“There’s something happening here
What it is ain’t exactly clear”
These opening lines, from the iconic song “For What It’s Worth” by Buffalo Springfield, penned by Stephen Stills, immediately grab your attention. For me, as a ninth grader in Jacksonville, Texas, back in the spring of 1967, the song was more than just music; it was an awakening. The tremolo-laden guitar intro was instantly captivating, and the lyrics painted a picture of unease and uncertainty. As a teenager drawn to dystopian fiction, I was completely enthralled. I vividly remember rushing to the local music store, just across from my junior high, hoping to buy the record. However, the song’s title wasn’t explicitly in the lyrics, so asking for “There’s Something Happening Here” drew blank stares from the store clerks, who seemed completely out of touch with the burgeoning youth culture and my quest for the single or sheet music.
It’s remarkable how “For What It’s Worth” has endured. Decades later, this song continues to be featured in films, television shows, and discussions about contemporary issues. Its message resonates even now, over 55 years since its release. This enduring relevance is a testament to its powerful message and timeless quality, a feat few songs achieve.
It makes you think about the sheer volume of music being released today. Recent reports indicate that a staggering 60,000 new songs are uploaded to platforms like Spotify every single day. This number is almost incomprehensible. How did we reach a point where so much music is constantly being created and released into the world?
In the past, the music industry was heavily guarded by record labels and radio DJs. They acted as gatekeepers, controlling which artists gained access to a wider audience. Recording, producing, distributing, and marketing music was a complex and expensive process, placing immense power in the hands of record companies. They possessed the resources and expertise to get music onto the airwaves and into stores. While record labels still exist in some form, the digital revolution in music, the rise of streaming services, and the accessibility of home recording studios have fundamentally reshaped the musical landscape. The old gatekeepers may still be present, but the fences have been torn down, and a musical free-for-all has ensued. This shift has brought both advantages and disadvantages.
Some argue that quality will always prevail, that “the cream always rises to the top.” While this sounds good in theory, the reality is that no individual or group can possibly sift through 60,000 songs daily to discover true gems. Much valuable and significant music is inevitably lost in this overwhelming flood of new releases. This explains why musicians today are in a constant scramble for attention – relentlessly posting on social media, investing in ads, creating videos, engaging with TikTok, building websites, and desperately searching for innovative ways to capture the fleeting attention of potential fans.
Recorded music has only been widely available for a relatively short period in history, roughly a century. Before that, music was primarily experienced live or through sheet music. It was after World War II and the explosion of rock and roll that the music industry became immensely profitable for artists and songwriters. This era launched figures like Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan, and The Beatles into superstardom, making them household names and incredibly wealthy. This golden age persisted until the widespread digitization of music in the 1990s. Then came Napster in June 1999, ushering in the era of free digital downloads, which, in my view, was essentially digital theft. However, in those early days of the internet, the impact on lower-tier artists like myself was minimal.
As recently as a decade ago, many musicians were comfortably selling CDs for $15, individual digital songs for 99 cents, and digital albums for $9.99. We embraced the digital music world, where CDs were relatively inexpensive to produce, and distribution through platforms like The Orchard and CDBaby became remarkably easy.
The advent of Digital Audio Workstations (DAWs) further democratized music creation, enabling anyone to record music at home or establish a studio at a fraction of the previous cost. Suddenly, anyone with a computer in their spare room could create music, burn CDs, and sell their work online. Little did we know that this digital Eden would be short-lived.
The rise of smartphones and high-speed internet paved the way for streaming services like Apple Music and Spotify to dominate the music consumption landscape. For a modest monthly fee, typically around $10, subscribers gained unlimited access to virtually the entire history of recorded music, accessible anytime, anywhere. Some platforms, like Spotify, even offered a free tier, requiring listeners to endure brief commercial breaks in exchange for ad-supported listening.
Initially, digital audio felt like a positive development. However, it inadvertently opened a Pandora’s Box, leading to a situation where recorded music has become practically worthless. Streaming platforms have essentially become music utilities, similar to essential services like power and water companies. The key difference is that streaming services charge a fixed monthly fee rather than a usage-based fee, effectively using artists’ music as their product while paying them minuscule royalties for their creative work. If a subscriber pays their monthly fee and only listens to a single artist throughout that month, does that artist receive even a portion of that subscriber’s fee after the streaming service takes its substantial cut? The answer is a resounding no. Artists are paid per stream, with rates ranging from a high of $0.01196 per stream on Amazon Music Unlimited to a low of $0.00087 on YouTube. Spotify, the industry giant, pays a mere $0.00318 per stream. These figures are disheartening, to say the least. But the devaluation of music doesn’t stop there.
The compensation for local bands performing live music in bars and restaurants has stagnated since the 1970s. Back then, in East Texas where I live, a four-piece band could earn $200 per night, or $50 per band member, along with a $50 bar tab. In the 70s and 80s, I earned a decent living playing three nights a week with a four-piece band. We weren’t getting rich, but we were respected and fairly compensated. Today, finding venues that hire live bands is increasingly challenging, and if you do find a gig, you might be lucky to earn the same amount as bands did decades ago. More often, bands are asked to play for tips, and even expected to pay for their own food and drinks. This is a stark illustration of the devaluation of music.
It’s a paradoxical situation. Music is ubiquitous – in our cars, headphones, TVs, movies, homes, businesses, and public spaces. Yet, despite its pervasive presence, music is valued less by consumers than ever before. For many, music is the soundtrack to their lives, accompanying them through workouts, grief, commutes, workdays, celebrations, and even providing an escape from the chaos of the world. However, this very pervasiveness has led to music being devalued rather than appreciated. How did this happen?
The digitization of books, images, video, and audio, coupled with internet distribution, has fundamentally disrupted these markets, contributing to the devaluation of digital art in general. The ease and affordability of creating and distributing digital art, particularly music, have fueled the daily deluge of new releases. While I personally don’t aspire to fame or fortune, I, like many fellow artists, simply seek fair compensation for the use of our music.
It’s reasonable to expect more than a fraction of a cent per listen for music that takes years to create, countless hours to refine, and thousands of dollars to record. Raising the streaming rate to just one penny per stream doesn’t seem unreasonable. Alternatively, we could reimagine streaming as a true utility: charging a base monthly rate, say $10 for the first 700 listens, and then paying artists a penny for each subsequent play. This model would leave approximately $3 for the streaming platform to cover costs and generate profit. After all, they don’t bear the burden of music creation; they simply host and distribute it. If a subscriber exceeds the base 700 songs per month, a slightly higher rate, perhaps 1.5 cents per play, could be applied, with one penny going to the artist and half a cent to the streaming service. This would ensure fair compensation for everyone involved. Imagine that – a system where everyone benefits.
Regarding live music venues, the solution for fair artist compensation is straightforward: implement a cover charge. This model worked effectively for decades. However, many venues seem to have abandoned this practice. With a cover charge, artists are compensated based on their draw: lower attendance means less pay, while higher attendance translates to more earnings. It’s a simple, fair, and logical system. The venue assumes minimal risk, and the artist gets paid. In restaurants, adding a music tip option to the bill, allowing patrons to tip via credit or debit cards, would also help, as many people no longer carry cash. While some establishments are adopting this, they are still too few and far between.
These are just a few ideas to address the issue of music devaluation. Many more effective solutions likely exist. The crucial point is that solutions are attainable if there is a collective will to implement them. Every professional deserves fair compensation for their work, and artists are no exception. The digitization of music and the internet have expanded access to a larger market for artists, which is a potentially positive development. However, the revenue generated by these services is not being equitably distributed to the creators. No artist I know expects to become wealthy, but fair compensation for the use of their creations is a fundamental expectation. In my opinion, the current music distribution system is not fair to artists, and for what it’s worth, that’s my perspective.
I encourage you to share your thoughts, disagreements, corrections, and suggestions. As the saying goes, “hit me with your best shot.” I welcome all feedback, both positive and negative.
Randy Lewis Brown can be reached through his website http://RandyLewisBrown.Com or by email at [email protected].
Randy Lewis Brown describes himself as an aging, baby boomer, and curmudgeon, but he is also an award-winning singer-songwriter and “performing philosopher” based in Northeast Texas. Despite his years of experience, he remains dedicated to exploring the intersection of spirituality, faith, science, and the human condition. He strives to maintain a sense of wonder and humor in his folk-Americana songs and stories. He invests significant time and money creating, recording, and promoting his music. Yet, his most recent quarterly royalty check wouldn’t even cover the cost of a box of cereal.
