We're rich in content but poor in concentration

When's the last time you sat down and just...listened to music?

Not as background for work, not while exercising, not during your commute. Just listening. It's probably been a while. Which is strange, because it's never been easier to access great music. We have infinite libraries at our fingertips, pristine audio quality, and negligible costs. Yet somehow, we've never been worse at giving music our full attention. Why?

I’m not judging you—I’m judging me. I'm in this picture and I don't like it, hence the post. I'm asking these questions because, as someone who makes music, I’m uncomfortable confronting them, which tells me the process is likely educational.

What I've noticed in myself is a growing tendency to use music like a mood-altering drug, delivering a quick hit of motivation, or energy, or calm. It’s art as emotional supplement rather than as a complete experience. And like any relationship that becomes purely transactional, something valuable is being traded away.

Artists and producers know they're competing not only with other songs, but with every possible distraction on your phone. Streaming music habits have altered song structures, leading to shorter intros, faster hooks, and briefer runtimes. Our poverty of attention is reshaping music itself.

What costs a lot to make costs less and less to consume, making it all too easy to lose sight of its actual value. Now that the financial and practical barriers to access have dropped to nearly nothing, we treat music as if it were worth nothing. I think this a mistake.

Whether we can understand, quantify, or transact with it, there’s something about art that encodes value for society. Creativity is the hallmark of our species. It’s older than agriculture and has outlasted every force that sought to extinguish it.

I like to think music is the most expressive of our arts. Music has been with us across cultures and generations. It’s the language we use to address the transcendental. Spanning borders and boundaries, music brings us together and comforts us when we’re apart.

But here we are, with more music at our disposal than any generation before us, treating it primarily as background noise.

We could blame technology or busy schedules, but I think we're just discovering the limits of convenience. Like so much else in life, we've optimized music for easy consumption, but in doing so we've diminished our ability to discern what makes it meaningful.

To counteract this tendency, I've started:

• Setting aside dedicated time for albums I love.
• Using the best equipment I can to listen (not only for the sound quality, but because it makes listening feel more intentional).
• Sharing music with friends and family in person, making it a social experience rather than just another solitary screen activity.
• Learning about the music I love—its context, creation, and meaning.

When I give music my full attention, I'm connecting to something that's been meaningful to humans for as long as we've been human.

I might not understand why, but I figure there’s only one way to find out.