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Surviving Spotify’s Future Landscape

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There’s a lot of chatter about Daniel Ek’s recent interview with Musically’s Stuart Dredge. There are more than a few nuggets to dissect, but this one is getting the most attention:

“There is a narrative fallacy here, combined with the fact that, obviously, some artists that used to do well in the past may not do well in this future landscape, where you can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough,” said Ek. […] “I feel, really, that the ones that aren’t doing well in streaming are predominantly people who want to release music the way it used to be released …”

As Liz Pelly has explored on The Baffler, Spotify seems intent on influencing artists to tailor their music to benefit the platform. Yes, some point out that in past decades artists used to release 1 or 2 albums every year, so what Ek proposes is nothing new. But the difference is that artists now almost solely rely on touring for income. It’s impossible for most acts to frequently take months off to record a succession of albums without dire financial risk. No doubt you’ve heard the common refrain that bands used to tour to promote album releases, and now it’s the other way around. 

PRS’s Tom Gray illustrates this using The Beatles as an example. The Beatles stopped touring to concentrate on their studio work and, to Ek’s satisfaction, released a lot more than an album every few years. It’s doubtful a 2020 Beatles could do the same. Without touring income, they would be in the hole. Here’s Tom’s take (click here to read the full thread):

Tom’s numbers get a little fudgey — studio costs and such don’t need to be that high these days — but the point stands. The Spotify age is not kind to bands that camp out in studios. (The streaming model is even crueler to those who write songs but don’t perform, but that’s a whole other harrowing tale I’ll save for another time.)

Damon Krukowski challenges Ek’s statement by looking at current Spotify earnings from his former band, Galaxie 500. Krukowski points out that the band hasn’t released anything in over 20 years so, by Ek’s reasoning, they shouldn’t do well in ‘this future landscape.’ But they get more than one million streams a month. That’s pretty good, right? God knows I wish my catalog got half those monthly streams. 

You might think those numbers put Krukowski and Galaxie 500 in the musical middle class. Instead, those streams amount to about $1250 per band member a month. Here’s Damon (click here to read the full thread):

The concern isn’t what Ek refers to as the ‘top tier’ artists. Those are doing fine. The top artists have always done fine. And, for a variety of factors, they can (for now) live off Spotify royalties and the other compounding advantages of fame and exposure. The problem is the disruption of music’s middle class. This sector relied financially for most of this century (so far) on touring. And with COVID-19 in the air, the absence of touring and the diminished value of recorded music creates a crisis. Music’s middle class was already disappearing — in 2021, it could be gone entirely.1Be sure to put a pin on the idea that this disappearing middle class is reflective of income disparity in our society at large.

That’s what this interview — and Bob Lefsetz’s defense of Spotify — glosses over. Of course, wildly successful artists, with tens or hundreds of millions of plays a month, make good money from streaming. And it’s disingenuous to imply that artists complain because they feel entitled to the same. I can confidently speak for most artists that we just want an opportunity to earn a living through our music. Opportunity is not entitlement. Even though an artist’s ‘middle class’ was always precarious, there’s very little chance now to make it work. 

The implication from Ek is — and he’s not that far off — in the eyes of Spotify, you’re either a superstar or an unknown. The insult is Ek saying that the latter position is mostly the artist’s fault because she’s a Luddite who’s not “putting the work in.”

(I’m reminded of this insightful quote from author Nancy Baym: “It’s amazing to me to see how so many careers, in music and beyond, have shifted such that it’s no longer enough to do the work. Now you have to do the work of making sure everyone is seeing that you’ve done the work.”) 

But I’m not placing all the blame on Ek, streaming, and the Napster guys who let this genie out of the bottle. All of that became inevitable as soon as the first ones-and-zeroes were digitally encoded on a compact disc. But as listeners and recording artists, we play a part by accepting the notion that Spotify is unavoidable and necessary. Yes, I believe that Spotify is not going anywhere. And I doubt they’ll change anything except notch their monthly price up a dollar or two in a few years. What it’s essential also to understand is we’re not obligated to play along. 

As concerned recording artists, we don’t necessarily need to remove our music from Spotify (though, if you do exit the platform, good on you). The key is to treat streaming as the entrance of a marketing funnel to lead potential fans to our sites and mailing lists. Let’s look at it as if it’s radio. Radio in the US egregiously doesn’t pay a royalty to performers, but performers still allow their music on the radio as it’s an entry for new listeners. But they never say, “You should only listen to my music on the radio.” 

Or as a more musically-inclined Tyler Durden might say: “The first rule of Spotify is you do not talk about Spotify.” Only post links to your site or a store like Bandcamp. Seriously — there is no reason to send your fans to Spotify. The distant hope that the company will return the favor by adding your song to one of their big playlists is a broken motivation.

As listeners, we have a responsibility, too. I frequently write about the seductive appeal of streaming — I know I can’t resist effortlessly accessing an album or band that I just learned about. But we should also support the artists we enjoy by directly purchasing their music, ordering their merchandise, and signing up for their mailing lists. It’s not that difficult, and these gestures mean a lot to the artists. And, like musical Tyler, we should spread the word by posting to our favorite artists’ websites and Bandcamp pages, not Spotify players. 

We’ll all benefit the sooner we start thinking of Spotify as an occasional sampling tool instead of a go-to listening necessity. Let’s happily hand the platform over to the ‘top tier’ with their frequent releases and domination of playlists. It’s evident from the interview that’s who Ek has in mind for his company, anyway (besides Joe Rogan, of course). 

Too Much Popcorn

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• I’m listening to Stephen Vitiello’s Buffalo Bass Delay, which Sasha Frere-Jones recommended in his terrific S/FJ newsletter. The Bandcamp description says that Stephen’s recordings are “site-specific — marked by relationships to special places, reworking and echoing an often harsh and barren reality.” The sounds on Buffalo Bass Delay were found in Buffalo, NY, including “the sounds of distant sirens and traffic on nearby Route 5, and the mournful heaving of passing locomotives.” It’s a lulling mixture of field recordings and swaths of bright ambient music, one interchangeably taking turns in prominence over the other. Buffalo Bass Delay was recorded in 2003 and feels fresh, remastered and reissued recently on the Room 40 label. It’s adding a needed calm to my workspace today. [LINK]

• The Brazilian film Bacurau follows in the steps of Parasite as a statement about class inequality, addressing localized themes in a way that feels global. The movie is a shape-shifter for making you think it’s one thing — a magical-realistic portrait of a town’s quirky inhabitants — and then becomes something else entirely. Or even a few things, as multiple genres and influences get mixed-and-matched to varying success. It’s enjoyable, but I admit I was left a little cold at the end. A Jordorowsky-meets-Tarantino experience sounds fantastic in theory, but I can’t say it worked, despite the strong positive critical consensus. The magic of someone like Bong Joon-ho is a rare ability to mix political messages with popcorn entertainment where one doesn’t overwhelm the other. Though I do recommend Bacurau overall, I think it has a little too much popcorn. [LINK]

• Bandcamp continues to capture the goodwill of the artist community through its charitable moves. As you probably know, the platform held artist support days due to COVID-19’s disruption of the touring industry. Those now-monthly happenings see Bandcamp waiving its percentage of revenue to give artists the full sales amount. In the wake of tragedy and turmoil, the much-needed spotlight on racial injustice has inspired Bandcamp to action this Juneteenth. Promised to become a yearly tradition, on June 19th Bandcamp will give 100% of their revenue to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. “We’re also allocating an additional $30,000 per year to partner with organizations that fight for racial justice and create opportunities for people of color.” Good on them. Meanwhile, Spotify inspires tweets like this from its employees. [LINK]

• Speaking of rankled employees, Facebook is inspiring some of its own to make statements like this. Daring Fireball’s John Gruber doesn’t hold back: “Facebook’s real risk here, as I see it, is getting branded as the social network for racists. Talent retention is the top challenge for every tech company. We’re going through history, right now, and Facebook is on the wrong side of it. No one wants that on their resume.” [LINK]

• Today’s Lake Holden sunrise photo = [LINK]

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.

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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.

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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.

When Small Podcasts Want Big Music

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Vintage Microphone

Billboard:

For about a year, music-business sources say, rights holders have been monitoring podcasts more aggressively for unlicensed content. “We realized we were undervaluing the podcast market,” says one source, “and started proactively approaching people who had been using music without proper licenses.” […]

Podcasters who use music say their business is evolving from an anything-goes atmosphere reminiscent of early hip-hop sampling or online radio into an industry that depends on licensing — one, some say, in which only big companies will be able to afford the resulting fees.

I like the comparison with the early days of sampling and online radio. Podcasts have legally existed under-the-radar for over a decade, inviting the ‘wild west’ cliche when it comes to music licensing. The media attention given to Spotify’s acquisitions and start-ups like Luminary is a cause for monied interests to sit up and notice. Though most podcasts continue to live in the underground, the industry is no longer an underground industry.

Those ‘underground’ podcasts — 94% of podcasts supposedly have less than 5000 downloads an episode1A statistic that I heard repeatedly at Podcast Movement 2019 but I can’t find an online source to back it up. — have little separation from the Mark Marons and the Conan O’Briens. We judge and hype-up the industry according to its successes and highest valuation. So there’s not much wiggle room for a podcast in the 94-percentile to license a well-known piece of music at an appropriately adjusted fee. And to be fair, the rights-holders for, say, “Bohemian Rhapsody” can’t maintain the infrastructure to field thousands of small-paying requests.

Another problem is the archival nature of podcasts. Licenses are more expensive the longer they are active, so licenses with set terms — such as a one-year license — are a way to cut costs. Perpetuity is ideal, and is standard in film and television licensing, but can be out-of-range for podcast budgets. The Billboard article notes that “an annual track license generally costs between $500 and $2,000 for the master recording, plus the same amount for publishing … and must be renewed for a podcast to remain online.” A podcaster in this arrangement would pay this fee annually or have no choice but to delete the archive.

Here’s Music Ally’s take:

Now imagine the admin (let alone the mounting costs) for a podcast that puts out shows on a weekly or even daily basis. […] That’s not an argument for rightsholders not to be compensated for use of music in shows that can reach wide audiences, but the annual-renewal model seems fraught with challenges: we’ve seen some catalogue games ‘deleted’ by their developers because their music licences elapsed, and the games weren’t generating enough revenues any more to make renewals pay off. Could the same thing be happening for older podcasts?

An in-the-works solution is the forthcoming SoundExchange/SourceAudio collaboration that I wrote about previously. I’m sure annual renewals from podcasts will be required through this system as well but at a much lower cost2Supposedly this service will adjust the licensing fee based on the podcast’s estimated listener numbers. and the assistance of the platform in keeping track of it all.

A more immediate solution for the indie podcaster is to eschew “Bohemian Rhapsody” for independent music, focusing on labels and artists that are receptive and probably maintain all of their rights. Most small labels I know would be happy to have music featured in a podcast, or anywhere for that matter. Of course, that’s no help if you’re doing an episode about Queen. But maybe there’s already too much out there about Queen and not enough about emerging bands. Consider giving the airtime to an independent artist that would enjoy some podcast love.

Reclaiming the Intention of Fandom

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Warren Ellis has been reclaiming his physical media, sorting through collected DVDs and CDs — and sending off for new additions — in defiance of this century’s model of ephemeral, digital distribution of art. Ellis’s re-transition is occurring in public, through his fantastic newsletter — Orbital Operations — and photos appearing on his blog. There’s a touch of paranoia about treasured music becoming unavailable, whether through hard drive failures, platform redundancy, the whims of corporate interests, or technological apocalypse. It’s a calculated “withdrawal from feeds and streams,” he says, meaning the download option is considered a form of ownership. Here’s a section from today’s issue of Orbital Operations:

This is, of course, all part and parcel of my withdrawal from the feeds and streams … also, a continuing personal rejection of Music As A Service. I purchase all my downloads. And if something for sale is offered for free on a streaming site, I try to track the thing down and buy it if I love it. Sampling is fine. That’s what radio was/is for. I use YouTube and other services to sample things, and I think – I hope – it can help artists. But renting a music collection is bullshit and bad for everybody. (As is, of course, acting as if music is free like air. That only works if you don’t let all the trees die.)

(But, I reiterate, personal. Not trying to make you feel bad for streaming here. This is just what works for me, and I am well aware of my personal privilege of having an amount of disposable income for music.)

These thoughts intersect with Darren Hemmings’ piece I mentioned in a previous post, and how many of us are re-evaluating our relationships with the transitory delivery of digital art. Hemmings’ reservations mainly come from wanting to give an artist his or her due — some coin directly in the pocket — and a reasonable suspicion into the goals of a company like Spotify. These feelings also motivate Ellis, but he adds the wild card of wanting to own his music and movies and to enjoy them in a way that’s not dependent on a corporate subscription platform. In other words, something other than a platform that encourages ephemerality and distraction through endless options.

And this dovetails into my preoccupation with the societal effects of music streaming and our perception of ‘music’s place in the 21st century.’ I was a late adopter of music streaming — a casual free-tier Spotify user, the launch of Apple Music is what got me fully on board.1 Know that my late-adopter status wasn’t a Luddite-like resistance — I wasn’t listening to a lot of music in the first half of the 2010s, something I may get into at a later date. I went through multiple stages of the streaming listener: excitement at all my favorite albums at hand; discovering new albums and artists based on reviews in niche blogs; getting seduced by the fun of playlists2I temporarily switched from Apple Music to Spotify as my platform of choice during this stage.; and the realization that an obsession with playlists was turning me into a passive listener rather than an intentional one.

Passive vs. intentional is a recurring theme on this blog and it’s something I think about a lot. One effect of ‘newsfeed culture’ is it creates passivity in our consumption — what we see and hear is determined by an algorithm or a curation, a diet of someone else’s choices. This passivity isn’t always bad. When we listen to the radio, we are listening passively, and there have been times when a random radio experience changed my life. But the erosion of intentionality is a disassembling of personality. This condition can deprive us of the agency of our thoughts.

Fandom requires intention, as we decide the artists worthy of our obsession and adulation. Of course, the fan can discover a new artist through radio or a playlist, but there needs to be a push – an inner encouragement, even — to explore further. Whether by design or not, I find that playlists encourage the opposite. There’s always that new niche playlist — updated regularly! — front-and-center on the platform’s launch page, drawing attention with delightful sonic promise.

Like Hemmings and Ellis, my struggles with this brought me to Bandcamp and my personal library.3Unlike Ellis, I won’t go as far as embracing physical media. I’ve flirted closely with hoarder tendencies when I was ‘collecting,’ and I don’t want to go back there. My practice was independent of their individual screeds. Several months ago, I started building a Bandcamp collection of music for sleeping. I noticed that familiar satisfaction of purchasing a release and knowing the majority of my payment will go to the creator — a much different psychological experience than a monthly subscription payment to a DSP. And I was picky about what I was purchasing, thus committing the music to multiple listens and an attachment to memory. At first, I left these releases to play via Bandcamp but soon downloaded the lossless files, adding them to my iTunes library. More satisfaction; I was creating a walled-garden library of music that I intentionally discovered and considered top notch. Sort of like I did when I was a teenager buying record albums and arranging them in a milk crate.

And now I’m visiting Bandcamp more often than Apple Music or Spotify, and I’m purchasing more than ‘sleep music.’ Admittedly, I’m still experimenting — this whole era of digital music has been a constant experiment — and I’ll continue to document all this on the blog. But behind this post is a fascination that as all things internet have lost their luster other listeners and music fans are arriving at a similar place. There’s a questioning of music’s role among fandom and the artists that wish to cultivate fans. I feel like we’re all at a critical crossroads and I couldn’t be more excited.

Music Biz Recap: Non-Stop Shop Talk Recovery

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Vintage Nashville Postcard

After a miserable travel day (storms over Charlotte) I made it to Nashville and participated in what is perhaps my favorite music industry conference, Music Biz. I like Music Biz because all the attendees are laser-focused on making the music industry better — though like in politics, our definitions of ‘better’ might wildly diverge. There aren’t people hanging out wanting to see their favorite bands, and there isn’t a film, tech, and gaming festival running in tandem. It’s just music industry folks meeting music industry folks and talking about the music industry,

Music Biz is a barometer for how people are thinking about the industry. In retrospect, only a week later, the conference seems like a snapshot of the state of the business of music in 2019. And this year, more than any other year I attended, that state seems pretty good. Attendance was supposedly at a record level, and buzz about the future overshadowed complaints about the present.

Last year the Music Modernization Act was a ‘fingers crossed’ topic, and this year there were multiple panels on how to prepare and utilize it for increased royalty. There was much talk about how smart speakers will influence and aid discovery, something I was bearish on before but now I’m sufficiently intrigued. New technologies I sampled involved enhanced streaming fidelity and improving a fan’s immersion through interactive ‘liner notes’ functions, both fan-centric efforts. The IFPI gave an optimistic presentation showing dramatically rising music revenues across the globe. And, though there was still talk of playlists, the conversation was mostly about how a band’s overall presentation across channels — digital and IRL — is key, rather than tips on gaming an algorithm.

Sunday was the first day of Music Biz, which is new as all the years I’ve gone things started on Monday. This change threw things off a little, starting with my first breakfast meeting turning out to be a brunch meeting. Sunday also included presentations from almost all of the significant DSPs — Spotify, Amazon, Apple, SoundCloud, and YouTube. There wasn’t much new in the actual presentations, but I did find the Q&A portions informative in the recurring themes of the questions (though not all the DSPs included Q&A). Spotify’s Q&A theme reflected frustration with playlists, showing how an emphasis on this aspect makes it the primary concern of Spotify’s music creators. And then Apple Music’s Q&A embodied a different frustration: artists wanting access to more data and customization of their profiles. Paraphrasing one artist’s comment to the Apple team, “I’d love to push my Apple Music profile but, as an independent artist, Spotify allows me to add so much more of my information.” This complaint is understandable as Apple Music is positioning themselves as the artist-friendly DSP but don’t seem to be walking the talk. I hope the team picked up on this and quickly implements helpful new tools for the artists using the platform.

And with that, another Music Biz sealed and delivered. I’ll be returning next year, no doubt. In the meantime, some things I learned:

• Get in early the day before. My Airbnb check-in was 3 PM so I should have taken advantage of that and gotten in at that time and just chilled out. Or I could’ve done fun non-business Nashville stuff (like the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, which I still haven’t visited). Instead, I opted to fly in the early evening and, because of flight delays, I didn’t get into bed until nearly 1 AM, and I couldn’t sleep from all the leftover travel stress. It took me almost 48 hours to feel normal again.
• Writing on business cards is a pro move. At SXSW, as I chatted with a new contact, he pulled out a pen and started writing about our conversation on my business card. That stuck with me, and I copied this tactic at Music Biz. Now I have a stack of business cards with scrawled notes about how I met each person, what we talked about, and if there’s anything, in particular,-requiring follow-up. A game-changer.
• Another pro move: getting back to the hotel/Airbnb by 10 PM. Conferences are exhausting, especially for introverts (raises hand) who require precious time alone after a day of networking and non-stop chat. There are VIP parties and drinks with friends and pop-up industry hangs at seedy bars to create temptation. Don’t give in. I only made it back to my accommodations by 10 AM on the Monday night — and Tuesday at the conference was my most clear-headed and productive day. That wasn’t a coincidence.

Less Radio, More Intention: Streaming at a Crossroads

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This Medium post from Motive Unknown’s Darren Hemmings is getting a lot of attention, and rightly so:

We are constantly being told by the likes of Spotify that they can enhance our music discovery. Algorithms and their own curated playlists should give us no end of music to enjoy. But the sheer volume, coupled with zero friction, results in the much-cited “paradox of choice”. Selecting anything is horribly hard, but equally, with zero friction in accessing it, no emotional investment is made and our own consumption becomes entirely shallow. […]

At every step of the way, streaming services are essentially gaslighting us that this ecosystem is an amazing new development. Just like Silicon Valley in general, there is this mindset that having everything available all the time is a good thing. It isn’t — and it is arguably damaging art and culture as a result. […]

In 2019, artists need meaningful patronage, not a speech about how they could get more streams. That patronage might come from merch or other means, but it should come from music too. As someone who makes his living from the music industry, it also occurred to me that frankly, I owe these people. Without them, I wouldn’t have this job that I love.

The author continues with an opinion that streaming is more of a replacement for radio — rather than for albums or fan-cherished media — than we realize. Like radio, most listeners approach streamed music passively and ephemerally — a song or artist listened to now is forgotten fifteen minutes later. Hemmings feels this is partly due to a lack of listener investment (the purchase of the music) as well as the psychological effect of a seemingly endless amount of content.

I still think that music fans can utilize streaming with intention, but it’s not effortless. Rather than clicking on playlists and random recommendations, listeners can seek out albums and new releases from trusted sources (reviews, online radio shows, friends). And once a great album is discovered, learning more about it and its artist is just a few clicks away. That said, requiring intention won’t easily convert casual listeners to die-hard fans, but the seductive nature of playlists and algorithmic recommendations is turning fans into more passive listeners. Intention used to be inherent in the medium. Gone are the days of merely perusing the CD or LP liner notes (or holding a curiosity-inspiring album cover) and digging further.

The comparison with radio may predict another inevitability: that streaming platforms will become more exclusive rather than aiming to contain every available musical recording. Just as you know to turn to a top 40 radio station to hear that format, or a jazz FM station for be-bop, or the local college station for freeform, esoteric selections, we may see a similar separation in streaming outlets. I believe this could be a good thing, and we’re seeing seeds in the Bandcamp model — that platform isn’t actively courting the new Taylor Swift single.

The ultimate model is for artists to create portals for music through their sites like Neil Young has done with his Archives project. If a fan wanted to hear the music first and in the best quality or format then the artist’s site could be the destination rather than that of a corporate third party. This also gives the artist freedom over presentation, to have ‘liner notes,’ videos, behind-the-scenes documentaries, and such featured alongside the music. The emphasis would be on fan-building as opposed to platform-building. One step further is for artists to be connected and networked, perhaps via an organization like Merlin, so music from similar bands are discovered through the artist’s portal.

There are still many possible directions for the future of the streaming industry. I know it feels like we’re at the end-point, that Spotify and Apple’s dominance and agenda-setting are the way things are and will be. But, as we’re learning with society’s now mainstream skepticism of social media, we’re still at the ‘figuring-it-all-out’ stage with digital media. Expect more than a few forks and unexpected crossroads along the way. And if an independent artist’s future is outside of Spotify — just as independents were rarely included on MTV or commercial radio — then it’s likely that artist will end up stronger for it.

🔗→ Music Streaming Services Are Gaslighting Us

Apple Gains as Songwriters Come Out Against Spotify

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Billboard:

In 2017, Spotify launched its Secret Genius Awards annual event to honor songwriters and producers behind some of the streaming platform’s most-played songs. But now some of those same honorees are speaking out about something much less celebrated — Spotify’s plan to appeal Copyright Royalty Board rates, along with Google, Pandora and Amazon.

“We’re hurt and disappointed,” the dozens of songwriters wrote in an an open letter to Spotify on Tuesday (April 9) addressed to Spotify chief Daniel Ek and shared with Billboard. “You created a songwriter relations team and ingratiated Spotify into our community. We know that you are not the only DSP appealing the Copyright Royalty Board (CRB) rate determination. You are, however, the only provider that made us feel we were working to build a modern music industry together.”

It seems silly, from a PR standpoint, that Spotify would pick this battle (along with another two at the same time). But how could the company know that songwriters — and a good segment of the industry — would come together with such force? Historically musicians and their industry don’t exactly agree, delivering a fragmented and unfocused protest at best. Perhaps songwriters have been emboldened by the Music Modernization Act, or the pervasive atmosphere of protest we live in now, or the vilification of the tech industry by its own actions, led by Facebook. A combination of the three is most likely.

Spotify will probably be the loser in this PR war. And the winner might be the tech giant that’s sitting this one out, according to Variety:

Ultimately, Apple, which for years was the company the music industry most loved to hate, is now in an enviable position. If Spotify wins its appeal against the CRB — which is considered a long shot — Apple benefits by paying reduced royalty rates. If Spotify loses the appeal, Apple, by not joining the other streamers, looks like the hero. And if, at the urging of songwriters, artists start jumping on a #CancelSpotify bandwagon, Apple Music stands to gain subscribers.

“Unlike Spotify, music is not Apple’s core business, thus allowing [it] to sit this one out, with Spotify taking the heat and the legal bills that follow,” says Jeff Rabhan, chair of the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at NYU Tisch. “By choosing to watch this war from the sidelines, Apple has made a brilliant move by making no move at all.”

🔗→ Spotify’s Secret Genius Songwriters Pen Letter to Daniel Ek Over CRB Rate Appeal: ‘You Have Used Us’
🔗→ Apple Is the Real Winner in Spotify’s Battle Against Songwriters’ Rate Hike