It has never been easier to release music.

From a small room at home, you can record a song, upload it to streaming platforms and make it instantly available worldwide. No pressing plants. No distribution deals. No gatekeepers deciding whether your music deserves to exist. In many ways, it’s incredible.

And yet, at the same time, music has never felt easier to ignore. That’s the contradiction at the centre of modern music-making: The internet made music accessible — but it also made it disposable.

Unlimited Access Changed Everything

There was a time when music required effort from listeners. You bought albums. Waited for releases. Spent time with records because access itself had value.

Now, almost every song ever recorded is available within seconds. Streaming platforms have created an environment of total accessibility. For listeners, that’s convenient. For musicians, it changes everything. Because when music becomes unlimited, attention becomes the scarce thing.

The Strange Reality of Streaming

I’ve experienced both sides of this. Over time, my music has accumulated over 2 million streams on Spotify.

That sounds significant. And reaching those numbers required a huge amount of work:

• posting online constantly
• promoting releases repeatedly
• trying to stay visible in an overcrowded space

But the financial reality behind those streams was very different. The income generated was minimal. Certainly nowhere near enough to cover the cost of creating the music. And that disconnect reveals something uncomfortable about streaming culture: Music can be widely consumed while simultaneously being undervalued.

Background Listening

Part of the reason is the way music is often consumed now.

Streaming encourages passive listening:

• playlists running in the background
• algorithm-driven recommendations
• songs skipped within seconds
• music becoming part of the atmosphere rather than the focus

There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But it changes the relationship between listener and artist. Songs become temporary. Interchangeable. Easily replaced by the next recommendation.

The Pressure to Stay Visible

One thing I’ve realised over the years is that making music is no longer enough on its own.

Independent musicians are also expected to:

• constantly promote themselves
• maintain social media presence
• create content around the music
• stay visible in algorithms
• compete for attention daily

And sometimes the promotion becomes more exhausting than the creativity itself. You can spend more time trying to make people notice the music than actually making it.

Accessibility Without Connection

The internet gives musicians reach that would once have been unimaginable. Someone across the world can hear your music instantly. That still amazes me. But reach and connection aren’t the same thing.

A stream doesn’t necessarily mean someone truly listened. A playlist placement doesn’t automatically create emotional connection. In fact, the sheer volume of available music often makes deep listening harder.

Why Physical Formats Still Matter

This is part of why releasing Present Tense on vinyl felt so significant to me. The album already existed digitally. People could already stream it anywhere. But vinyl changed the way people responded to it. Suddenly, the music felt tangible again. Intentional. Something you spend time with rather than quickly consume.

And perhaps that’s what physical formats still offer in a digital world:

• permanence
• focus
• presence
• value beyond convenience

Disposable Doesn’t Mean Meaningless

Even with all of this, I don’t think streaming or internet accessibility are entirely negative. Without them, my music would never have reached many of the people who’ve heard it. The internet has allowed independent musicians to exist outside traditional industry structures. That matters enormously. But I do think musicians need to be realistic about the environment they’re creating within.

Online visibility is fragile. Attention moves quickly. Algorithms don’t build lasting artistic identity on their own. And chasing constant growth can become emotionally draining.

The Quiet Value of Smaller Spaces

One of the reasons I’ve found myself enjoying live performance and running Songwriter Evening more recently is because those environments push against disposability. People are present. They’re listening intentionally.

The music exists in a shared moment rather than scrolling past in a feed. Ironically, smaller audiences can sometimes create deeper experiences.

Music Was Never Meant to Be Infinite

I sometimes wonder whether part of the problem is simply scale. Human beings probably weren’t designed to meaningfully process an infinite stream of music, content and recommendations. When everything is available all the time, individual pieces of work naturally lose some weight.

Not because they lack quality. But because attention itself becomes fragmented.

What Still Matters

Despite all of this, I still believe releasing music matters. Even in a world where songs disappear quickly. Even when streaming income is tiny. Even when algorithms shape visibility more than quality.

Because music still connects with people. Maybe not millions. Maybe not in obvious ways. But enough.

The Challenge for Independent Musicians

I think the real challenge now is learning how to exist within digital culture without allowing it to completely define your relationship with creativity. To use streaming platforms without measuring your worth entirely through numbers.

To share music widely while still valuing deeper connection. To create work that means something to you, even if the internet moves past it quickly.

In the End

The internet made music accessible in ways previous generations of musicians could only dream about. But accessibility came with a cost. Music became faster. More temporary. More disposable.

And perhaps the challenge now isn’t simply getting people to hear music. It’s getting them to truly listen.