Nowadays, almost no one buys physical music media; instead, people subscribe to streaming services—this has long been the norm. Most people know that platforms like Spotify have changed how music is created, distributed and consumed. Yet, the full scope of this transformation often remains hidden. Now is the time to critically examine these changes—and that is exactly what I intend to do here.
First, it’s worth noting that the digitization of the music industry began well before streaming platforms appeared. Technically, the arrival of the CD in the 1980s marked the start of the digital era, followed by the MP3 format and file-sharing platforms like Napster, which enabled and normalized the digital exchange of music on a mass scale.
Rather than responding with innovation, the big music labels relied almost exclusively on legal actions. The result: years of crisis, massive revenue losses, and a shift in power towards new digital platforms.
Unfortunately, when too much power accumulates, the outcomes are rarely good. It’s no surprise, then, that the reputation of these digital platforms—especially Swedish streaming giant Spotify—has been increasingly called into question.
Spotify’s algorithms haven’t just transformed the music market; they’ve altered certain genres themselves, and not for the better. Tracks in popular genres like trap, reggaeton, pop, indie rock, etc. are getting shorter, intros and experiments are disappearing, and the chorus now arrives as rapidly as possible—all to perform better in the algorithm. As a result, these genres dominate Spotify, while others are drowned out, and musical diversity and niche cultures are neglected. Spotify’s original promise to democratize music has turned into its opposite, both creatively and financially.
The main beneficiaries are the shareholders and major labels. The actual creators—the musicians—receive only a small fraction of the revenue. A stream on Spotify earns between $0.003 and $0.005; a million streams amount to just $3,000 to $5,000—before deductions. After splits for labels, managers, and other rights holders, virtually nothing remains.
Meanwhile, subscription prices are rising, “super subscriptions” are being introduced, and partnerships with services like Netflix are on the table—meaning users pay more while losing control.
The same goes for data privacy: Spotify collects extensive user data for personalized ads or shares it for commercial purposes. Other platforms do this too, but Spotify is known for its particularly extensive advertising-related data collection. Only Google’s YouTube Music collects even more.
Increasingly, music on Spotify is also generated and promoted by artificial intelligence. Acts like “The Velvet Sundown” are not real musicians, but algorithms simulating listens via bots. Spotify currently lacks clear rules handling AI music, trust in the platform is falling and artistic creativity is getting lost.
There’s also the ecological footprint: constant streaming creates significant CO₂ emissions—much higher than owning a CD or downloading an album once.
And perhaps most troubling: Spotify founder Daniel Ek has invested hundreds of millions in the arms company Helsing, which develops AI-driven weapon systems and surveillance technologies, and reportedly supports political campaigns including those of Donald Trump.
The case is clear: artists and listeners alike would be wise to turn away from Spotify as soon as possible. Nevertheless, despite all criticism, Spotify remains a central access point to global music for users and creators. The sheer size of its catalogue, personalized recommendations, networking with friends and worldwide reach are powerful arguments. For artists, direct access to international listeners and audience insights are big draws. Despite unresolved data and payment issues, convenience and visibility still win in day-to-day music life. We at Fondation Suisa haven’t managed to leave Spotify entirely yet either.
Perhaps this text is a call for a deeper personal reflection and a search for Spotify alternatives—which do exist.
Apple Music and YouTube Music offer convenience and a large catalogue, but offer little improvement in terms of payment, data privacy or transparency.
Tidal from Norway and Qobuz from France focus on high-quality sound and better compensation, but are somewhat “nerdy” and mostly attract aficionados.
SoundCloud—founded in Berlin in 2007—offers great variety and openness to new music, but both the earning potential and track quality vary greatly.
British platform Resonate offers an interesting “Stream2Own” model: repeated listens to a song gradually result in permanent ownership. This cooperative platform is extremely fair but has a small catalogue and is still quite unknown.
Bandcamp enables direct and fair artist support, focuses on buying and downloading music, and is particularly popular in the indie scene. Founded in California in 2007, it’s considered economically independent.
All these alternatives have their advantages and disadvantages. But if diversity, fairness and musical quality matter—and if we want to avoid subsidizing wars and the arms industry with our love of music—we need to face these issues and make choices.
There’s still intense musical creativity and life outside digital platforms. For foundations like us, the challenge will be to develop further funding models that do justice to both worlds. We should stay open-minded about developments, but remain critical. And we have a responsibility towards musicians to acknowledge these criticisms, name them, and, if needed, take a clear stand.