An observation that may seem mundane at first, but has profound implications for artists and music lovers alike: the slow, painful death of the album as an art form. As a 36-year-old who grew up buying CDs and, before that, cassettes, I’ve seen the music industry shift from a world that revered albums as cohesive statements to one where playlists, algorithm-driven recommendations, and TikTok snippets dominate our attention. Undoubtedly this shift has not only altered the way we consume music but also the very nature of musical creativity and the perceived “quality” of songs themselves.
1. From Costly CDs to Endless Streaming
One of my earliest memories of music consumption is saving up allowance to purchase a CD for around $16 (or occasionally buying cheaper knock-offs). It wasn’t just about acquiring a handful of tracks; it was about investing in the artist’s vision—an album was a coherent narrative. Each track was placed deliberately, often with thematic links, rising and falling action, and a sonic identity that set it apart from other recordings.
Contrast that with today: paying $4–$10 a month to a streaming service grants nearly infinite access to music. Whether it’s a vinyl classic from the 1970s or last week’s viral TikTok hit, everything is just a few taps away. To consumers, this might feel like the biggest bargain in entertainment history. But behind that convenience lurks a gnawing sense that something has been lost: the notion of patience and respect for the creative architecture of an album. Here’s a question: Were record companies ripping off consumers in the past, or are streaming companies today ripping off artists? Of course, I’m happy to pay so little, but perhaps this is the reason I mostly listen to old music and struggle to find new music that resonates with me.
2. Albums vs. Singles: A Historical Perspective
Albums weren’t always the default format. In the 1940s and early 1950s, singles dominated. Musicians and record labels sought that one hit radio track (or “A-side”) to climb the charts and capture the public’s imagination. In some ways, this is similar to today’s music industry, but we’ll analyse that soon. Be patient!
The advent of long-playing records (LPs) eventually gave artists more space to experiment. By the 1960s and ‘70s, bands like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Pink Floyd turned the album into a conceptual experience, complete with artwork, stories, hidden gems, and cohesive themes.
For decades, albums reigned supreme. A typical pop or rock release would have a structure—an opening track that set the tone, mid-album “deep cuts” that showcased experimentation or emotional depth, and a finale that brought it all home. Even in the 1990s, as the cost of CDs might have felt exorbitant, fans still took pride in owning physical copies, reading liner notes, and discussing every track’s meaning.
3. The Allure and Pitfalls of Streaming
Fast-forward to the streaming age. In theory, it’s wonderful: for a small monthly fee, you can listen to classics like Louis Armstrong, Aretha Franklin, or The Rolling Stones alongside the latest pop releases from Doja Cat or The Weeknd. The problem? Streaming services operate on an entirely different economic model.
Pay-per-stream: Artists make mere fractions of a cent each time someone plays their music. (Perhaps this is why music today seems worse than older music. If there’s little money to be made, who would put in the effort?)
Algorithmic curation: Platforms rely on data-driven recommendations to keep listeners engaged. Songs often need a catchy intro to avoid being skipped within seconds.
Playlist mindset: Instead of diving into a single artist’s album, listeners shuffle playlists or jump from artist to artist, rarely experiencing the curated sequence or thematic journey an album provides.
As a result, the incentive for musicians shifts dramatically. In earlier eras, an artist might pour their soul into a 10- or 12-track album, hoping that fans would buy it and absorb it from start to finish. Today, many labels encourage artists to release more singles, more frequently, chasing that viral moment rather than building a cohesive body of work.
We can think that today that body of work is not anymore the album, but the random playlist shared with many other artist. So, artists don’t have to match their song within the entire album, but within the current trends. Perhaps, this is similar to the forties, perhaps in those times artists had to make a song that matches with the trends of the radios… in some way, the current days match with the old ’40 days.
4. Quality vs. Quantity: Is Music Really Worse Now?
Many fans argue that music from the 1950s through the 1980s was “better”—better melodies, more instrumentation, deeper emotional resonance. While nostalgia plays a role, there’s also a structural explanation:
Albums foster immersion: Tracks that initially feel weak might reveal their brilliance when listened to in context. The so-called “filler song” may actually be a crucial pivot in an album’s narrative arc. This is a strange phenomenon. Sometimes I come across a song I don’t like very much... BUT when I listen to the entire album, I realize that the song is actually great in the context of that album. Maybe the problem isn’t the song itself, but rather that I don’t connect with the album as a whole. In a playlist, you can’t notice this because you hear "random" songs. Perhaps in that playlist, the song doesn’t fit. But within its original album, it matches perfectly...
Obviously in the album era, artists also had to “match” with trends. But the entire album had to match, not just one song. If the tendency was “disco” (for putting a random example), the whole bands (at least many of them) had to move to make “discoly” their albums, because listeners wanted that trends.
Focus on artistry: With time to craft an album, artists could explore new sounds without worrying about immediate commercial performance for each individual track.
Homogenization: Today, to fit into algorithmic playlists, many songs use similar chord progressions, beats, and production styles. Distinctive “signatures” can get lost, leading to a sense of monotony.
The streaming economy essentially rewards songs that perform well on a track-by-track basis. This fosters an environment where artists are encouraged to produce hits rapidly and regularly, rather than spending years perfecting an album.
5. The Resurrection of the Single and the Role of TikTok
In a curious twist, we’ve returned to a market dynamic reminiscent of the 1940s, only with a modern twist. Back then, the single was everything. Today, TikTok serves as the radio of the 21st century, shaping what breaks out. A viral 15-second snippet can catapult an unknown artist to stardom overnight, bypassing traditional gatekeepers entirely. (This isn’t entirely bad—capitalism is wonderful because it allows people to go from poverty to becoming millionaires overnight. This wasn’t possible in pre-capitalist eras.)
Yet this rapid discovery mechanism also shortens attention spans. Listeners often only know 30 seconds of a track—the portion that became a meme or a dance challenge—rather than its full story. If you try to sit someone down to appreciate a 50-minute album with interludes and thematic transitions, you may be met with skepticism or impatience. Well, even I experience this. When I’m home now (unlike when I was younger), I can’t just sit and listen to an entire album—it feels boring. I usually listen to music (on streaming, of course) while cleaning the house. I’ve realized that the best moment to truly enjoy music is when I’m driving alone. Those 30 or 40 minutes in the car are the perfect time to appreciate music in peace.
6. The Diminished Incentive for Longevity
Lastly, it’s worth noting how this new reality affects artists themselves. Gone are the days when an artist could rely on album sales to fund their craft for years. Now, streaming royalties often barely cover expenses unless you’re in the top tier. Consequently, many musicians release a handful of singles, ride a wave of viral attention, then fade away. Some icons, like Luis Miguel, seldom release new music because the current industry climate doesn’t reward the painstaking craftsmanship that once defined his work.
This isn’t to say that quality music no longer exists—it does, in many forms—but the economic structure and cultural habits of our time discourage the deep, cohesive projects we once took for granted.
Conclusion: A Call for Musical Mindfulness
We shouldn’t dismiss technology outright. Streaming democratizes music access, offers unprecedented convenience, and can still spark a fan’s curiosity to explore deeper cuts or older catalogs. But we should remain aware of what we lose when we abandon the album format: intentional sequencing, thematic unity, artistic risks, and yes, those hidden tracks that only make sense in the right context.
The music world—like so many industries—swings between extremes of commercialism and creativity. In the 1940s and ‘50s, it was about radio hits; in the ‘70s and ‘80s, the album reigned; now, we’re back to bite-sized singles designed for viral success. Perhaps, in a future cycle, there’ll be a resurgence of the traditional album concept, or a new medium that encourages deeper listening habits.
The curious thing is that, throughout history, people have always said, "old times were better." Even during the golden age of albums, there were those who argued that radio was superior. Just think of Queen’s Radio Ga Ga—that song lamented that music videos had killed the radio star. If we analyze this in Kuhn’s terms, we can see paradigm shifts: first, radio, then albums, then music videos, and now streaming.
Queen’s Radio Ga Ga says: “I'd sit alone and watch your light / My only friend through teenage nights / And everything I had to know / I heard it on my radio.” This makes complete sense. Imagine yourself alone in the 1940s—you’d probably get bored immediately, so the radio was your companion. Nowadays, radio faces stiff competition. If we’re home alone, we can chat with friends or call someone—there’s always something to do to avoid boredom. Perhaps this is why radio still thrives in cars—when the driver is completely alone.
This week, something curious happened to me. I spent a few days with my dad (66 years old), a very, very, very old-fashioned man who still listens to the radio. And that made me feel like I wanted to buy a CD to listen to it on the radio—which is kind of stupid because where would I even find a CD store? Almost impossible. Even if I did, it would be an unnecessary waste of money. But this reminded me how much I enjoy finding albums on YouTube that were recorded from the original old vinyl records—they sound incredibly good.
One thing I love about these vinyl recordings is the warm, crackling noise they have—that soft "chsh chsh chsh" sound in the background that was eliminated in CDs. That vinyl crackle’s like a gentle whisper from the past, adding an organic, nostalgic touch. Many people love this sound because it creates a warm, vintage, and intimate feel—something missing in the cold, digital perfection of CDs and streaming.
For now, though, it falls on us—those who remember the power of a complete album and those open-minded younger fans—to keep the “art of the album” alive. If you’re someone who misses that immersive experience, the simplest solution might be to carve out time to truly listen: pick an album, press play, put the phone away, and let the music take you on the journey it was meant to be.
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