From Hits to Edits: How the Streaming Era Leaves Us Longing for Permanence

Another day, another edit to a song I once loved. Mr. West, can we please listen to ‘Donda’ in peace. I propose that from now on, new music should come with a Google spreadsheet so we can keep up with all the post-release changes.

When music came out, we were not meant to be paranoid about whether it changes from the original version every time we listen to it. Take me back to the ‘Good Ol’ Days’. When the CDs I bought wouldn’t remove a verse, or re-re-master a song overnight. Thank you, Spotify, but we are losing recipes now. As Addison Hoover eloquently put it: “We're approaching a collective digital awareness. And that awareness, I believe, is the understanding that everything, always, everywhere...is shallow. It works, it’s very convenient, it dutifully gets the job done. But it leaves us longing for something more intimate, more selective, more fragile and human.”

The digital era, and specifically the de-materialization of music through streaming services, have disrupted the norms of media consumption. Advancements in communication technology and the on-demand culture that results from it, has unleashed unprecedented levels of sovereignty, democratization, and participation in the production of music, its distribution, exhibition, and presentation. This has allowed musicians, fans, critics, and cultures to converge rapidly, to debate and share their knowledge in real time to a greater range of music. The digital era has actualized the coming together of musicians and music lovers without the limitations of time and space, or the interference of record companies (1).

This process has resulted in a shift of power from the record labels to the musicians by creating means for them to distribute their music to the public while remaining in control of the ownership, rights, creative process, pricing, release dates and more. Artists have been liberated from the old formulaic rollouts of lead singles, pre-announced release dates, promotion performances and media interviews, aspects which Dr. Dre calls “the enemy of creativity”. To aid this revolution, streaming sites negated the risk of piracy and gave artists the power to have more of a say on how and when their music would be disseminated (1).

There is no doubting the current popularity of music streaming services. These services give their users access to a comprehensive media library without providing legal ownership of that media (2). According to IFPI’s report, global audio streaming subscription services revenues grew by 10.3% in 2022 to reach $12.7 billion, and music streaming recorded 67.0% of total global recorded music revenues. We are fully in what some commentators have dubbed the “post-ownership economy” (3); which is also being driven by video streaming services (i.e. Netflix and Disney+) and other collaborative models in other industries (such as Airbnb and Uber) which are growing exponentially in their importance (Danckwerts & Kenning, 2019).

Recent research looking at contemporary music consumption frequently emphasizes the loss of perceived ownership as a result of this dematerialization in the music industry. The steady rise in non-ownership-based music streaming services would suggest an intensification of this reduction of perceived ownership, yet a 2017 study by Sinclair and Tinson indicates that users of music streaming services continue to experience feelings of ownership, which is referred to as “psychological ownership” (Pierce, Kostova, & Dirks, 2001, 2003). Psychological ownership is understood as an individual’s feelings of ownership toward a material or immaterial object that emerges even in the absence of legal ownership. Pierce et al. (2001, 2003) developed a comprehensive conceptual model of psychological ownership that considers motivators that can be experienced simultaneously and antecedents of psychological ownership that can be both complimentary and additive, meaning that an individual does not have to actualize all motivators or antecedents to experience ownership. The motivators identified include efficacy and effectance; enhancing self-identity; and having a place to dwell. The three potential antecedents or pathways to psychological ownership are namely, controlling the ownership target, investing the self into the target, intimately knowing the target, and pride (3).

When Soulja Boy released “Crank That” and Chief Keef released “Don’t Like” in 2007 and 2012 respectively, they etched an uncouth and juvenile incitement to our childhood tales. Despite the insane popularity they achieved through these songs, these were not polished Hollywood dolls. Through every dance created and every speaker rattled, they came to epitomize a brazen and fired up generation. These were rugged teenagers, ramming through the music industry and flipping the template fuelled on the arrogance of being masters of their craft. However, on most streaming services, these songs and experiences have been neutered through remastering. Any desires to relive these raw experiences are expunged by ‘professionalism’, and sterilized of the emotions and memories that made the songs special. Now, my only option are these refined versions that feel nothing like what they are supposed to feel like. It is a frustrating reminder of what we lost in the files (transition to an ownership-based economy). A disheartening realization of the power differentials that exist between record labels, artists, and consumers. A three-minute timestamp that reminds us of the ephemeral nature of consuming music in the streaming era.

There is an unexplainable rage when listening to a song that you absolutely loved, and it has been changed for one reason or another. Having Machine Gun Kelly ruin a song is already terrible on its own. Now imagine that song being initially released without that MGK verse just for it to be added a few days later. This is the misery Young Thug’s fans had to bear when “Ecstasy”, one of the best songs on his 2019 album So Much Fun, was edited on streaming platforms with MGK replacing Thug’s second verse. This modification spawned outcry, petitions and even reddit threads helping fans re-experience what they were cheated out of. This significantly weakens intimately knowing and being able to control the product, and consequently disrupts relationships between the self and the object, and thus any feelings of ownership that could manifest.

When ‘Tory Lanez’ and ‘Da Baby’ were removed from Kehlani’s and Dua Lipa’s songs after they were ‘cancelled’ for their abhorrent behaviour, it felt like an injustice. Not towards the artists that were removed, but to the consumers who already attached their self to those songs. There is a sense of trust/dependability that we did not realise that we had when playing back media, and now it is eroding.

While it is certainly positive that we can now openly scrutinize the morality of media, hindsight censorship takes away from the audience’s subjective judgement assumes that we are incapable of recognising wrong from right in absence of their modifications. Art is a reflection of the society in which it was created. The profane, improper, and perversions that we consume are part of our daily realities. I am thankful that J. Cole acknowledged the ableist slur he said from ‘Jodeci Freestyle’. But editing the song after the fact doesn’t magically erase what he said. Editing the song does however, it does ruin my listening experience. And let’s not lie, from a strictly rapping point of view, that line was hard.

There is a profound temporal displacement when I listen to music these days. It is becoming more common for me to question whether a song sounds slightly different from the last time I heard it. Am I just imagining these changes? Owning a physical copy came with the quality of permanence. A sense of security knowing that what you are listening to is the final form of a long and enduring process. It is not just a fleeting expression or moment of inspiration. It’s the culmination of failed singles, leaked songs, promotion tours etc. (at least this was the case when growing up). When I hit play on my favourite artist’s release day it’s a drop of sweat, forever stained on the canvas of pop culture. Which is why it is extremely frustrating when Ye, one of the best musicians of this generation seemingly no longer respects this process. Legend has it that he is still working on finishing ‘The Life of Pablo’, and album he released in 2016. How are we supposed to appreciate an album when it changes every other week depending on the erratic mood of the artists? Regardless of how we interpret any piece of art, it always arrives at a resolution. In the post-ownership era, this may no longer be the case.

Music streaming services have falsely fed notions of control. As consumers, we are forced to adjust to the stipulations of these services. We are no longer able to own (physically or psychologically) the music we pay for.  This has ultimately resulted to a worse musical experience. We have been conscientized to the power differentials between the consumer and the record labels. The emotional connection to when you first heard a song is slipping away and subsequently diminishing our ability to invest ourselves into music. In the end this has left us with feelings of helplessness, disorientation, and resignation.

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Work Cited

1. Hoover A. Retro Sentimentality: Analog Balance in a Digital World n.d. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/retro-sentimentality-analog-balance-digital-world-addison-hoover.
   

2. Sen A. Music in the Digital Age: Musicians and Fans Around the World. Global media journal. 2010;9(16).
   

3. Danckwerts S, Kenning P. “It's MY Service, it's MY Music”: The role of psychological ownership in music streaming consumption. Psychology & Marketing. 2019;36(9):803-16.
   

4. Sinclair G, Tinson J. Psychological ownership and music streaming consumption. Journal of Business Research. 2017;71:1-9.