Cherry-Picked

On my birthday this year, Spotify choked, big-time. The internet outage was all over the news, affecting thousands of users on Spotify and other sites. For me personally, it was a pretty garbage birthday gift, especially given that I’d shamelessly DoorDashed corded earbuds to the office that very morning to stash at my desk so I’d never have to go sound-free at work (God forbid). [Author’s Note: I don’t even use DoorDash for food, that’s how desperate I was without my Airpods.] 

They (Spotify) don’t know that my entire sense of self from 2014-on exists within 428 playlists thus far, ranging from vibe- and artist-specific, to my monthly favorites, to half-baked ideas I can’t quite explain to myself, much less anyone else, but that grow to 100-something songs nonetheless. I truly have Spotify open at all hours of the day, and as I write this, I feel increasingly like an addict that needs to attend Media Addicts Anonymous. 

Interruptions like these prompt reflection for me: I wonder if I’ve put too much faith and trust in the complicated tech-stack that is Spotify. In addition to potential connectivity concerns and long-term unreliability as record-keeping software, the forced pause has made me wonder how I might shift my listening. Should I go for a more concrete, owned, downloadable method? Or perhaps go “full physical” (records, CDs, cassettes, you name it)? 

Outages like these also beg the question, who benefits from my use of this platform? It’s by no means groundbreaking to shake my fist at a tech giant profiting off of people’s art – their hearts, souls, and life’s work optionally (but in all reality, forcibly) streamed for means of audience building, recognition, and a paycheck, all the while churning out massive profits for a select few at the tippy top, leaving most artists with the scraps they’re able to collect through “royalties.” To Spotify’s credit, their economic report, “Loud and Clear,” attempts to build transparency for artists on the economics of streaming. Plus, Spotify execs make far less than other tech giants, with its CEO not even taking a salary since 2017 (which is much easier to do when you’ve got a boatload of equity in tow). Regardless, I still wonder: if I really love music, and if I really want to support artists, does that merit quitting streaming entirely? 

It seems some real “music people”– quote, unquote because I think *chef Auguste Gousteau voice* anyone can cook [be a music person] but we digress – have quit streaming altogether, some even offering step-by-step guides of how to do the same (it’s not complicated, btw). But I don’t think I would’ve grown to love music the way I do now if I hadn’t had Spotify as a young teen and beyond. Of course, FM radio was where I built my base: I had the radio playing all-day, every-day, from my teacup-shaped Hello Kitty alarm clock as a little kid (very cool!). I feel extremely lucky that the radio was popping off in the 2000’s, and I didn’t discriminate: I liked the pop stations, the oldies stations, the Christian rock stations, even the “alt” stations. My obsession ran so deep that my parents started calling me the “Human Shazam,” since I could name nearly every song that came on within seconds. Radio-education aside, I don’t know if my knowledge and taste would’ve expanded the way it has without streaming, especially the ultra user-friendly Spotify with its allure of free will (hi, sponsorships and algorithms!). But honestly, would Jim Croce be my favorite artist of all time, if not for Spotify? He didn’t make it on the radio enough to earn that place in my heart. And would I be able to track new music releases without the help of New Music Friday and my Release Radar? I doubt it!

There’s obviously an argument for having streamed the way I did, growing and discovering with ease and swiftness for only $12.99 a month, and eventually giving it up altogether, going full Marie Kondo with a “thanks!” and “good riddance!” Or perhaps there’s room to downsize, to listen less online and more on my Audio Technica, to the thrifted, pre-loved, and brand new records lined up below my TV. Or there’s an argument to not think so hard, not plan so hard, and do what feels right when it feels right. Lastly, there’s an argument for shutting up about it all and touching some grass. 

Regardless of what I do next, to stream or not to stream, maybe this “garbage bday gift” was actually an opportunity to shut off autopilot, reconsider my knee-jerk, must-have earbud DoorDashing, and to be present, for once. Is this what a fully formed frontal lobe feels like?