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Chappell Roan and “Brat” show that algorithms are changing the way we listen to music

Chappell Roan and “Brat” show that algorithms are changing the way we listen to music


Streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music have become the primary medium for music consumption for many people. What does this mean for artists?

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One day, my roommate at the time burst into my room and started doing some sort of line dance. Confused, I asked her what she was doing and she told me she was doing a dance that was all over her TikTok For You page.

When she showed me videos of girls in cowboy boots and Daisy Duke shorts stomping to Dasha’s “Austin (Boots Stop Workin’),” I was shocked at how little I knew.

Ten years ago, this interaction would have looked very different. We would probably have listened to the same music and used the same media. But today, it’s as if the Internet has transported us to separate worlds.

The advent of streaming and social media has fundamentally changed the way we consume and engage with music. Moments of cultural ubiquity seem few and far between. We are now at the mercy of internet algorithms that force us into echo chambers. Culture is broken—and arguably irreparable. And the divisions that have been created often prevent the great cultural moments that we can all participate in and share.

This presents a dilemma for the music industry, which has struggled to find its footing in the streaming and digital age. As the internet bridges the gap between artist and fan, the hallmarks of the past that defined a “pop star” – or any type of musician in the upper echelons of the industry – are eroding. Much of artists’ success today is based on standards that are too fickle and sporadic to be replicated, and the definition of mass success itself is becoming increasingly unclear.

It is obvious that those in charge at the record labels are at a loss as to how to take back the reins in an industry that does not seem to know where it is headed.

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Monoculture, according to Merriam-Webster, is a “culture dominated by a single element: a predominant culture characterized by homogeneity.” Think of the pop stars who were once—and still are—cultural icons: Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Michael Jackson, the Beatles, etc. They were pillars of cultural hegemony who were larger than life in an era when the limited options we had (MTV, VH1, BET, “106 & Park”) made our world seem smaller.

Now, the monoculture seems to have flown out; the digital age has hatched its eggs. Streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music have become the primary medium for music consumption. Their algorithm-driven models create hyper-personalized user experiences from hyper-specific daily lists to song and artist recommendations based on data collected from user behavior.

“Spotify knows you inside and out. It can automatically present you with a whole bunch of stuff it thinks you might like that you wouldn’t have searched for yourself,” said Rolling Stone reporter Mankaprr Conteh. “What they present to you can be completely different from what they present to your best friend.”

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While this peculiarity is beneficial for discovering new music, it makes it difficult for it to gain widespread consumer attention. So much is created, but very little reaches the commercial and cultural heights of the past.

This oversaturation is a result of the internet’s democratization of music. Anyone from anywhere can post a song online and promote it through social media. But the success of this approach relies on opaque algorithms that make things go viral almost by accident. This is uncharted territory for an industry that relies on formulaic paths to success for artists and their music, such as radio, television appearances, and daytime and evening talk show appearances.

“The industry has long tried to operate in the realm of predictability. So they look at social media analytics, streaming numbers, etc.,” Conteh said. “What’s popular on the internet is constantly changing. What you can’t really predict based on pure taste is what might resonate with people.”

What do Kamala Harris and Charli XCX have in common?

When things become popular in certain areas of the internet, they rarely reach the point of cultural ubiquity. Take Charli XCX’s album “BRAT,” for example. Since its release, its signature lime green cover with its slightly blurry typography has taken over my corner of the internet. The album has spawned countless memes and introduced phrases into our pop culture lexicon (“Brat Summer,” “Work it out on the Remix,” “Bumpin’ That”).

When Vice President Kamala Harris was taking over from President Joe Biden in the presidential race last month, Charli XCX fatefully posted on X, formerly Twitter, “Kamala IS a brat.” Harris’ campaign used the tongue-in-cheek line to stay relevant with young people, leading to segments on CNN, CBS and other major news networks decoding what this whole “brat” thing means for people with mortgages and a healthy relationship with social media.

“Kamala IS a brat”: Harris’ “Brat Summer” has caught the attention of Generation Z. That only works if they vote for her.

Although “BRAT” has entered the public consciousness through mass media, it remains somewhat incomprehensible. Only those who are in a certain corner of the Internet will be able to fully comprehend it.

“Virility these days tends to be created in these very intense silos, and very rarely do we get a moment or a person or a song on the album or a piece of work that breaks through every single silo and wakes everyone up,” said Billboard writer Kyle Denis. “Some things do, but it’s so hard to stay at that peak of pop culture for more than a week or two at a time – no matter how big you are.”

Chappell Roan is a case study in virality on the Internet

Despite this, successful artists still manage to break through. Chappell Roan is currently on everyone’s lips – and rightly so. A Missouri native, Roan signed to Atlantic Records and released her first single in 2017, but was dropped in 2020 due to “subpar” music, according to Vox.

Three years later, she released her debut album, “The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess.” The album didn’t make it into the charts at first, but turned out to be a surprise hit.

Her opening performance on Olivia Rodrigo’s tour and the attention she received through online chats and viral performance clips catapulted her into the star we know today. Midwest Princess is at number 2 on the Billboard 200 album chart, just behind Taylor Swift.

Seven of Roan’s songs have charted on the Billboard Hot 100, including her latest single, “Good Luck, Babe!”, which peaked at number 7.

Roan’s slow rise to success reveals an uncomfortable truth about the industry’s refusal to follow through on songs – namely, that if a song doesn’t top the charts immediately, it’s a failure. The Internet in general has given consumers the power to make virtually anyone a superstar, as long as they feel connected to the music and the artist and feel compelled to participate in an artist’s rise.

“We are leaving behind the era where we wanted to identify with the artists. We want to at least feel like we were involved in their creation, and when people don’t come forward with their story, we smell something fishy,” Denis said.

This need for authenticity is what makes attempts at virality—artists creating TikTok dances or songs written specifically for the internet—seem so painfully contrived. The more time we spend online, the more aware we become of the tactics artists use to promote their songs. There is no greater crime online than trying to be seen.

Do you want to be a pop star in 2024? Good luck, baby.

While the closing gap between artist and audience is not negative, it goes against the elusive nature of our traditional understanding of pop stardom. Stars are supposed to be larger than life. Social media brings them back down to earth a little. The freedom and power we now have as consumers to determine who can be a pop star has changed the meaning of the term and everything it entails, Denis said.

“In the past,” he says, “a label or the industry would tell us who the stars of tomorrow would be – and we would interfere, or the records would flop so much that we would send someone else in. But today we can make a pop star out of practically anyone.”

The model has been turned on its head. Instead of investing time and money in developing artists, labels are keeping their ears open to the internet. They seek out artists who have built a following online, but discard them if their success isn’t immediate. The charts seem like a revolving door of hot internet moments – without the songs that gained popularity through radio appearances – rather than a time capsule of stars’ lasting legacies.

Simply put, the way we engage with music today is not conducive to producing pop stars like in the past. The industry and the world have changed too much. The future of the music industry and the way we engage with it cannot be driven by nostalgia and archaic limitations. Despite this, there will always be great music.

Being a pop star in 2024 means having a connection with audiences like we’ve never experienced before. And just as consumers have the power to lift people from the internet into fame, we have the power to bring them back down.

Kofi Mframa is a columnist and digital producer for USA TODAY and the USA TODAY Network.

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