Spotify dehumanizes music and us

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read exceptional books, the list continually updates. Today, "Mood Machine" by Liz Pelly enters the Humanity in the Digital Age category.

Well, I'll never look at Spotify and music the same again after reading Liz Pelly's Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist (2025). Music matters, obviously, and Pelly dives deeply into Spotify, and the music industry, and has already forced me to improve my listening habits.

Mood Machine is superb modern journalism that I never would have found unless I read The Guardian's book section. The same thing happened with another book I recently recommended, Careless People, about Facebook/Meta's immoral algorithms and horrific political influence. These two necessary books tackle Big Tech and its ginormous influence, and I say the United States' current zeitgeist needs to focus on unregulated technology much, much more.

As a music consumer, my biggest takeaway from Mood Machine is this: I'll never, ever, ever listen to a playlist created by Spotify again. If I'm looking for new, independent music, the KCRW app is a much better answer. I want playlists created by people, not an algorithm. Spotify playlists also have a lot of filler and music promoted by record companies. Some of it is created by AI, and music companies often pay musicians a pittance to create instrumental music and then keep the rights.

Immediately, on page 3 of Mood Machine's introduction, we learn that Universal, Sony and Warner own 70 percent of recorded music. When Spotify launched in 2008, those majors owned 18 percent of the company. It's less now, and Spotify has grown to have have a market cap of approximately $88 billion. The company's founders, Martin Lorenzen and Daniel Ek, have estimated net worths of $9-11 billion. 

Streaming accounts for 84 percent of recorded music revenue with Spotify leading the market with 30 percent of that. When Pelly walks the reader through how the revenue works in a detailed, thorough way, it becomes utterly apparent that Spotify is an immoral Big Tech company promoting corporate interests and billionaire culture. Pelly never writes that, and I applaud her for her restraint and objectivity. But, essentially, that's what we're facing with streaming, Spotify and the current state of what many of us adore — music.

It's safe to say musicians don't get paid from streaming. Whoever holds the rights to a song streamed receives .0035 cents for each play. Many times, the record company owns the rights, or a high percentage of that. In fair indie label deals, it's often a 50/50 split. But even if the musician full-on owned the rights, U.S. Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib estimated that it would take more than 800,000 streams per month to equal a $15/hour job.

In my lifetime, music always has been a commodity. I encountered awesome music scenes in both Cleveland and Columbus in the '90s. However, my realized fear now is that younger generations of musicians see the Internet as the only possible way to develop a following. Music scenes are not what they used to be. I'm still hoping that revivals of low-tech music scenes happen, and perhaps if I search it out more, I can find some cool stuff out here in Southern California. But streaming reigns supreme, regardless.

Back to Spotify, I must admit that I briefly loved the app. Around pandemic times, I discovered legitimate musicians solely through Spotify who I had never heard of. I actually attended two concerts of new artists to me, Brothertiger and George Clanton, with my beloved buddy, Ganley. Fast forward a year or two later, and finding new appealing music on the app stopped. The algorithm jumped the shark, so I moved on to KCRW, word of mouth and Shazaming random songs I hear at coffee shops and in public.

Back to Mood Machine, I must admit that I am not giving the book justice; it's a tour de force. Some of the concepts in the book are new to me and not easy to understand. For example, I was shocked to hear Spotify's ad revenue is only roughly 12 percent. The bulk of its revenue is selling users' data because, apparently, Spotify's data is extensive because it tracks every single second of music listened to or changed. It literally can learn a user's typical mood throughout the day, so that data is hugely valuable to outside companies.

While I learned a lot from the book, and don't totally show that here, the book has some flaws. One is that it can be dense in parts and can take a while to digest the information. Also, a few ideas, such as the importance of artists' collectives, may be too idealistic and not make a dent in the current state of music. In addition, maybe there was a bit too much on Spotify's history.

Mood Machine has truly gotten me to be more aware of what exactly I'm listening to. As a self-proclaimed local and indie music champion, the book has gotten me to be fully aware that the majority of so-called independent music on Spotify is not even close. An indie aesthetic is far from a band on an independent record label.

Irony. I used to think the Internet would help people become more conscious consumers, but apps like Amazon, Facebook, Spotify, TikTok and others exploit the masses' data and keep people scrolling and streaming in an unhappy digital web of overconsumption.

Beautiful maladies and innocent dreams

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read exceptional books, the list continually updates. Today, "Innocent When You Dream" edited by Mac Montandon enters the Big Time category. 

What should you do if you're ever chased by a crocodile?

Well, you should run zigzag because the croc won't be able to follow that.

Why are barns red?

Well, that's where the slaughtering occurs, so the color matches the blood.

And did you know that between 1938 and 1945, Heinz released an alphabet soup only in Germany? It not only included every letter of the alphabet, but swastikas in every can as well. ... It was called pastika.

OK. All three of those "facts" are fiction, urban myths. But they're stuff Tom Waits earnestly explains in Innocent When You Dream: The Tom Waits Reader (2005) edited by Mac Montandon. I recommend the book because Waits is such a creative, innovative soul that he's a gust of fresh air bustling into my world in a time when folks appear obsessed with AI.

Honestly, I had no expectation this book would crack my Top 100 because of its format. It's a collection of interviews and stories connected to Waits from 1974 to 2004. Accidentally, many stories had me reminisce about the conventions of celebrity interviews, concert and album reviews. Those all are pretty much gone, or rare, nowadays in the era of scrolling, non-reading and perpetual ire.

While a handful of pieces in the 39-entry book fall flat, some are so magnificent that I recommend the book. OK, but feel free to go fast over the lame entries.

I first encountered Waits in 1992, when I got the album Bone Machine as a college freshman and absolutely loved it. It won Best Alternative Music Album Grammy that year, and I wholeheartedly agree with the choice. Weird, quirky, meaningful — Bone Machine remains my favorite Waits album, but a lot of his albums are pretty cool. By the way, he won his only other Grammy in 2000 with Mule Variations for Best Contemporary Folk Album.

If you don't know Waits, he's famous for his deep, raspy voice that can be divisive; you're likely to either love it or hate it. In the Tom Waits reader, writers described that voice in approximately one zillion different ways. I mean it's so distinctive that he successfully sued Frito-Lay for $2.6 million in 1990 after the company ripped off his music in a Doritos commercial. ... Wow.

What makes the book so enjoyable is that Waits simply is a different bird. He'll stay stuff that is equal parts bizarre, magical and borderline profound. Is it factually correct? Probably not. But so what? His words, his poetry, are an odd blend of fact and fiction that adds up to twisted and indisputable truths.

In one interview, Waits flat-out says that everybody mixes fact and fiction, and in essence, that's part of being human. "I just need to know two or three things about my neighbors, and that's it," he says. "I'll tell you their life story."

In his early years, Waits — or at least Waits' persona — lived the life of a hobo drunk in the mold of Charles Bukowski, and he was famous for that. He married Kathleen Brennan in 1980, and the two have been business partners, confidants and each other's worlds ever since.

Waits describes his wife Kathleeen as someone who "once worked as a Hollywood newscaster, a Cadillac dealership service manager, and a chauffeur; can fix motorcycles and fly airplanes; is a leading authority on African violets; and was on the verge of becoming a nun when we met."

Hey, man, I find that an exceptionally fun way to say, "I love my wife."

Waits is an utterly cool cat. Full stop. Who's cooler than Tom Waits?

He has an acting career to boot, and I've liked him most in Jim Jarmusch's Down By Law (1986) and Mystery Train (1989). He also was wonderful in Short Cuts (1993) and was great to see in Jarmusch's newer film Father Mother Sister Brother (2025). By the way, Waits' conversations with Jarmusch and fellow rock star Elvis Costello are among the most fascinating, and entertaining, pieces in the book I'm recommending.

I truly think Waits did his best work in the '90s and after he got sober in '95. I find it impossible to not have deep thoughts about him, and his place in American lore, after reading 39 passages connected to him. 

To me, he eschews the disillusioned fake materialism of mainstream America. Everybody pretends to be richer than they are. Why? Just buy this. Just buy that. We'll all be saved. ... Waits rails against that culture.

Waits is adamantly non-commercial and accepts the fact that most Americans know they're being exploited on some level, accept that fact and embrace their lot in life, or their dive bar. They embrace the red and white tablecloths at their carb-forward greasy spoon.

While hip-hop stars yammer on and on about Mercedes Benzes while they don gold chains and gold teeth, Waits knows very well that there is brighter bling, and gold, on the low side of the road if you look at it the right way.

To Waits, and me, you can find way more gold at Mitzy's than the superficial fantasies pop stars spew. Mitzy's — officially known as Jerman's Cafe — on 38th and St. Clair, is where there used to be a classic vinyl jukebox but you still can get a $1.50 Pabst tall boy. You're not going to find $10k jewelry there, but you might find a toothless smile from a guy who shares your love of Cleveland baseball.