Main Street Magazine Spring '23

categories and genres blow up wildly in popularity, and people rush to prove
that they’re ‘not just band wagoning, okay?’ Authenticity is the most desirable
commodity in this new Internet-scape, and nothing could be worse than just
hopping on a new trend because it’s popular. The desire to prove that you’re
engaging with something not just in the right ways, but for the right reasons, is
massively pervasive.
All this is to say, being authentic online is seen as going against the grain, and
proving that you aren’t a poser is more than naming three Nirvana songs at
the dude you hoped wouldn’t say anything about your t-shirt. The rise of the
internet has given this type of attitude an even bigger foothold. New ways to
track your own (and other people’s) consumption habits crop up every day,
making it easier and easier to judge and be judged. In the same way that antiposerism
is more about posturing and separating oneself from the masses
than the sanctity of music, these new tracking methods are more about
appearing like the most authentic person in the room, because that is what’s
desirable.
It is in this culture of self-commodification that these data
tracking apps in particular have grabbed hold.
The transference of many in-person communities to the online sphere during
the pandemic, combined with this seemingly inherent need for differentiation,
has led to an almost panopticon-esque attitude towards them, and media
consumption in general. Because of the constant self-commodification
required to be online, it’s hard to feel like you aren’t always being observed,
even when you’re alone. Spotify offers a ‘private session’ toggle where you
can stop your listening habits from being visible to friends or counting towards
Wrapped. In the weeks leading up to November 1st, when Spotify stops
tracking listener data for Wrapped, there are countless viral posts from people
worrying about what theirs will look like, how they need to stream a song a
bunch real quick before the cutoff to ‘save’ their Wrapped, or whether or not
they should still post theirs on their Instagram story if their third top artist is
the Glee Cast.
Last.fm, on the other hand, is different because of its
consistency.
The app tracks ‘scrobbles’, or the amount of times a song is listened to, along
with other analytics. To use the program, you must give the app notification
permissions — allowing the app to both view your listening activity and to
send a notification that your music is being tracked every time that a new
song comes on. It isn’t a yearly wrap-up sent to your inbox or a website that
you have to login to every time you’d like to check. It is constantly running,
and its users are constantly aware. Last.fm and similar tracking programs
have become conduits through which media is consumed, due to their
omnipresence in listeners’ lives. The tracking adds another dimension to the
listening process, one that can often create distance between the art and the
listener. In many ways, Last.fm and its place in modern Internet and music
culture acts as a microcosm of how a culture that consistently encourages
self-commodification impacts the average person and their attitudes toward
art and consumption.
Many popular listening analytics programs draw direct comparisons with
other users, exacerbating these attitudes of competition and comparison.
Spotify Wrapped shows where you fall compared to other listeners of your
top artist — in 2021 I was in the top 0.005% of Fall Out Boy listeners and
seriously considered pretending it was just a glitch for my own peace of mind.
Obscurify is a website that gives users their top genres, artists, songs, and
other analyses, as well as showing how obscure your music taste is compared
to the United States average, while Last.fm allows users to compare each
other’s data. This all contributes to this numbers-driven, hyper individualistic
culture and makes it even harder to find deep connection with the art, rather
than what it represents.
Music is massively personal, and these tracking and analytic programs
encourage — often passively — listeners to depersonalize the listening
experience. It separates art from its existence as a creative work and instead
makes it a number, becoming a piece in the algorithmically generated puzzle
of vice.com buzzwords and securing the listener a spot as one of them, too.
This phenomenon speaks to a cultural attitude towards art and music that has
become almost disembodied, and often dissociated from feeling beyond that
of belonging within a group, a need that has seemingly become even more
prominent in the wake of social isolation caused by the COVID-19 pandemic
and heightened political and social polarization. Because the pandemic
pushed previously in-person interaction completely online, engaging in these
hyperspecific online spaces became the be-all end-all of human interaction.
This created even more pressure and hyper-commodification,
simply because there was nowhere else to turn.
All this said, being intentional about the art that you consume can be positive
when it’s not centered around self-branding. It’s fascinating to be able to see
analytics of your listening habits, especially because it’s something that has
never been available until recently. Considering why you have the impulse to
track your listening is very important — is it to post? Why are you posting it?
Who are you hoping sees it? If you’re thinking about what your analytics will
look like when you’re not looking at them, does this ever impact what you
decide to listen to? Focusing on finding new music through non-online means
is also important in terms of preserving a personal connection with art. When
the algorithm is unable to make it so aggressively clear where things fit in
their predetermined marketing demographic boxes, it’s far easier to parse out
your own thoughts and feelings. Going to a show at a local venue, or even just
paying attention to the bands that are playing there, is a great way to support
not just your own personal connection to music, but also independent artists.
A connection with music leads to community which leads to connection with
yourself, which is why it’s so dangerous to commodify it so heavily. Above
all, music is art, and it doesn’t have to be serious or deep or heavy to be
important and personal.
Connecting and being intentional with music, art, and your life
is far more rewarding than watching your scrobbles go up or
seeing a perfectly artificially curated Spotify Wrapped.
By Lilly Cassely
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