The Ethics of Spotify

Dec 30

I bought 10 albums this year, and three of those as presents for other people. A couple of years ago that number would be closer to 70, and it’s not like I listened to any less music in 2011 than I have in the past. The difference is made up by Spotify.

I fell for Spotify pretty hard in 2009, signed up for the Premium service as soon as it was launched, and have happily paid my £9.99 per month ever since to enjoy ‘unlimited’ access to a huge variety of music. The service seemed tailor made for me: as much new music as I could find time to listen to, synced to my iPod inside a well designed app and updateable at any time via wi-fi. I used Spotify, in both its desktop and portable incarnations, a heck of a lot in 2010, and in 2011 it became my default means of listening to music. Of the 20 albums on my year-end list I own only four, and all but one of those was discovered via Spotify.

I’ve experiences a few glitches with the service, such as a couple of occasions when the iOS app would suddenly decide it needed login credentials to proceed, and would then not be able to use them because I was on a train and didn’t have a net connection. I’ve also run afoul of the admittedly rare circumstance of having an album disappear from the service, rendering itself unplayable – this happened to Das Racist’s Relax this year, which I’d been enjoying for a few weeks before it was pulled from Spotify for reasons unknown, leaving me with a dead playlist. But these are fairly minor problems, easily outweighed by the positive experience of using the experience for the most part.

My doubts about the service started to creep in at some point this year when I started reading reports, maybe around the time of launch of Spotify in the US, about how it wasn’t working out so well for artists. Having positioned itself as the music industry’s saviour, and the answer to the exponential problem of piracy in digital media, Spotify was allegedly not doing right by the people behind the music.

Here’s the pitch: giving people easy access to limitless music for a low price makes the hassle of piracy look like too much hard work. With Spotify you can get everything in one place, it’s sorted properly, the quality is what it should be, and you’re not breaking the law to listen as much as you want. I’ve always been ardently anti-piracy, adamant that artists deserve to be paid for what they create, so this argument spoke to me directly and if it seemed too good to be true it was at least sanctioned by the labels, right?

Unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good thing for the artists. When Coldplay decided to keep their latest LP off streaming services I’ll admit to feeling a little irked. I wanted to hear the record, and, accustomed as I had become to paying £9.99 per month for as much music as I wanted, I resented being asked to pay £7.99 for one album that-my appreciation for Coldplay being mild at best-probably wouldn’t get played all that much in a couple of months. A year or two before I’d been used to paying £7.99 per album download-down from £9.99 for a CD-and hunting the various digital retailers to pick it up a couple of pounds cheaper was all part of the fun.

I started to look into what the return for artists was from the different distribution channels, and what I found certainly seems to support the idea that if it looks too good to be true it probably is. The exact details of how Spotify calculates payouts to artists is something of a (guilty?) secret, but various sources have pieced together estimations that, together, probably give us a good idea. Anu Kirk (project lead at MOG (mog.com)) estimates that Spotify pays about $0.04 per album streamed, so about $0.004 per track per listen.

David McCandless of Information is Beautiful used data from this blogpost and spreadsheet to put together a visualisation which really helps push the point home:

If an artist has to rack up over 4m listens on Spotify per month to make minimum wage it’s difficult to argue that the streaming model isn’t broken. Selling 12,399 tracks per month on iTunes seems more reasonable, though still a stretch for smaller artists without label-backed marketing. And this is where we come to the argument that musicians these days don’t make money from record sales, instead relying on concert tickets and merchandise to make a living. I don’t know the extent to which this is true, and if it is then it’s something of a shame: not an excuse for the poor earnings made via music sales but a symptom of it.

I don’t entirely know where this leaves me. Do I return to using iTunes and the odd CD purchase as my main channels of music consumption? It seems logical, and with the arrival of iTunes Match it’s easier than it’s ever been to have access to your entire collection from anywhere. But what about discovering new music? I’ve grown accustomed to seeking out new releases on a Monday and giving anything which interests me at least a quick listen on Spotify. Hopefully, if the music blogs are doing their job, I’ll still be able to keep up to date with new releases and hear streams of many of them before making a purchasing decision. Maybe I’ll have to listen to more 6Music, visit We Are Hunted with greater frequency and spend time haunting Bandcamp, but with a little effort it should be possible.

I’ll miss Spotify. The idea is brilliant, the execution is excellent, but it seems too exploitative a model to support, and perhaps to survive. Whether its more artists pulling their albums from the service, or a rise in membership fees which members would be forced to go along with to maintain access to their playlists, it seems something has to give with the way Spotify is set up at the moment.

Author Adam
Category Music
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Happy Birthday Nevermind

Sep 24

At some point in 1994 a friend returned from a European holiday bearing a gift: a C90 tape onto which he had copied a pair of albums that he’d somehow discovered on the continent and thought I should hear. The way I like to remember it is with that hand-labelled tape being handed over along with the promise that the contents would change my life; if that actually happened then my friend was spot on.

A couple of years prior to that I’d driven my family to distraction on a European holiday of our own, with my insistence on the repeated play of a tape I’d made with Michael Jackson’s Bad on one side, and Thriller on the other. That was pretty indicative of my listening at the time: pop-rock and straight pop, my first self-purchased tape was The Spin Doctors’ Pocketful of Kryptonite, and my first CD had been REM’s Monster. I liked music – I was interested in it; I recorded the Top 40 on a Sunday, trying to cut out as much of the presenter’s commentary as possible – but it wasn’t a huge part of my life in any meaningful way.

That tape my friend handed me changed that. Nevermind on one side; In Utero on the other – it is the most magical piece of plastic I’ve ever owned.

The argument has been made countless times that Nevermind is the most influential album of the last 20 years. I find that pretty convincing, but regardless of its impact on the music ecosystem as a whole it is undoubtedly at the centre of my own musical universe. I can trace back pretty much everything I listen to on a regular basis back to it, even if it’s by relatively extended degrees of separation. In the first instance Nirvana led me to Pixies, Black Flag, and Pearl Jam among others, which in turn led me to Fugazi, Smashing Pumpkins, Screaming Trees and countless other bands. The diagram, if I set my mind to drawing it, would be colossal, and Nevermind would be right there in the middle.

I remember Cobain’s voice took some time to get used to. If you take into account the records that had occupied my Walkman up to that point it becomes obvious that he wasn’t playing by the same rules as the singers in those bands. His delivery is raw, un-self-conscious and powerfully emotive, and though it didn’t fit with my idea of “good” singing at the time, I was drawn magnetically to something about it. And the same went for other aspects of the album: the (relative) grittiness of the production (exhibited to a far greater degree on the other side of the tape); the huge drum sound; the ringing, shrieking distortion that somehow managed to remain tuneful…

Nevermind put me under its spell quickly. I fell in love with it not by increments but in one fell swoop, and deeply. Infatuated with every note of it I began digging around for more: Bleach of course, and Incesticide I found pretty quickly; the same friend who had brought the enchanted object into my life was able to supply me with bootlegged concert tapes and recorded interviews. I had quite the haul of these holy trinkets before I found out that they were all I’d ever have – that the man behind the distortion and that voice had taken his own life.

Kurt Cobain’s suicide has its place as one of the founding legends of my youth, just as it does for many of my generation, and just as Kennedy’s assassination had for our parents’. At times I embraced it morbidly, explored the shadowy depths of its martyr symbolism and wallowing in its beautiful, unimpeachable sadness. I see that now as a natural part of coming to terms with the concept of death – something which forms a part of adolesence equal in both importance and messiness to the period’s bodily changes. It is impossible to calculate to what extent the tragedy of that death, and the extent to which its legend has been canonised, has coloured the legacy of the music. Nevermind‘s massive popularity is often spoken of as being some curious mix of owing to and having caused its author’s suicide.

It only takes the simple act of listening to it, even 20 years after its release, to render the conversation meaningless. None of its magic has been depleted, and it still holds firmly that quixotic middle ground between belonging to its era and being truly timeless. Nevermind’s cultural impact is colossal, but it shouldn’t be forgotten that it is comprised of millions of tiny revolutions the album has inspired in countless hearts the world over in the last two decades.

Author Adam
Category Music
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TKOL RMX 1234567

Sep 23

You can always count on Radiohead for great visual design. Starting with the manipulated photography of 1995′s The Bends each record has had its own aesthetic style which goes a long way towards informing the greater ??? in which the music is located.

I haven’t bought many CDs in the last couple of years (relying almost exclusively on Spotify with a touch of iTunes), but I was tempted to pick up each of the remix EPs the band have been putting out lately based purely on the packaging. I’m not too sure about the cover for the 2CD compilation XL is releasing in October but I love the minimal, geometric design which runs through the other 7 releases.

Author Adam
Category Art
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