For several weeks, I’ve been tinkering with Swedish guitar virtuoso Yngwie Malmsteen’s Heaven Tonight solo. Breaking apart each phrase, putting them back together. Playing the thing slow, then at speed. I’m a capable guitarist, comfortable with demanding cuts from players like George Lynch, Eddie Van Halen, and Vito Bratta. But this Yngwie solo is different. It’s a bucking bronco that won’t be ridden. It needs to be broken first. I’m very close. But to date, making it sound good, with adequate feeling, has eluded me. I’ll have to work harder. Naturally, my thwarted efforts have left me more greatly appreciating Malmsteen’s ability. And I’m thankful that, forty something years ago, when Malmsteen emerged as a world-class talent, the music industry’s king makers plucked him from Nordic obscurity and gave him an enduring global platform—enabling me to find his work decades later.
That a world-class musician would enjoy mainstream musical success may seem like an obvious conclusion. It’s not anymore. Things are different. When Malmsteen came up, the music industry was a vibrant ecosystem. Obscure record labels vied, plausibly, for a slice of the market. In their search for talent and distinction, everything from James Brown to Metallica had a shot at the mainstream—even a kid from Stockholm making Paganini-like runs on a Stratocaster. Today, neither talent nor distinction determines the industry hierarchy. Now, there’s a very strict formula—an algorithm—that has narrowed the field of who qualifies as a viable entertainer. Today, Yngwie wouldn’t get a shot. His best bet would be starting a YouTube channel or something. He’d be some nameless, digital busker. So, when I stay up late working to emulate Yngwie’s fluid power and grace, I’m reminded of a time when talent ruled and the public standard for competence was unwavering—a time before the music industry consolidated.
Antitrust researcher Ron Knox explains:
“For decades, corporate concentration and the rise of streaming music platforms has shifted power to tech giants, and to a conglomerate that, through the staggering failures of US monopoly regulation, has come to dominate terrestrial and satellite radio, concert promotion, ticketing, artist management, and venue ownership, essentially every revenue-generating slice of the industry.”
“Three major record labels [Universal, Sony, and Warner Music] produce two-thirds of all music consumed in America. They are the most powerful buyer of music and talent, and they use that power to prioritize a handful of mega-stars and pop hits. They pitch music into massive radio conglomerates and streaming platforms that control how music is consumed, and they collect an ever-growing share of industry revenue.”
The effect, for the consumer, has been disaster. Variety is limited. The lack of competition has led to lower quality products from lower quality performers. The evidence is ample. Drake, arguably the most popular artist of the 2010s, has trademarked mumbling incoherently in the nasal register. Taylor Swift, another contender for most popular artist of the 2010s, wouldn’t have been the most talented performer in your high school’s choir. Post Malone. Miley Cyrus. Halsey. It’s ugly out there. Now, before you try to rationalize the prominence of Cardi B, consider the previous standard at the industry’s zenith. Whitney Houston. Michael Jackson. Stevie Wonder. Van Halen. Maybe I’m just bitter that the industry has moved away from my musical preferences. I don’t think so.
Some contemporary artists do have talent, of course (i.e., Adele, Bruno Mars, Ariana Grande). But they aren’t exactly putting out quality tunes. Certainly nothing with staying power. We’re all still rocking Billie Jean (1982) and I Wanna Dance With Somebody (1987). Yet, That’s What I Like (2016) and Thank U, Next (2018) have mostly faded into obscurity.
Despite producing music that lacks staying power, contemporary artists enjoy careers with unprecedented staying power. Their enduring status and their towering sales are guaranteed. The charts are roughly the same today as they were in 2008: Taylor Swift, Justin Timberlake, Justin Bieber, Beyonce, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Bruno Mars. Consider the variety and quantity of charting artists and genres across the same interval, at a different time in music history, say 1978-1991. Back then, artists had to compete, they were accountable for their product’s quality.
Today however, we know that when Taylor Swift is going to drop an album, the album is going to be huge and career sustaining. Right? Before we even hear a song, we know. And even if the lead single is a song as comprehensively atrocious as ME!, we know it’s going to dominate the radio, the charts, and the summer concert circuit. Think about that. If Michael Jackson’s Thriller album had led with ME! the album would have tanked, and Jackson’s career would have been in jeopardy, his silky-smooth virtuosity be damned. An artist with a better song would have taken that radio-space, those concert venues, and the consumer’s coin. And the message to Jackson, and to the rest of the industry would have been clear: write a better fucking song.
Music isn’t the only artform suffering under monopoly power. Consolidation is also choking the film industry.
The 2019 Disney-Fox merger was a harbinger of dark times ahead. And this year, Amazon bought MGM Studios. Not good. Jeff Bezos didn’t pull the trigger on that deal so that he could make inspiring films. And he’s not going to consult writers or directors to determine MGM’s strategy. No, he’s going to hire a bunch of former HBS, McKinsey bros who will be making character and plot decisions based on aggregated consumer data. MGM will now be following the Marvel/Netflix/Disney+ template: volume and turnover equals more subscriptions. Crafting a masterpiece is not the objective anymore. Not with MBA graduates making artistic decisions at monopoly production houses. We ain’t getting no Casablanca, Stand By Me, or Do The Right Thing, as long as that’s happening. Instead, we’ll have to watch Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson hump doorknobs through six films a year. Speaking of which, Red Notice just beat out Bird Box as the most streamed movie in Netflix history. So, you’d better believe that Red Notice—not Schindler’s List, Blade Runner, or To Kill A Mockingbird—will be the gold-standard for future Netflix productions.
The failures of US regulators got us here. But consumer accommodation deserves criticism, too.
It is easy, of course. To just go with the flow. Especially when the product—the music and the movies—are designed to demand so little of the consumer. To be completely frictionless. You don’t have to invest much to consume contemporary art. Rihanna isn’t going to take you on a six-minute, emotional journey ala Bohemian Rhapsody. You’re not even getting an instrumental break. Fuck, you’re probably not even getting an instrumental intro. Just three minutes of neatly packaged Shawn Mendes. You don’t have to think. You don’t have to feel. You don’t even have to pay attention fully to understand. You can scroll Instagram (brought to you by Facebook) without missing a beat of Wonder Woman 1984. You’ll declare the film a success because girl power—and then you’ll never think about it again. Because it’s all interchangeable. Songs on your Spotify playlist transition seamlessly, indistinguishably (is this Meghan Trainor or Katy Perry?), failing to elicit anything. It’s just on. Movies and shows on your Netflix transition seamlessly, too, also indistinguishably. You don’t need any time to process Emily in Paris before moving on to Red Notice. You’ll be the same person before and after viewing—with the same hopes and dreams and sense of self. There’s no Phil Collins to delay your gratification. No Oskar Schindler to complicate your political narrative. No Yngwie Malmsteen to inspire you to work harder.
While we wait for the Federal Trade Commission to find their teeth, or for someone at the Department of Justice to remember the Sherman Act, use your spending power, and your time, to pressure reform. If not for the sake of reform, then for the sake of your own dignity. Turn off the commercial radio. Don’t let Netflix tell you what to watch next. Take a Twitter break and buy a book—something with a spine. Or dust off an old Yngwie record and remind yourself: music and movies can be art.
Be First to Comment