Spotify’s Biggest Flaw? Algorithms Are Pushing Artists to Create Bland, Soulless Music
For many talented musicians, songwriting is a form of emotional alchemy. Recently, I found myself revisiting a perfect example of this: Every Time the Sun Comes Up by Sharon Van Etten, released in 2014. The song’s fragmented lyrics paint a raw, haunting picture of self-doubt and despair, capturing emotions so profound they transcend language.
This track came to mind as I read Mood Machine, a brilliant yet disheartening new book by journalist Liz Pelly. The book delves into Spotify, the music-streaming giant with 615 million subscribers, and how it has transformed not only how we listen to music but also how music itself is created. At the heart of Pelly’s critique is Spotify’s reliance on playlists, which have reshaped the way artists approach their craft—often at the cost of creativity and authenticity.
Thanks to Spotify’s algorithms, I recently stumbled upon Every Time the Sun Comes Up in a personalized playlist titled Farmers Market, a collection saved by nearly 250,000 users. On my version, the song was sandwiched between classics like the Rolling Stones’ Beast of Burden, Mazzy Star’s Fade Into You, and Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams. While these tracks are undeniably great, their emotional depth felt diluted in this new context, reduced to background noise for “fresh produce, reusable totes, iced coffee, and all the lovely spring things.”
This, Pelly argues, is the “relegation of music to something passable, just filling the air.” Playlists strip songs of their original power and meaning, recontextualizing them as sonic wallpaper. At the same time, Spotify promotes music that lacks emotional depth altogether—a genre now dubbed “Spotifycore.” Characterized by muted, mid-tempo, and melancholy tones, this sound emerged around 2018, with artists like Billie Eilish inadvertently setting the trend. Today, it dominates playlists with titles like Chill Vibes or Relax & Unwind.
Spotifycore isn’t just a musical style; it’s a product of the platform’s business model. By showing artists data that proves this type of music generates streams, Spotify effectively encourages them to create inoffensive, algorithm-friendly tracks. This music caters to 21st-century listeners who are “anxious and overworked,” seeking solace in soundscapes that help them focus, relax, or even sleep. It’s also designed for endless streaming—songs blend seamlessly into one another, requiring minimal engagement from the listener.
But what does this mean for music as an art form? For those of us who spend hours on Spotify daily (myself included), the platform is undeniably seductive—a near-infinite jukebox accessible from devices no bigger than a candy bar. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the ethical unease that comes with using it. Spotify’s version of streaming has transformed music in unsettling ways, often prioritizing quantity over quality.
Much of the bland music flooding Spotify’s playlists is produced by what the company calls “perfect fit content” (PFC)—generic tracks churned out by production-line suppliers, often indistinguishable from AI-generated music. The platform’s payment structure, which only compensates artists if a song is streamed for more than 30 seconds, has nearly killed the art of the slow-building intro. If David Bowie’s Sound and Vision or the Temptations’ Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone were released today, they’d likely be deemed unviable.
The lack of public outrage over Spotify’s meager payouts to musicians may stem from the fact that most playlists are designed as background noise. As Pelly notes, “a population paying so little conscious attention to music would also believe it deserving of so little remuneration.”
Historically, technology has always influenced artistic expression. The shift from vinyl records to CDs, for instance, allowed albums to expand from 40 minutes to 70 or 80. But Spotify’s impact is more insidious. It doesn’t just alter the form of music—it changes our perception of what music is for. By subtly sidelining dissent and creativity, the platform has reshaped the industry in ways we’re only beginning to understand.
For example, the decline of guitar-driven music—once synonymous with countercultural rebellion—may not just be due to changing tastes. It could also be because such music doesn’t fit the low-volume, inoffensive aesthetic demanded by playlists like Stress Relief, Soft Office, or Beach Vibes. Similarly, the near-absence of social and political commentary in modern pop music might be linked to Spotify’s relentless push for “sad piano ballads with weird drums.” In the UK, Sam Fender stands out as one of the few high-profile artists tackling these themes, but his artistic isolation speaks volumes.
In a world grappling with political turmoil and social upheaval, the lack of a pop-cultural response is striking. Could this be tied to Spotify’s reduction of artists to near-anonymity, forcing them to prioritize streams over substance? And beyond politics, does this trend threaten the very existence of music with real emotional or artistic depth?
On a brighter note, Sharon Van Etten is set to perform three UK concerts this week with her band, The Attachment Theory, followed by more shows this summer. I’ll be there, fully immersed in her powerful, deeply resonant music—no playlists, no algorithms, just the raw artistry that Spotify’s system often suppresses. My phone will be off, and “chill” will be the last thing on my mind.
For those of us who still believe in music as more than just background noise, it’s time to question whether Spotify’s convenience is worth the cost to creativity.
MF Hussain
Hello! I’m MF Hussain, the creator of Spotifyinfo.net, a site that helps Spotify users enjoy their music more. With Spotify Premium, I can access a huge library of songs, create my own playlists, and listen without ads. I share my experiences to help others improve their Spotify journey.
