Measuring musical success

Posted on June 30, 2026 by Content in Context

How do we measure musical success? In an age of streaming algorithms, with songs created by AI, and “liked” by social media bots, what are the key measures by which songs or pop stars could be deemed a commercial, critical or artistic success?

The music charts are only an indication of popularity, based on a weighted combination of physical sales, downloads, streaming and radio airplay. Sales of CDs, vinyl and downloads are relatively easy to track. But streaming numbers, which account for the majority of industry revenues, have to be adjusted to discount things like free user accounts and older hits, in order to keep the charts “fresh” and “authentic”.

The problem with streaming is that it can give a distorted measure of success. Back when recorded music was only available in physical formats, buying a copy of a record meant that you didn’t own the music, but you owned an artefact that was yours to keep and play forever. That purchase counted as just one unit for the purposes of chart calculations – but you could play it hundreds and thousands of times in the privacy of your own home, yet it wouldn’t make the record any more “popular”. Contrast that with streaming platforms, where you don’t “buy” a specific song, you pay a monthly subscription; and in theory you can simply play the same song on repeat – and that form of consumption now dominates the charts. The potential to manipulate streaming algorithms in favour of particular tracks is no different to the chart rigging practices of the era of pluggers and payola.

Of course, most musicians don’t make money from record sales (or even from streaming royalties). Live gigs and merchandising account for a larger share of their overall revenue. Which is why some pop stars can generate significant GDP when they go on tour. But rather like the charts, ticket sales are only a measure of financial success, not of artistic quality or critical acclaim. Frankly, I have no interest in whether or not a pop star has achieved the highest grossing tour of all time – does the music sound any good?

The pop industry is a bit like the fast fashion industry. It requires a high turnover of new stars and new content. Given that maybe fewer than 10% of artists or records make a profit, the major record labels have to keep updating their front list catalogue with new releases. Most pop stars have a relatively short recording career – so unless they can move into song writing, music production, artist management etc. they have an ever-decreasing shelf life.

On the other hand, longevity is now something of a benchmark for musical success. With a certain bunch of octogenarians about to release their 25th studio album, no doubt some lifetime achievement awards are in the offing. But you can be pretty certain that the new record won’t carry any major surprises – it’s not like they’re about to release an album of nose flute music or three hour drone works.

Speaking of awards, the bloated industry event that is the Grammys now has 96 different categories. Some of the “genre-specific” awards feel like they have been conjured up to make sure everyone gets a turn on the podium. (Although there’s still no prize for “Best Nose Flute Recording of The Year”)

Do critics’ reviews matter or make a difference? Musical appreciation is highly subjective, and even the best-known and well-regarded critics can disagree about the merits of the same album. As a teenager, having to rely on the UK’s weekly music papers for information, it was common to gravitate towards certain reviewers – so if they gave a new album 5/5, it was probably worth checking out. Whereas, if a critic whose tastes were not to mine gave it a 5/5 review, it was probably one to avoid. In a way reflecting the Grammys, music publications increasingly cater for a particular genre or style of music, so the reviewers are preaching to the converted. In a highly fragmented music market, with silos full of homogenous content, the role of critic and reviewer is increasingly one of curation. “If you only buy one melodic rap album this year, then make it’s this one”.

A swathe of TV talent shows have been responsible for creating a bunch of (mostly) short-lived pop stars. In an effort to “give the public what the public wants”, the tactic of casting your vote for/against individual singers is supposed to ensure that “success” reflects popular taste. But, with a very narrow range of musical genres represented, and an even smaller number of songs included in their Karaoke-style repertoire, these shows are not well-suited to identify sustainable creative talent.

From a financial perspective, most major labels rely on their evergreen back catalogue. Partly to ensure certain recordings remain in copyright, but mainly to recover their past investment, reissues, supported by critical re-appraisals and careful curation, can yield strong returns on the balance sheet. An artist’s 100th birthday, the anniversary of a seminal album, or an old song’s inclusion in a box office hit or a popular TV series, are all valuable triggers for retrospective release campaigns.

Success is relative and it depends on your personal perspective. A friend of mine has been in the music industry since he was a teenager. He started out playing in local bands, then moved into music production, set up his own studio, and served as a “gun for hire” to various bands for live work and studio sessions. All along, he has been releasing records as a member of different groups, or as a solo artist (under his own name and various noms de musique). None of these records has been commercially successful, and all of them have been released on small independent labels. But for the past few years, he has single-handedly (and single-mindedly) forged a “new” name for himself, recording and releasing his own music which is meeting with critical acclaim and steady sales. He’s not exactly filling stadiums, nor is he about to top the singles charts but he has achieved a level of personal and artistic success, that reflects the pursuit of a 45 year career path on his own terms. Now that’s what I call success!

Next week: Charting Australian Music

My night with the Buzzcocks

Posted on June 23, 2026 by Content in Context

Manchester was a crucible for UK music in the wake of punk rock. Joy Division, Buzzcocks and The Fall were just a few of the key bands to emerge in 1976-77, inspired by the Sex Pistols’ legendary gigs at the city’s Lesser Free Trade Hall. These groups were supported by a cohort of entrepreneurial managers, promoters and producers. Added to this mix were local record labels like Factory, New Hormones and Rabid, and together they helped to define a “Manchester sound”, even though the bands themselves were musically diverse.

But by the very early 1980s, the city had gone off the boil again, with a number of those influential post-punk bands on hiatus. Major names such as The Smiths, James, Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses were not yet established, and “Madchester” was still several years away.

Around the same time, my family moved from the leafy suburbs of south east London to a semi-industrial town about 20km from Manchester. So the city became my second home during my time as a student at Leeds University.

In those far-off, pre-internet days, fanzines were an important source of information (alongside the weekly music papers, New Musical Express, Melody Maker and Sounds). City Fun was a key Manchester publication, and I found myself getting involved as their “Leeds correspondent”. This included writing a few articles, selling copies at gigs and trying to blag free concert tickets under the pretence of writing glowing reviews. (More on that another time….)

The editorial team on City Fun was led by Liz Naylor and Cath Carroll. In September 1982, I went with them to see Nico performing at Manchester’s Band on the Wall. After the gig, Liz, Cath, Richard Boon and myself travelled to the infamous Haçienda nightclub (which had opened just a few months earlier) in a white Ford Escort estate car driven by Howard Devoto.

The Haçienda that night felt like a hangout for off-duty musicians. Mick Hucknall, following the demise of his band the Frantic Elevators, and yet to achieve fame in Simply Red, was sulking on the balcony. Members of A Certain Ratio were propping up the bar. Vini Reilly from The Durutti Column was dancing to David Bowie’s “Fame”. I’d heard that one of the reasons Howard Devoto was in town was to re-unite with his mate Pete Shelley. Both Buzzcocks, the band Devoto and Shelly formed in 1976, and Magazine, the band Devoto formed after he left Buzzcocks, were on hiatus at the time, so there was a strong suggestion that the pair were going to start recording again. (They did, but not for another 20 years.)

Seizing the moment, I walked up to the bar where my new best friend Howard and his old mate Pete were deep in conversation. In my slightly inebriated state, I tried to insert myself into the discussion, much to the bemusement of both Shelley – who looked at his companion as if to say, “Is he with you?” – and Devoto – who replied with a look of “Don’t blame me!”

Not the finest hour in my annals of rock star encounters.

As a footnote, I met Howard again a few years later, at a house party in London. We got talking, mostly about the pros and cons of being called for jury service. (Knowing his penchant for 19th and 20th century literature, I managed to avoid making any obvious references to Dostoevsky, Kafka or Camus…) If Howard had any memory of our previous encounter, he had the good grace not to bring it up!

Next week: Measuring musical success

My night with the Sex Pistols

Posted on June 16, 2026 by Content in Context

Fifty years ago, the Sex Pistols shocked the establishment, generated salacious media headlines, shook up the music industry, and scared local authorities into banning their concerts. They were even celebrated as “Young Businessmen of the Year” for managing to extract large amounts of money from clueless/gutless record labels – these labels effectively paid the band to simply go away and leave them alone. I would recommend watching “The Filth and The Fury” documentary to get a better understanding of this startling episode in music history.

Unfortunately, the Sex Pistols imploded within two years – so I didn’t have a chance to see them in their heyday. But fast forward 20 years, and the band brought their Filthy Lucre tour to Japan. I was living in Hong Kong then, and thanks to my old mate and celebrated author, David Quantick, I ended up spending a night in Tokyo with the Sex Pistols.

At the time, David was a writer for leading UK music magazines, and he’d come to Japan to cover some live gigs. When I met him at his Tokyo hotel, his first words were: “We can either go and see this Welsh indie band, or we can see the Sex Pistols at Budokan.” With apologies to Super Furry Animals, it was no contest, and the Pistols won hands down.

The gig itself was mainly memorable for the sight of a crowd of Japanese fans singing along to “I am an anti-Christ, I am an anarchist” – many of them wouldn’t have been born when the Sex Pistols were in their prime.

After the show, we went to a back stage area, where a rather desultory “after party” was happening – a few beers in a cavernous loading bay. If I recall correctly, The Sex Pistols (minus John Lydon) made a brief appearance, but it was clear they didn’t really want to be there. We soon got word that there was an “after after party” being hosted in a venue “nearby”, so with address in hand, we went in search of further adventures.

Although I’d been to Tokyo before, I’d forgotten that distances within the megatropolis can be deceptive, and “nearby” was somewhat misleading. Also, street addresses in Japan can be very confusing for visitors, and it was obvious we were never going to find the location unaided. Thanks to our taxi driver and some friendly strangers, we made it to the venue, which turned out to be a subterranean night club, occupying several floors.

Before I knew it, I was sitting next to Sex Pistols bass player, Glen Matlock. Next to him were guitarist Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook. (Lydon, not surprisingly, was a no-show). I got into a long conversation with Glen, mainly about the Filthy Lucre tour, and also about the band’s “reunion”. I was curious how they got on, given the acrimony that had seen Glen leave the original band in early 1977.

I soon realised that the drinks kept appearing at our table, but the bar staff didn’t ask for payment – so we were drinking on the Sex Pistols’ tab (or the Japanese promoter’s). I wish I’d taken a photo of me sitting alongside the three band members (“for one night only, John Lydon was replaced by an unknown singer…”) but selfie culture was not a thing back then.

A few hours later, the band and their immediate entourage had left. The club manager came over and politely explained that from now on, we would have to pay for our own drinks. Similar Japanese reserve and restraint was on display the next day. I had crashed at David’s hotel room in the early hours of the morning, but he had to depart soon after dawn to catch his flight home. I slept on, but around 10am or 11am, the phone rang. It was the hotel reception politely but firmly suggesting I should vacate the room as soon as possible. I can’t imagine such tolerance and patience being shown in many other places.

Fast forward another 14 years, and I was walking along Melbourne’s Collins Street on my way to work. I spotted a vaguely familiar face having a coffee at a pavement cafe.

“Are you Glen Matlock?”

“Who wants to know?”

Having quickly established my bona fides (and Glen corrected me as to the exact date of our previous encounter), it turned out that he was in town as part of Robert Gordon’s backing band – an almost surreal supergroup that not even AI could have dreamt up. The Robert Gordon gig that weekend at Richmond’s Corner Hotel was something of a frustrating experience. It felt like the singer was simply going through the motions – his performance was more showbiz posture, and less musical substance. Anyway, it’s nice to see that Glen has found a new home as a member of Blondie (and a reputation for being an amiable grand old man of rock).

Next week: My night with the Buzzcocks

Music, music everywhere…. and none of it very memorable

Posted on June 9, 2026 by Content in Context

This past weekend I experienced a couple of musical events that were poles apart, but which also underlined how so much contemporary music is totally forgettable, due to both ubiquity and overabundance.

The first event was the Independent Music Exchange held in Melbourne. Here, a collection of small independent labels, distributors and retailers came together to promote their current catalogues. Most of the music was on vinyl, but there were also CDs and lots of cassettes. (Melbourne is allegedly the vinyl capital of the world…) Releases on sale included new product, plus swathes of back catalogue and archival reissues – some of which have only become well-known long after their initial release, or are only available again thanks to these independent companies because the original labels (often one of the big global players) have chosen not to keep them in print. I can’t pretend to have been very familiar with many of the items on display; but it was nevertheless gratifying to see the range and diversity, and to know that there is an audience for these types of music (judging by the number of punters attending the event), which is largely overlooked by broadcast radio and major streaming platforms.

The second event was an evening of Karaoke with friends, which largely featured music from the 80s and 90s (reflecting the age group), but which also included a reasonable selection of more recent tracks. I have to admit that any of the latter that I did recognise were songs I have heard as background music in public places, rather than as a conscious decision to listen to them. I’m also woefully ignorant of most of the artists behind these latest songs, and if they have reached my consciousness it’s probably as a result of a news story or social media campaign. Admittedly, I’m probably not the target audience for most of this newer music, so my ignorance can be forgiven!

The latest IFPI annual report reveals that nearly 70% of global music revenue comes from streaming platforms, around 17% from physical sales (of which vinyl is increasingly taking a bigger share), and just 3% from downloads and other digital formats. The remaining 10% is derived from performance rights and associated syndication licensing.

If streaming platforms have done one thing well, it is to help create an over abundance of “new” music. This is because they have reduced the costs of distribution, and in many cases, this new music is being self-released and directly uploaded by the artists themselves, rather than via record labels or music publishers. This applies to both the big brands like Spotify, Apple, Amazon, YouTube and Pandora, as well as the smaller players like Bandcamp and SoundCloud. However, easier and cheaper distribution has not reduced the costs of marketing and promotion; and thanks to certain algorithms, a lot of new music is being created just to get “discovered” via streaming and social media, based on listeners’ habits and/or preferences. There is also a debate about whether AI-generated music, artists or promotion should be allowed to co-exist on these streaming platforms; and if so, should they come with associated disclosures so listeners can choose to block AI-content? In some ways, it’s rather like the Enhanced Games competing with the Olympics, or consumers preferring to exclude GMO crops from the food chain – the boundaries are blurred, and once the content is in the system, everything else becomes tainted or infected.

I recently read a blog by an independent recording artist and curator who was bemoaning the current state of the music industry – specifically, the noise and hype around so much current music – the main conclusion being that thanks to the algorithms and the repetition, it was dulling his appetite to engage with new music. I can certainly empathise with this perspective – often, the announcement of this or that new album or a “sneak peak” (i.e., co-ordinated leak) of a carefully stage-managed artist collaboration is more significant than the music itself. It feels like the amount of promotion thrown at a song or a music video is in inverse proportion to the quality of the release.

The ubiquity of highly homogenised popular music is down to three main factors:

The tech (streaming, AI, algorithms)
Record labels (guilty of pushing “fast fashion”-type music)
TV talent shows (Eurovision, X-factor, The Voice, Pop Idol) that push a very narrow agenda, and are guilty of form over substance

BUT at the end of the day, I can’t help also thinking that the public gets what the public wants (to quote Paul Weller): “You are what you listen to”. So choosing to engage with this type of content only perpetuates its creation and existence – and “helped” by this ubiquity and overabundance, most of this new music is ultimately disposable and totally forgettable.

Next week: My night with the Sex Pistols