haremonious

When Taylor Swift recently pulled her music from Spotify, it (once again) brought Spotify’s minuscule (~$0.006 per play) payouts under the microscope. Artists complain that Spotify’s payouts are so small as to be extortionate, while Daniel Ek, Spotify’s CEO, countered that Spotify is a desirable alternative to piracy, actually pays more compared to traditional radio, and that there is no correlation between Spotify activity and a decline in record sales. Being a music creator myself, this is an issue that’s constantly on my mind.

Swift wrote in a WSJ op-ed: “Music is art, and art is important and rare. Important, rare things are valuable. Valuable things should be paid for.” In other words, artists deserve to get paid, and I couldn’t agree more. But as Clint Eastwood said in 1992’s Unforgiven: “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.” And when evaluating the music industry on a macroeconomic level -- as much as it pains me to say this -- I don’t think there can be an expectation to make a living off of recorded music, in the long term.

From an economic perspective, recorded music is unique in that its supply is ever-increasing. After being consumed, a song doesn’t disappear and need to be replaced; it continues to exist for future listeners. Not only is the supply increasing, but it’s rate of growth is increasing as well. New technology has made it easier for DIY musicians to record and produce music. Combine this with this with the ease of digital distribution and it’s no surprise that the supply of music is skyrocketing. Imagine how many individual songs will exist in another 10 years. Mind boggling.

One of the basic laws of economics is that as supply increases and demand remains the same, the price of a good falls. Given the increase in supply, the price of an individual song can only remain the same if demand increases commensurately. Increased demand could hypothetically come from population growth, partitioning of niche tastes, or the emergence of new genres, but my general sense (without running the numbers) is that the increased supply of music will not be sufficiently offset, thus rendering recorded music a commodity in the long run. Essentially, the price of a recorded song will continue to fall over time, to the point where it will be negligible. Again, I believe art is valuable and should be paid for. But objectively looking at the future, it appears that recorded music will only see a decline in monetary value.

The exception here are superstars like Taylor Swift. These stars are more than mere artists; they are social phenomena. Humans will always have a hunger for the “new” thing, and these stars will meet that need, making large sums of money in the process. We can probably expect there to always be several of them in each genre. For the purpose of this essay, I consider bands like Radiohead to also be superstars, despite their radical artistic differences from Swift et al.

It’s important to note that popular artists (from any genre) are competing for the attention, or “mind-share”, of the general public, and the public “mind” can only support a finite number of these stars at any one time. As the volume of songs -- and good songs -- goes up over time, the average person can still only “care” about the same number of artists in their life. This further marginalizes the value of all the “other” music accumulating out there. So the ability to make money in music is increasingly predicated on becoming a break-through star. However, achieving this is more akin to winning the lottery than pursuing a career.

Given all this cynicism, is there a silver lining amongst all the changes sweeping through the music industry?

Producer, frontman, and author of the seminal 1993 essay, The Problem With Music, Steve Albinis recently made a good argument that the environment for independent artists is actually better now than it was under the label system. Independent musicians seem to be nostalgic for a time when they could expect to make a living from recorded music. But Albinis corroborates that in reality, this eden never truly existed.

Nowadays, services like Spotify, rather than being a negative force, actually make it comparatively easier for independent artists to distribute and build exposure. That exposure just needs to be monetized in new ways. I’d like to note that Spotify probably couldn’t increase artist payouts without going out of business: it already pays 70% of its revenue back to labels and artists, and the company continues to operate at a loss. Would artists rather have Spotify with its current payout system, or no Spotify at all? Tough question.

In historical terms, the record industry has only been around for a relatively short period of time. Less than a century. If you look back beyond the 20th century, musicians did not make money via recorded music but through live performance. So I ask this: was the record industry of the 20th century the norm… or the exception? Was the record industry simply a bubble -- a transitional era -- that is now coming to an end? Over the past few decades, the price of concert tickets has risen exponentially. Perhaps the source of music revenue is simply returning to its natural state: live performance.

Venmo has become a fixture in my life over the past year. On the surface, it's just another app that facilitates payments between parties. However, its focus on making this activity as frictionless as possible, and the clever integration of social features, have helped it emerge as a widely used app amongst my peers.

Making ad hoc payments to friends is a constant pain-point, so Venmo's success is not altogether surprising. Whether it be handling rent/utility payments, reimbursing someone who helped cover a purchase, or distributing winnings after a friendly poker game, there are many use cases where an easy way to exchange money is essential. Moreover, with the populace become increasingly comfortable with digital payments, and consequently carrying less cash, these use cases are of increasing importance. Venmo makes them painless, and doesn't even charge a fee (if you're using a debit card).

Integration with Facebook is a key feature of the app. Facebook login allows users to quickly find friends they need to pay or charge. This reduces friction in the on-boarding process and helps build an active user base. Furthermore, the social integration allows Venmo to create a news feed of your friends' payments. While perhaps not an obvious feature for a payments app, this gives Venmo a vitality that makes it more entertaining than your typical payments app.

It’s raining. Hard. Pedestrian commuters huddle under their umbrellas, trudging across the wet pavement. Those unlucky enough to have embarked on the day unprepared scamper from shelter to shelter, holding whatever they can above their heads in a vain effort to parry the storm. Some stand hopefully on the corner, arms raised, but vacant cabs are in short supply. A New York sightseeing bus turns the corner as I wait for the walk signal on 5th Avenue, my shoes and pants now thoroughly drenched. The open, upper-deck of the bus is completely abandoned, except for two brave souls choosing to embrace the downpour rather than let it defeat their spirits. After all, they likely travelled a great distance for this tour of the big apple. They’ll take the best view, weather be damned.

At this moment, my mind drifts: what if we could control the weather? If that was the case, this tourist experience would be completely unacceptable. The equivalent of a power outage during the Superbowl. Or Google’s services going down for a prolonged period of time. I can imagine it now, a perfectly beautiful day -- just as beautiful as the last, and the one before that -- suddenly taking a turn for the worse. The clouds open and rain falls. Those in charge of the local weather scramble to diagnose and remedy the issue. A few hours later a fix is in place and New York City issues a formal apology. Angry tourists demand remuneration; the “product” they purchased did not deliver.

It’s impressive how quickly our expectations of convenience and comfort are raised once we have control over something.

Weather control might sound like science fiction, but as our rate of technological progress continues to accelerate, I find concepts like this less and less absurd. It would seem to be an objectively positive advancement: vacations would always be “perfect”, weather-reliant enterprises like farming could be fully optimized, natural disasters averted, etc. Though it is, no doubt, also an unsettling thought. That level of control over nature feels almost inhuman. Is there not a certain beauty in the unpredictability of weather? When our lives are completely stripped of inconvenience, will they, in a way, be boring?

As the weather here in New York finally starts to show signs of spring, it occurred to me that the mere existence of seasons in New York could be an important force behind its status as the fashion capital of the U.S. According to The Global Language Monitor, Los Angeles is the closest competitor, yet New York consistently edges out its California rival. Los Angeles would appear to have a competitive advantage given its celebrity-driven media environment. However, New York has a less obvious but more fundamental advantage: four distinct seasons.

The temperature in New York varies from an average high of 84˚F in July to an average low of  27˚F in January. Los Angeles, by contrast, only varies from 84˚F to 48˚F. Quite simply, there is need for a wider variety of clothes over the course of the year in New York, giving designers a wider range of styles to explore. This would naturally foster a more vibrant fashion economy and ecosystem. A fundamental advantage, indeed.

Warning: this post contains spoilers.

When I was growing up, if you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would tell you, "a film director." While my career hasn't entirely taken me in that direction, I still maintain a strong affinity for film. Therefore, I feel it's only appropriate that my first blog post is a reflection on my favorite film of 2013: Spike Jonze’s Her.

While Gravity may have been bigger and more awe-inspiring, and 12 Years A Slave more devastating, for me there was nothing quite like the understated yet expansive imagination of Her. My only previous experience with Spike Jonze was 1999’s Being John Malkovich, probably the most absurd film I’ve ever seen (which is a positive in my book). So going into Her, audacious originality was expected, and those expectations were more than met.

Her offers a glimpse into the not-so-distant future, where artificial intelligence has advanced to the point where humans can develop meaningful relationships with their computers. Theodore, played by Joaquin Phoenix, is a man going through a painful divorce who decides to download a new, artificially intelligent operating system (or “OS”). Named Samantha, his OS immediately surprises him with her wit and depth of character, and, before he knows it, Theo finds himself falling in love.

Much has been said of Scarlett Johansson’s performance as the voice of Samantha. While her ability to breath life into a character using only her voice is noteworthy, Phoenix’s performance is just as impressive, for the reason that he must act against only her voice, and as the sole physical presence in many scenes. This brings his facial expressions and body language under a level of intense scrutiny where any insincerity in the performance would be detected in an instant. However, none is present. That Phoenix is able to handle this scenario so deftly is no small feat. On the whole, he succeeds in making Theo feel emotionally familiar, providing a relatable human link to the futuristic setting.

Jonze paints his vision of the future not in broad, conspicuous strokes, but through subtle observations of technology’s place in our daily lives. Whether it’s 3D gaming, pervasive voice interaction with gadgets, or the amusingly vicarious games that Theo’s friend Amy designs, Jonze has an eye for the trends of today and where they might plausibly lead. The very concept of “dating an OS” seems to be an astute reflection on the often unexpected and creative ways people respond to new technologies, whatever their intended uses. The technological quirks of Her are both discerning and entertaining, however Jonze is careful that the focus always remains on the characters and their relationships, with the gadgets playing a supporting role that blends seamlessly into the story. In this way, Her maintains an intimate indie feel, despite the film’s ambitious ideas.

Perhaps the theme that Her first brings to mind, for those who have not seen it, is the “technological nightmare” of a digital girlfriend. While the film seems self-aware of this controversial topic, it does not take an obviously Luddite stance, nor does it let this question weigh down the rest of the story. It does present a scenario where machines are capable of feelings, yet the arc it follows might actually be reassuring to those suspicious of technology. In the end, the message is one of hope. Theo's relationship with Samantha ultimately fails, though not because of the limits of artificial emotional intelligence but rather the limitlessness of the digital universe. Because of the infinite possibilities of Samantha's digital realm -- unconstrained by distance, mental bandwidth, and even time -- it is she, the robot, who cannot relate to Theo. It is she who ultimately makes the mature decision to break up with him.

And so we are presented with an unexpected situation where machine is more profound than man, a conclusion that is oddly comforting in the way it emphasizes and reinforces humans' need for one another. Lasting relationships are built on shared experiences, and while a human-machine relationship is deemed more than possible, it inherently lacks this fundamental attribute. As Samantha discovers, there is so much from her world that she cannot share with Theo, and likewise much that he cannot share with her. This is illustrated beautifully in the final shot of the film, with both Theo and Amy sitting on the rooftop at sunrise, her head resting against his shoulder, enjoying a view that only they can share. In the end, our closest companions will always be one another.