaming payouts are awful, especially in the niche genres. But ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ isn’t the answer here.

The answer lies in fandom — it always has — and finding ways to cultivate and engage an audience without a middleman controlling access. For starters, a robust artist website is key. Create a hub that draws new listeners and repeated visits from diehard fans. Reward with bountiful content, consistent updates, surprises (very important), and full streams of the catalog. Your website is where you send people, not Facebook or Spotify or another platform that controls access to fans. One can still use those platforms, of course, but use them merely as tools to get people to your site. And, if you want, that’s where the tip jar goes.