Depending on your perspective, the music industry is in fine health. 2023 saw a record year for sales (physical, digital and streaming), and touring artists are generating more income from ticket sales and merchandising than the GDPs of many countries. Even vinyl records, CDs and cassettes are achieving better sales than in recent years!
On the other hand, only a small number of musicians are making huge bucks from touring; while smaller venues are closing down, meaning fewer opportunities for artists to perform.
And despite the growth in streaming, relatively few musicians are minting it from these subscription-based services, that typically pay very little in royalties to the vast majority of artists. (In fact, some content can be zero-rated unless it achieves a minimum number of plays.)
Aside from the impact of streaming services, there are two other related challenges that exercise the music industry: the growing use of Artificial Intelligence, and the need for musicians to be recognised and compensated more fairly for their work and their Intellectual Property.
With AI, a key issue is whether the software developers are being sufficiently transparent about the content sources used to train their models, and whether the authors and rights owners are being fairly recompensed in return for the use of their IP. Then there are questions of artistic “creativity”, authorial ownership, authenticity, fakes and passing-off when we are presented with AI-generated music. Generative music software has been around for some time, and anyone with a smart phone or laptop can access millions of tools and samples to compose, assemble and record their own music – and many people do just that, given the thousands of new songs that are being uploaded every day. Now, with the likes of Suno, it’s possible to “create” a 2-minute song (complete with lyrics) from just a short text prompt. Rolling Stone magazine recently did just that, and the result was both astonishing and dispiriting.
I played around with Suno myself (using the free version), and the brief prompt I submitted returned these two tracks, called “Midnight Shadows”:
The output is OK, not terrible, but displays very little in the way of compositional depth, melodic development, or harmonic structure. Both tracks sound as if a set of ready-made loops and samples had simply been cobbled together in the same key and tempo, and left to run for 2 minutes. Suno also generated two quite different compositions with lyrics, voiced by a male and a female singer/bot respectively. The lyrics were nonsensical attempts to verbally riff on the text prompt. The vocals sounded both disembodied (synthetic, auto-tuned and one-dimensional), and also exactly the sort of vocal stylings favoured by so many contemporary pop singers, and featured on karaoke talent shows like The Voice and Idol. As for Suno’s attempt to remix the tracks at my further prompting, the less said the better.
While content attribution can be addressed through IP rights and commercial licensing, the issue of “likeness” is harder to enforce. Artists can usually protect their image (and merchandising) against passing off, but can they protect the tone and timbre of their voice? A new law in Tennessee attempts to do just that, by protecting a singer’s a vocal likeness from unauthorised use. (I’m curious to know if this protection is going to be extended to Jimmy Page’s guitar sound and playing style, or an electronic musician’s computer processing and programming techniques?)
I follow a number of industry commentators who, very broadly speaking, represent the positive (Rob Abelow), negative (Damon Krukowski) and neutral (Shawn Reynaldo) stances on streaming, AI and musicians’ livelihood. For every positive opportunity that new technology presents, there is an equal (and sometimes greater) threat or challenge that musicians face. I was particularly struck by Shawn Reynaldo’s recent article on Rolling Stone’s Suno piece, entitled “A Music Industry That Doesn’t Sell Music”. The dystopian vision he presents is millions of consumers spending $10 a month to access music AI tools, so they can “create” and upload their content to streaming services, in the hope of covering their subscription fees….. Sounds ghastly, if you ask me.
Add to the mix the demise of music publications (for which AI and streaming are also to blame…), and it’s easy to see how the landscape for discovering, exploring and engaging with music has become highly concentrated via streaming platforms and their recommender engines (plus marketing budgets spent on behalf of major artists). In the 1970s and 1980s, I would hear about new music from the radio (John Peel), TV (OGWT, The Tube, Revolver, So It Goes, Something Else), the print weeklies (NME, Sounds, Melody Maker), as well as word of mouth from friends, and by going to see live music and turning up early enough to watch the support acts. Now, most of my music information comes from the few remaining print magazines such as Mojo and Uncut (which largely focus on legacy acts), The Wire (but probably too esoteric for its own good), and Electronic Sound (mainly because that’s the genre that most interests me); plus Bandcamp, BBC Radio 6’s “Freak Zone”, Twitter, and newsletters from artists, labels and retailers. The overall consequence of streaming and up/downloading is that there is too much music to listen to (but how much of it is worth the effort?), and multiple invitations to “follow”, “like”, “subscribe” and “sign up” for direct content (but again, how much of it is worth the effort?). For better or worse, the music media at least provided an editorial filter to help address quality vs quantity (even if much of it ended up being quite tribal).
In the past, the music industry operated as a network of vertically integrated businesses: they sourced the musical talent, they managed the recording, manufacturing and distribution of the content (including the hardware on which to play it), and they ran publishing and licensing divisions. When done well, this meant careful curation, the exercise of quality control, and a willingness to invest in nurturing new artists for several albums and for the duration of their career. But at times, record companies have self-sabotaged, by engaging in format wars (e.g., over CD, DCC and MiniDisc standards), by denying the existence of on-line and streaming platforms (until Apple and Spotify came along), and by becoming so bloated that by the mid-1980s, the major labels had to merge and consolidate to survive – largely because they almost abandoned the sustainable development of new talent. They also ignored their lucrative back catalogues, until specialist and independent labels and curators showed them how to do it properly. Now, they risk overloading the reissue market, because they lack proper curation and quality control.
The music industry really only does three things:
1) A&R (sourcing and developing new talent)
2) Marketing (promotion, media and public relations)
3) Distribution & Licensing (commercialisation).
Now, #1 and #2 have largely been outsourced to social media platforms (and inevitably, to AI and recommender algorithms), and #3 is going to be outsourced to web3 (micro-payments for streaming subscriptions, distribution of NFTs, and licensing via smart contracts). Whether we like it or not, and taking their lead from Apple and Spotify, the music businesses of the future will increasingly resemble tech companies. The problem is, tech rarely understands content from the perspective of aesthetics – so expect to hear increasingly bland AI-generated music from avatars and bots that only exist in the metaverse.
Meanwhile, I go to as many live gigs as I can justify, and brace my wallet for the next edition of Record Store Day later this month…
Next week: Reclaim The Night
Niska
Content in Context 