Tag Archives: #music industry

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

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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:

  1. The tech (streaming, AI, algorithms)
  2. Record labels (guilty of pushing “fast fashion”-type music)
  3. 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

Pop in Perpetuity

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Exactly a year ago, I blogged about ageing rockers and their propensity to continue touring and recording. This past weekend I experienced two events that provided almost polar opposites as to how musicians will perpetuate their “live” legacy. (Of course, in theory, their recordings will last forever, in physical, digital and streaming formats – as long as the equipment, technology and platforms survive…)

On the one hand, there was the Sun Ra Arkestra, who since their founder’s death in 1993, have continued to play the music of Sun Ra, respecting the sound, format and spirit of the original band formed in the 1950s. Some of the current band members played with Sun Ra himself, so there is a thread of continuity that connects us back to the past. But even as these surviving members depart this world, the music of Sun Ra will live on in concert form through subsequent generations of players. This type of perpetuity is not uncommon among bands of the 60s, 70s and 80s, although in many cases, there is usually at least one original band member performing, or members who overlapped with the band founders. (Some notable exceptions: Soft Machine, who continue performing and recording, but whose remaining original member left nearly 50 years ago; and Faust, who split into at least two separate bands that still tour and record under the same name.)

On the other hand, there was the high-tech concert presentation by the late composer and performer Ryuichi Sakamoto, entitled KAGAMI. This involved the use of AR headsets and a 3D avatar of Sakamoto, captured in sound and vision performing a selection of his music, sat at a grand piano. The audience, initially seated in a circle around the virtual performance area in order to acclimatise to what they were seeing, was invited to move around the avatar, and even peer into the open grand piano. Two things were striking: first, the 360 degree image was very impressive in the level of detail; second, even if someone was standing between the viewer and the avatar zone, the headset still presented the image of Sakamoto sat at the keyboard. The technology not only captures a digital visualisation of the pianist in action, it also replicates the notes he played as well as the tonal expression and the timbres, resonances and acoustics of the physical instrument. While the audio HiFi was superior to the atavistic CGI, the latter will no doubt improve; as will the slightly clunky and heavy headsets – the 50 minute duration is probably the most I could have endured.

Neither format of the above concerts is better or superior to the other. Both are authentic in their own way, and true to the artistry of musicians they celebrate. Of course, if we end up using AI to compose “new” music by Sakamoto, that may undermine that authenticity. But given Sun Ra’s origin story, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started beaming his new works from Saturn.

 

AI & Music

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In a recent episode of a TV detective show, an AI tech dude tries to outsmart an old school musicologist by re-creating the missing part of a vintage blues recording. The professor is asked to identify which is the “real” track, compared to the AI versions. The blues expert guesses correctly within a few beats – much to the frustration of the coder.

“How did you figure it out so quickly?”

“Easy – it’s not just what the AI added, but more importantly what it left out.”

The failure of AI to fully replicate the original song (by omitting a recording error that the AI has “corrected”) is another example showing how AI lacks the human touch, does not yet have intuition, and struggles to exercise informed judgement. Choices may often be a matter of taste, but innate human creativity cannot yet be replicated.

Soon, though, AI tools will displace a lot of work currently done by composers, lyricists, musicians, producers, arrangers and recording engineers. Already, digital audio workstation (DAW) software easily enables anyone with a computer or mobile device to create, record, sample and mix their own music, without needing to read a note of music and without having to strum a chord. Not only that, the software can emulate the acoustic properties of site-specific locations, and correct out-of-tune and out-of-time recordings. So anyone can pretend they are recording at Abbey Road.

I recently blogged about how AI is presenting fresh challenges (as well as opportunities) for the music industry. Expect to see “new” recordings released by (or attributed to) dead pop stars, especially if their back catalogue is out of copyright. This is about more than exhuming preexisting recordings, and enhancing them with today’s technology; this is deriving new content from a set of algorithms, trained on vast back catalogues, directed by specific prompts (“bass line in the style of Jon Entwistle”), and maybe given some core principles of musical composition.

And it’s the AI training that has prompted the major record companies to sue two AI software companies, a state of affairs which industry commentator, Rob Abelow says was inevitable, because:

“It’s been clear that Suno & Udio have trained on copyrighted material with no plan to license or compensate”.

But on the other hand, streaming and automated music are not new. Sound designer and artist Tero Parviainen recently quoted Curtis Roads’ “The Computer Music Tutorial” (2023):

“A new industry has emerged around artificial intelligence (AI) services for creating generic popular music, including Flow Machines, IBM Watson Beat, Google Magenta’s NSynth Super, OpenAI’s Jukebox, Jukedeck, Melodrive, Spotify’s Creator Technology Research Lab, and Amper Music. This is the latest incarnation of a trend that started in the 1920s called Muzak, to provide licensed background music in elevators, business and dental offices, hotels, shopping malls, supermarkets, and restaurants”

And even before the arrival of Muzak in the 1920s, the world’s first streaming service was launched in the late 1890s, using the world’s first synthesizer – the Teleharmonium. (Thanks to Mark Brend’s “The Sound of Tomorrow”, I learned that Mark Twain was the first subscriber.)

For music purists and snobs (among whom I would probably count myself), all this talk about the impact of AI on music raises questions of aesthetics as well as ethics. But I’m reminded of some comments made by Pink Floyd about 50 years ago, when asked about their use of synthesizers, during the making of “Live at Pompeii”. In short, they argue that such machines still need human input, and as long as the musicians are controlling the equipment (and not the other way around), then what’s the problem? It’s not like they are cheating, disguising what they are doing, or compensating for a lack of ability – and the technology doesn’t make them better musicians, it just allows them to do different things:

“It’s like saying, ‘Give a man a Les Paul guitar, and he becomes Eric Clapton… It’s not true.'”

(Well, not yet, but I’m sure AI is working on it…)

Next week: Some final thoughts on AI

State of the Music Industry…

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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”:

Version 1

Version 2

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