Max HeyraudThe mounting pressure for artists to produce content over art is crippling our culture. Quality has been overwhelmed by the drive to generate quantity, and individuality has been replaced by functionality. Artists are recognised for delivering as much content as possible, but what exactly are we rewarding?
The expectation to release music constantly—monthly singles, weekly updates—has led to an over-saturation of mediocrity. Guest mixes, fresh releases, social media posts—all demand a rhythm of their own. You’re expected to be visible at every turn: twice-weekly posts, pre-club photos, studio videos, airport selfies, and behind-the-scenes content. The constant pressure to produce—and to be seen producing—has turned the scene into a never-ending rat race. And those who shout the loudest, rise to the top.
The long-form album and the art of DJing as a narrative have been overshadowed by the pursuit of quick moments—the drop, the viral clip, the immediate connection. Those who produce long-lasting value are frequently overshadowed by the clamour in today’s fast-paced consumer culture. Artists are being influenced by their peers, agencies, managers, and society at large to put content before subtle musical approaches. And let’s be honest—why would they disagree? In a world where visibility and output are everything, it’s hard to argue against the rules of the game.
Creating content doesn’t inherently conflict with making meaningful art; the two aren’t mutually exclusive. However, they demand entirely different headspaces. Music-making has become a public spectacle due to the pressure on artists to record every moment in the studio, even though social media and marketing have historically been outside the creative process. It now runs the risk of becoming more about performance than content, where it was once a place for expression and exploration. While it’s of interest to see what gear people are using, their techniques, or studio setups, one has to question how much real creative work is actually happening amid the constant stream of throwaway content.
It’s easy to see why artists turn to studio excerpts and mix sessions as a means to maintain relevancy. After all, these snippets are far from the worst forms of self-promotion. But the question lingers: is the perpetual need for content taking a toll on the quality of what’s actually being created in the studio?
Repurposing work in the studio—a space often hidden away, a personal beacon and hub for expression—into bite-sized content for social engagement blurs the lines between art and promotion. Music risks becoming a byproduct of chasing clicks and likes. While it’s hard to fault artists for going in this direction, as staying active online is often necessary, it raises a fundamental question: should the focus be on creating a qualitative body of work or on remaining relevant in an endless stream of content?
In essence, intention—rather than overexposure—is the issue. When tracks and ideas are created primarily for online sharing, they run the risk of losing the nuance and complexity that define enduring art. Content made for short attention spans does not necessarily translate into music that endures. This is not a critique of the artists themselves, but rather a reflection of the system they are working within.
Perceptions of art as a construct are expected to change significantly if art is defined culturally as content or as a way to create content. Do we run the risk of losing our concrete emotional bond with art? We undermine the idea that art has any true, significant value if music is made with the intention of “going off” in a video or with the idea that it might be used in a bite-sized format. Even though the death of the album has been discussed so much that it has lost its significance, it is still a good illustration of how our attention is changing towards consumption. What hope does art have if we can’t listen to an eight-track album the way it was meant to be listened to?
The way we engage with music is increasingly shaped by platforms like Spotify, Instagram, and TikTok, which thrive on short-form, content-driven consumption. But platforms like Bandcamp and SoundCloud provide a welcome alternative, offering spaces where more traditional approaches to music release can thrive. Both have long resisted the mainstream digital consumption model, though I use “mainstream” loosely. They focus on artist-driven content and listening habits, where playlists are present but not the primary focus. These platforms encourage active engagement between artists and their audiences, moving away from the passive consumption that dominates other spaces.
Unlike Spotify, Instagram, or TikTok, which prioritise singles and short clips, Bandcamp and SoundCloud give more visibility to albums and EPs. Bandcamp, in particular, fosters deeper discovery through features like “supporters also bought,” which lets users explore other people’s collections and highlights a more personal, curated approach to music.
The large societal shifts in culture, along with the erosion of culture itself, have gradually diminished the significance of music as a deeper, more powerful message. The rise of brands and the overall commodification of music have made it increasingly difficult to distinguish art from content. When Vice President Kamala Harris uses Brat to promote her political campaign, and Donald Trump dances to the cult queer club classic “Y.M.C.A.,” it becomes hard to find any real legitimacy in the music’s meaning. In many ways, music is now more of a vehicle for the world and, increasingly, for your social media feed—”this is who I am.” While defining oneself by music choices and the culture attached to them is nothing new, the growing commodification and monetisation of music, particularly underground music (and I use “underground” loosely), seems to be eroding any real relevance or importance of music at all.
How does this connect to dance music, or the constant stream of pre- and post-gig selfies, studio clips, gig shots, and all the rest? I think that in some cases, how artists present themselves online is starting to overshadow the message they’re trying to communicate through their music. Hard techno DJs have a certain look and attitude, hardgroove DJs have their own, prog DJs have theirs, and disco DJs another—you get the picture. It feels like these sub-genres and scenes are being commodified in a way that’s shaping the way artists present themselves online, creating a kind of monoculture that doesn’t leave much room for outliers. When the focus shifts from the music to the visual image and the persona an artist creates online, it can diminish the true depth of their musical offerings. The pressure to fit into a specific aesthetic or “vibe” limits creative freedom, leading to a scene where conformity often takes precedence over individuality.
While I’ve essentially run short-form content into the ground for the duration of this piece, there are clear benefits to musical discovery through platforms like Instagram (specifically Reels) and TikTok. These apps help expose people to music they may not have been familiar with otherwise, expanding the reach of emerging artists and genres. As menacing as Spotify can be, it has undoubtedly had obvious benefits in helping people discover music that they might not have otherwise encountered within their usual listening preferences.
In another, oddly positive way, the rise of multi-deck performances has injected some life back into DJing through artists like Tarkno and Slin. Although this trend may have gotten somewhat out of hand—with the idea that more decks automatically equals better performance—creating an ego-driven cycle in DJing that didn’t need to happen, I still believe it has brought incremental benefits to the craft.
Although short-form content is usually consumed in fragmented ways, it can still introduce listeners to new music. Finding a balance between this culture of rapid consumption and the appreciation of longer, more cohesive works will be the next challenge. It will be crucial for producers and consumers to give equal weight to discovery and the depth and longevity of the musical experience as musicians continue to contend with the growing demands of constant content creation. Slowing down the decline of culture and promoting a more fulfilling future both inside and outside of club culture can be accomplished via concentrating on our consumption patterns and rewarding music as an art form through both our financial and time consumption.