streaming consciousness

the double-edged sword of creating and consuming art in the age of the internet

A couple years ago, my best friend showed me a YouTube video talking about “the rise of the machines”, which pointed out how we can actually concretely witness the beginnings of automation happening before our eyes in the most subtle ways. It was highly informative, but I didn’t like it. Because it was true, and my immediate reaction was fear: just the suggestion of a society orchestrated and run by robots freaked me out. Of course, I knew that it wouldn’t be dystopian in the sense that they would grow arms and legs and try to eliminate the human race, but the idea of human jobs being replaced by machines made my stomach churn. Both scientists and robot apocalypse dorks alike have been trying to warn us for generations: it’s already happening, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

The advancement of modern technology in society has impacted our world and everyday lives in so many scary, dystopian ways that don’t seem scary or dystopian at all when you first think about it. But just consider: full-on meals and groceries can be delivered straight to our front doors within the same day. Am*zon can get your items to you as soon as overnight. Ridesharing services will show up to drive you places in mere minutes. Self-checkout at the store makes running errands easier than ever before. Literal machines are performing tasks that humans used to do to make a living, and the scary thing is that they’re doing it better. 

At least, when it comes to the things I’ve listed above. The other week, I actually witnessed it before my very own eyes in the most inconspicuous way, when I went to Little Caesar’s to pick up an online order. I walked up to the counter, and upon inputting my information, a machine simply gave me my pizza. No waiting in line, no having to talk to any employees, and I was in and out of the establishment in what felt like seconds. (This is not a Little Caesar’s ad. I just wanted to tell you how truly weird it felt.) And I don’t know how many of their establishments actually offer this service, but my sister just told me that Domino’s has self-driving cars that can deliver pizza to customers. Which is actually the most insane one of all of these to me. 

My point is: sure, everything is faster and objectively “better” now, but at what cost? 

It’s no secret that we live in a culture that is unrelentingly fast-paced and instant in almost every possible aspect. We all know it, and we all willingly submit to it. Whether that is a conscious choice or not depends on the individual. 

Entertainment is immediate, and we actively feed it to ourselves, of our own volitions, every single day: through our chronic use of social media and streaming platforms. Art has never been more accessible than it is now, for both artists and audiences alike. To me, this hyper-accessibility of art—because of its existence in an era of the internet where consumerism and algorithms hold more power than ever before—creates a sort of dichotomy; a crossroads that each artist that shares their work publicly must face, sooner or later: Am I creating art for art’s sake, or are my motives capitalistic? (Like, even just a little bit?)

The availability of art nowadays provides anyone—and I mean anyone—a shot at making it to the big leagues in their respective niches. All they need is a device, stable connection, and access to the internet. The widespread nature of the internet allows for any artist, regardless of having network connections in the industry or not, to gain an opportunity to share their work with the entire world in an instant. At its core, this is a good thing. I am going to be using music as a primary example of this, because it is a medium of art that has been greatly impacted by this phenomenon. We’ve seen this for ourselves, through the success of musicians via viral moments on social platforms such as TikTok.

But in previous generations, musicians once had to endure a long, drawn-out process of putting music out into the world, and even then, it was typically only available in the form of a physical copy—like a vinyl record. On top of that, from the audience’s perspective, not everyone even had the means to afford to listen to their favorite artists. They would have to wait to hear it on the radio or borrow someone else’s copy—someone who could afford it. Conversely, in the modern age, all we have to do is simply log onto our streaming platform of choice and proceed to listen to whatever we want. Simple as that. Streaming has democratized music consumption.

And from the artist’s perspective, the music releasing process is still somewhat complicated and definitely more nuanced than simply uploading a song to release—because the processes of recording, producing, and all that jazz still require great and careful attention to detail. However, thanks to the advancement of recording technology and the internet in general, it has become exponentially simpler than it once was to be able to put music out. Artists no longer need to be scouted by record labels for their music to be officially released, just access to the internet to find a distributor of their liking. 

And while professional recording studios still very much exist and are used regularly, they’re not necessarily required in order to make a song. Music of professional studio quality can be created straight from an artist’s laptop by using a DAW (digital audio workstation). Others have even created music directly from the smartphone app editions of these DAWs. And to take it one step further, live voice memos of songs can even be deemed as worthy of official platform release. Releasing music is easier and more accessible now than it has ever been.

I feel compelled to provide the disclaimer to anyone reading this, who isn’t familiar with me or my work, that I am a cog in this machine with my position as a singer-songwriter whose following was earned through social media. My experience as both an artist with an internet audience and avid consumer of art in the form of music has made me realize that overall, the rise of streaming has not only changed the way we consume music, but has also transformed the music industry itself. Artists can now bypass the traditional gatekeepers and middlemen, and share music to audiences directly.

And because the art itself is so accessible, so are the artists themselves, which can be both good and bad. On one hand, I have the unique experience of being able to interact with my audience on a more personal level. The rise of social media and digital platforms has allowed me to create and foster a sense of intimacy and community—something my predecessors had not been able to do as easily. 

However, on the other: this very same status of accessibility given to dedicated, loyal fans also inadvertently exposes me to a barrage of hateful messages and unwarranted criticism from those outside of my fanbase. The anonymity and distance provided by the very same internet that allows for connection and community has also created a space where users feel more comfortable launching personal attacks and spreading negativity, typically without considering the impact of their words on the artists.

On the bright side, I have been able to spearhead my own personal community of people with the same general taste and interests as myself, due to them all having one thing in common: they like my music. Which is highly affirming and encouraging for an artist. I am also in a position where I am able to experience this sense of community from the audience’s perspective, as a regular listener and participant in the fanbases of other artists’ music who are much more successful than myself.

But I fear that this entire concept of being grouped together with like-minded individuals—an occurrence which, thanks to the algorithm, happens to everyone on the internet—does a lot more than innocently affirm their members’ opinions. I am afraid that it might cause more damage than initially meets the eye. The growing influence of the algorithm in our digital lives has led to a disturbing trend: the creation of echo chambers that trap us in a cycle of repeated exposure to content that aligns with our existing preferences and beliefs. 

By learning what we like and showing us more of the same, these algorithms rarely, if ever, expose us to differing or opposing viewpoints. Because of the lack of exposure to alternate perspectives, our personal growth is stunted as a result, and ultimately leaves us intellectually unchallenged, and being challenged is essential for personal development and growth. When we are presented with ideas that contradict what we already believe, we are forced to re-evaluate our positions and refine our arguments; consider alternative perspectives. It is a process of intellectual engagement—which, in turn, strengthens our ability to defend our stances and deepens our understanding of complex issues. But, I digress. I don’t want to derail the conversation too far from my point, but it is relevant in the sense that its occurrence is a direct result of online hyper-accessibility.

All things considered: because of the availability of the internet and its whims, anyone can be an artist now. 

But also: because of the availability of the internet and its whims, anyone can be an artist now. 

This new environment has opened up opportunities for independent artists with their own niche genres, allowing them to find success without the backing of a major label. In fact, artists have actually found more joy in the process of making music independently, without a label, as opposed to actually being signed. They have the freedom to create the art they want to make and in the way they want to make it, sans the demands of a label seeking a particular outcome in a certain frame of time.

When an artist has little to no interest in virality and catering to a more universal and mainstream audience, they have little to no interest (and need, for that matter) in being signed to a label; one that wouldn’t allow for a fair amount of creative freedom, anyway. It takes an exponential amount of time, energy, and a village to make it work, but going independent is ultimately the best bet for a musician who wants more control over their creativity and release rollouts. 

Another one of the biggest reasons for going independent is—you guessed it!—rooted in algorithmic, capitalistic reasons: labels are no longer scouting on the merit of a musician’s genuine talent, they are looking at TikTok accounts and judging their abilities to work the algorithm in a way that allows their music to land on everyone’s feed, not just a niche audience, and subsequently go viral. Some artists have caught onto this, and as a result, began to make music that maneuvered the algorithm so that their video would have a higher chance of landing on viewers’ For You Pages, and bring in more traction toward their account. And while the reward for this behavior might be high, in the form of monetization and fame, the level of risk plummets through the roof—by going into making music with the intention of virality to begin with, an individual risks the authenticity and genuinity of their artistry altogether. They are no longer an artist, but merely an entrepreneur. 

In “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment As Mass Deception”,¹ philosophers and theorists Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer argue that society has transformed culture into a commodity and created an industry that mass-produces and standardizes cultural products for mass consumption. This commodification of culture, they suggest, leads to the homogenization and standardization of artistic expression, stifling genuine creativity and critical thinking. They view the culture industry as a means of social control, where the capitalist economic system manipulates and exploits individuals’ desires and emotions for profit. In the context of the hyper-accessibility of art in the digital age, their critique becomes even more relevant, as artists must navigate the tension between creating authentic, meaningful work and succumbing to the pressures of consumerism and algorithmic influence.

I think that it’s a vastly different case when an artist writes a song out of a moment of emotional intensity and self-expression, and then later on makes the decision to share it publicly with intentions of helping others who have experienced something similar feel understood and seen. But even then, the act of sharing it online with hopes of getting views, likes, and comments is subtly laced with a capitalistic aura too, whether the artist is aware of it or not. Unfortunately, the system is just so ingrained in all of us that all artists are bound to fall victim to it at some point or another—some just give into it more than others. 

This phenomenon raises important questions about the nature of art and the role of the artist in the digital age. When the pursuit of virality and monetization becomes the primary driving force behind the creation of art, it can lead to an overwhelming sameness of content, as artists strive to create works that adhere to the algorithms’ preferences rather than their own artistic vision. This can result in a landscape where music, videos, and other forms of art begin to feel formulaic and lacking in genuine emotional depth.

It’s important to recognize that the relationship between art and its commercialization is not, by any means, a new thing our generation invented. Throughout history, artists have often relied on patrons, commissions, and the sale of their works to sustain themselves financially. The difference in the digital age lies in the scale and immediacy of this commercialization, as well as the role that algorithms play in shaping what content is seen and rewarded. That’s unique to us.

Ultimately, it falls upon the individual artist to navigate these complexities and find a balance between authentic creativity and the realities of the digital marketplace. Some may choose to reject the pursuit of virality altogether, focusing instead on creating art that resonates with their own values and experiences, and just hope that audience recognition and appreciation will follow suit. Others may seek to find a middle ground and utilize the tools of the digital age to share their work with a wider audience, while still maintaining their artistic integrity. Regardless of the path chosen, I think that the most important part is that we continue to value and support true art; that which stems from a place of genuine self-expression.

Consumers hold a responsibility on their end, too, to create spaces where artists feel safe to create without the constant pressure to conform to algorithmic demands. Only then can we begin fostering a culture where art remains a preeminent force for expression, connection, and healing.

I wholeheartedly believe that experiencing art in the age of the algorithm is both a blessing and a curse. It can offer a comforting sense of belonging and connection because of how available everything is, but at the same time, the echo chamber effect can eventually feel like an unsettling, suffocating, Truman Show-like confinement if you’ve been marinating in it for too long. And if you think you haven’t been a victim of its charades quite yet, you’re wrong: the constant presence of the internet in our lives makes it nearly impossible to escape its influence. Just like the rise of the machines, it’s already happening, and there is nothing you can do about it. 

1. Adorno, Theodor and Horkheimer, Max. “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception.” Global Literary Theory: An Anthology. Routledge. 2013, pp. 329-336.

(Cover photo: Masculin Féminin (1966) dir. Jean-Luc Godard)