On recommending music

Dear reader, it's been a while. The intensively deliberate rhythms of work, write, and watch were upended in late August when I flew to California for a week-long road trip. From Los Angeles we drove southeast and then northwest to San Francisco to then drive down the Pacific Coast. Certainly not an vacation, the adventure rattled my way of being in a way I can’t quite seem to break out of. The world has been rebuilt in my mind’s eye and the people I see inhabit has been rendered as creatures I no longer recognize. All to say: California is geologically a marvelous place. During the trip, I was subtly prompted by my comrade Richard to write some reflections on it so that will be subject of a post sometime soon.

To reignite my Substack routine, I want to take some time here to carve a theory on the process of recommending music (and things generally). Useful tips for understanding my rationale for the "Songs for an endless summer," but also thoughts that can be applied in any circumstance when engaging with any media. Of course, everything will be said as anecdotal evidence and no supporting data besides my omniscient authority as the writer.

Admittedly, I did try to do research into this and find some meaningful exploration into the "pathology of recommendations.” But a lot of results lead to surveys of algorithmic models with user- and meta-data. Essentially discussing the thing most all major streaming have began to incorporate in their as primary source for generating content. To end before turning into a tangent, I’d like to point to Liz Pelly’s Mood Machine, a deep dive into Spotify and it’s use of AI and algorithmic listening. Here’s an excerpt of the book published in Harper’s (I promise this is a legit link, just click past the security check.) Moving on.

I know it might sound ridiculous to write it out, the world is brimming with references and unoriginality. Online you can find a song and use the metadata (artist, release data, genre, related artists) and seemingly come to a conclusion about what you're going to hear. Whether the song be enjoyable or sound as expected, these preconceived ideas will be true or false and eliminate the chance expand how you consider music. Because sampling and refernces and familiar melodies are the fabric most music is arranged from, there is always a greater chance to step back to sonically familiar music that doesn’t dissent with established music ideologies (i.e. “bad music sounds like this” / “good music doesn’t sound like this.”) Most people are not particular about what they listen to and revert to a binary choice of music they already like as on or off. So if there is any chance to earnestly get someone to try something different, you have to know what you’re going to show them, even better if you know it intimately. All to say that listening is still an important requirement before any curation can even be considered.

I listen to music a lot—often I listen to the same albums dozens of times over. After the 20th time, I have some understanding about how I feel about it: "This is for X scenario" "I will listen to this at least once a day" "This shit is ass" (sometimes that conclusion is made on first listen). For me what makes music so interesting is when it can be felt with your other senses. Though I don’t think I have synesthesia, I do believe anyone can feel what they hear, taste what they can smell, and hear what they can see. This is by knowing the subject of the sense’s attention well. Music is novel at it is one of the few modes of expression wholly unique to anything humans can produce as artistic objects. The phrase “writing about music is like dancing about architecture” becomes more and more vividly applicable to my understanding of sounds. Though you would have to be a tasteless buffoon hardened enthusiast to be excited about architecture, music’s ability to endlessly envelop me in a sonic rapture.

Everything is curated. The clothes we wear, soap we use, music we listen to—seeing the world as an amalgamation of curation opens the invites thought to figuring out to expand this collection. Making a playlist called "9am summer" or "Country Boy Starter Kit™" gives clear parameters for what songs should be in included. There is interpretation by these titling but it directs both curators and listeners to an idea of what they might be listening to. (The language used informs how music’s use value—what are the different reasons I can play this song, can it be played once or endlessly, is it appealing to a general audience—each element begins to shape into a puzzle piece for the theme's mission statement.)

A sour spot in media consumption is "good" being the baseline for dissemination. If something sounds "good" it has endless utility for recommending, eliminating what are the fundamentals of subjective experience. This isn’t so much as “good” being less than “great” or “amazing,” because good would be synonymous with “I like this.”

When a song has the ability to be (hypothetically) used in all types of curation either it possesses a wide range of diverse neutral attributes or the curator simply doesn't care to examine the piece. Both scenarios are extreme examples to highlight how crucial intention is in the matter of curating media. I ask myself questions like this when I send a song to a friend, acting like guardrails keeping me from sending mindless slop. If you get slop from me, there's a reason behind it.

Reading that last sentence back felt like I was trying to explain the mechanics of breathing. The extended elaboration on this automated cognitive process sounds tonally redundant to everything else I’ve already said but, like all things worth doing, it, it requires sincere consideration if I really want to say my piece.

It's taken me sometime to not immediately share something I like. The instant gratification when contributing to the discourse of a new release or reexamined old media is a curse born of the lightning-fast culture cycle we live in. To fight against it, I take a page from the book of a lot of decent writers: go slower. Rather than have a hot take, let the thought marinate with time and measured consideration until that take is more than a reaction. So that what we say is evaluated to fall somewhere between advocating or disparaging whatever we had opinions about. The same applies to our recommendations.

I hold an iron-fisted clench on my interests, making me as a gatekeeper. I want others to enjoy, culture is what drive us to do extraordinary achievements afterall. However, most folks I run into aren't as enthusiastic about what I want to offer. Whenever I bring up breakcore, Edward Yang, or Madhouse's Monster (2004) I'm met with polite nods awaiting the relevance of bringing it up. Of course, that's the flow of most conversation, until you can find a pragmatic reason. Someone says they have free time because are calling out sick because the (the still active and deadly) COVID. So you say, “A great way to pass the time would be to play Vampire Survivor it was just a few bucks on Steam and so so fun!” This would be an appeal to person’s convenience to gull an unsuspecting new cultural comrade, a approach that could fit on a majority of folks who aren’t persistently keeping up with things because they have a normal fucking life.

But, speaking optimistically, I feel that everyone is waiting to get put on—looking for their next obsession as told by risking a time waste because of a suggestion. There is no harm than to earnestly speak on (not suggest) something you’ve enjoyed and discuss how it was worthwhile. Perhaps you will plant the seed and a blossom a flower of passion by just say, “Yeah I really loved Flow (2024) because it reminded of my dead cat, like fr fr!” Gatekeeping as a measure to protect one’s self is a tactic I frequently use—but how delight a feeling it is when people engage with your interest. Someone says, “Yes, I love NGU Idle too!”

Hypothetically speak: Say that you have the great whale of recommendations, is it worth your breath? Is it already making waves online with folks in your circles already? Likely it already has a sizable platform that will do the work on its own to get folk's attention, making individual advocacy a drop in the bucket in comparison. A suggestion should be an effort to find the overlooked and unnoticed, bringing media to the light of comrades who would benefit from investing their time. Or spark conversation to say, “I wanna learn about that.” Because really, I just want to have more people to talk to about things.

Here’s a 20-minute EP that I have listened to at least fifteen times: I recommend this with my chest. It is cool, weird, grimey, authentic, and sounds like how I want to be heard. I’m linking to the Bandcamp page but it’s available on most platforms. Good luck.