We don’t listen to music for ourselves anymore

Sri City: 15,243 minutes, that’s how long I listened to music last year, or at least pretended to. It was one of the few highlights of my Spotify Wrapped. For those who are not aware, Wrapped is a yearly event that showcases our top 5 artists and the music we listened to throughout the year. It’s essentially just a page with some useful stats, but for me, it was different. I had poured all my heart and soul into curating my Wrapped, and I had it perfected down to a science. Playing an album on loop while leaving my device idle, avoiding anyone with millions of monthly listeners, and hunting down underground artists to show the world that I am ‘cultured’ and unique. I didn't mind the effort because in the end, I was left with a beautiful Wrapped. When it finally dropped, the first thing I did was send it to all of my friends. Most of them were surprised and, dare I say, impressed. It finally felt like all that hard work actually paid off, until I got a bizarre, unexpected reply from a close friend. “Why do you even listen to music? Do you even like these artists, or do you simply listen to them for validation?”. I didn't think he was qualified to give such a response because all he listened to were mainstream Bollywood and regional songs. He was the definition of ‘basic’. I, on the other hand, had a ‘sophisticated’  taste in different genres. My music catalog was something that I held immense pride in. But after a lengthy exchange of words, I understood his perspective. For him, music was solely a private, inward experience. He wasn’t scared of being judged for listening to someone like Arjit Singh, nor was he afraid to dive into obscurity. His purpose was to enjoy music, rather than create a false identity around it. Nobody knew about his annual stats because he just didn’t care to announce them with a megaphone like I did. This incident really made me contemplate. The catalog that I was once so proud of seemed empty and hollow. I wasn’t listening to music for myself, but I was doing it solely to project an identity. I had successfully reduced the simple act of listening to music into a full-fledged performance. 

After investigating further, I soon realized that I wasn’t alone; many people create their own personal brand with the help of music, and I could see this happening everywhere. The bio section in people’s Instagram profiles can often be found with links to their self-curated playlists. Folks are seen flexing expensive merchandise from their favorite artists. For many, the entire purpose of going to a concert has been reduced to an Instagram story. The most striking example came from the recent Coldplay concert in Mumbai, where thousands of people spent lakhs on tickets, transport, and hotels, yet videos and pictures online depicted a lifeless crowd. The performance wasn’t limited to the stage; the audience performed too, filming, posting, and proving their presence to the world. Spotify's 2024 Culture Next Survey states that 62% of Gen Z users intentionally listen to music that represents their identity. The growth of Wrapped indicates that this is a growing trend. According to Spotify’s 2024 Q4 Shareholder Report, the latest Wrapped campaign was the most successful ever with 10% year-on-year growth reaching fans in 184 markets worldwide.

All our observations beg the question, why do we have to use something as private as music as a billboard displaying our identity? Part of the answer lies in our social nature. The music that we listen to is shaped by the groups we belong to or aspire to join. Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of cultural capital explains this perfectly. Our musical tastes, playlists, and concert attendance often act as markers of social status and distinction. From listening to obscure artists to look sophisticated, to posting concert selfies for clout, all of these actions end up being tools for shaping our identity; they give us a place in our self-made social hierarchy. Let’s take a glance at history for a better view. Long before Spotify, music was a communal affair; loudspeakers attached to street corners played the same song at the same time for everyone in the area, almost acting as a morning alarm for many. Music back then was mostly played by a local group at festivals or occasions. But as technology advanced, music became commodified and to some extent, westernized. Records, cassettes, and CD players were very costly for the time. Personalized music was a luxury, as only a niche privileged segment of society could afford it. Having your own Walkman or a Boombox signaled luxury and social standing. As these music players mostly supported western albums, western music would soon begin to be perceived as elite. With the advent of the internet, personalization of music reached the masses but people’s perception of western music remained the same, so much so that the younger generations have completely stopped listening to bollywood/regional music. The people who do are actively called out as ‘basic’ and tasteless.

Of course, not all music consumption is performative. Many would argue that curating playlists, attending concerts, or sharing Spotify Wrapped is simply self-expression. It’s about discovering new sounds and collaborating. It’s not about projecting status or performing for others. But these acts of self-expression are rare in a world dominated by algorithms and social media. The moment you share a song in the form of a story or a playlist, the app initiates a feedback loop. When likes and shares start trickling in, we are subtly suggested to post and share music that performs well with our followers. The algorithm takes note of it and blasts similar recommendations across different platforms. This leads us to post music that is less about what we genuinely and meaningfully enjoy. Over time, we start listening with an audience in mind. What begins as private enjoyment gradually transforms into a quiet performance. 

Thankfully, people are waking up to this. There has been a sharp rise in offline digital audio players, while others are switching to vinyl records. These relics from the past are catching up to reclaim music as a personal, intimate experience, free from performative pressures and external validation.