Is There Too Much Music?

I remember the days when a new album was a bit of an event. You’d hear your mates nattering or catch a radio DJ (John Peel) dropping a track, then you’d save up your pocket money or wages, make your way to the record shop (popular meeting spot back in the day), and finally grab that LP or (later) CD and then rush home for a listen. The anticipation was real. You’d peel off the wrapping, study the artwork, lower the needle or hit play, lose yourself in the first listen, and perhaps follow the lyrics on the inner sleeve. Buying new music was a ritual, and it was a ritual I indulged in as much as my pocket money would allow.

Fast forward to now, and nearly every song ever recorded seems to live in our pockets or in the cloud. With a flick of a virtual button, we can jump from Coltrane to Crass, from Bach to Beyoncé, from something recorded in a bedroom last week to a track mastered in Abbey Road. It’s all there. No waiting, no saving, no anticipation. Just tap a button and it’s yours. No ritual. 

And here’s the thing: many people of a certain age moan that there’s no good music around anymore. That today’s music scene is a bit crap when compared to the (g)olden days – “when I was a lad”. I don’t buy it. Not for a moment. There’s LOADS of brilliant music being made, perhaps more than at any time in history. The talent is out there. The problem isn’t quality. The problem is abundance…or perhaps over-abundance.

So, here’s the question: Is there too much music nowadays?

We live in the most democratic era of music-making ever. Anyone with a laptop, a microphone, and a bit of software can record, mix, and release their tracks to a global audience – search hard enough and even I’ve got music out there on bandcamp. A tune made in a bedroom in Barnsley can be streamed in Bangkok within minutes. Independent artists don’t need a record deal. They don’t need a warehouse full of vinyl. They don’t need a state-of-the-art studio. They just need an upload button and some software.

This is fab in one sense. Voices that would never have been heard in the old label-dominated world can now find an audience. Genres cross-pollinate, scenes thrive in unexpected places, niche sounds get global recognition. There’s never been more opportunity to find something that feels like it was made just for you.

But that same freedom creates a new problem: how do we separate the wheat from the chaff? When millions of tracks appear on streaming platforms every week, how do we find the truly great stuff?

Psychologists seemingly have a phrase for this: the paradox of choice. We think more choice equals more freedom. In practice, too much choice often leads to anxiety, doubt, or inaction. Faced with an endless buffet, we end up piling our plates with what’s familiar. Try buying ANYTHING online these days, and the choice just becomes baffling! I’ve given up trying to buy specific items on more than one occasion! 

Music works the same way. Presented with a library of seventy gazillion songs, many listeners retreat to the comfort of curated (grrr) playlists, old favourites, or whatever the algorithm serves up. Instead of exploring the vast unknown, we head for the familiar stuff. Sometimes we don’t bother at all.

I’ve spoken to people (and myself) who admit to spending more time scrolling through music apps than actually listening. They (I) want something new, but the act of choosing feels exhausting. Too many options can do that. It’s the musical equivalent of opening the fridge, staring at the shelves, and ordering a takeaway instead. But then do you want a burger, a pizza, sushi, a curry…

That’s one reason, I think, why nostalgia has such a strong grip on folk. It’s easy to stick to the records we grew up with, the songs we know word for word. When discovery feels overwhelming, memories are safe ground – the familiar. And so people start to believe that “all the good music” was in the past. Of course, it wasn’t. Every era has had its filler and its genius. The only difference is that in the seventies or eighties (and even the nineties), we weren’t exposed to absolutely everything. We had radio DJs, music magazines, record shops, and friends to act as filters. Today, the filters are weaker.

There is some evidence, both scientific and anecdotal, that over-abundance leads to disengagement. When confronted with hundreds of choices, people often make none. When offered endless new content, people binge for a while and then switch off. Attention becomes broken, satisfaction and enjoyment decline. I think part of the reason I didn’t get on with streaming for years is exactly this!

It isn’t unique to music. We see it with television streaming, social media feeds, even supermarket aisles – how many different kinds of tinned tomatoes do we need? The brain has only so much decision-making energy. Flood it with options, and it rebels – or, rather, it gives up.

In music, the result is a weird paradox. There’s more music to explore than ever before, yet many listeners say they feel bored, that they can’t find anything new, that discovery is too much effort. Too much choice, it turns out, can look a lot like no choice at all.

So what’s the solution? I think it’s about trusted curation (I use this word too much and still hate it). We need filters, not the kind that exclude artists, but guides who help us navigate the vast amount of content. DJs, journalists, bloggers, playlists with personality, live gigs, radio shows, podcasts: all of these still matter because they narrow the field and add context. Find a DJ whose choices you love and you’re onto a winner. Musical shaman!

When someone you trust says, “Listen to this,” it carries weight. It gives you a starting point. Discovery becomes manageable, even exciting again. Without those folk to help you, the overabundance is just noise.

There’s also the question of coolness. Because abundance alone doesn’t make something desirable. A song isn’t cool because it exists. It’s cool because of the setting, the scene, and the association.

Think of the way certain tunes become anthems in clubs, or when an underground act suddenly gets embraced by a movement. Think of the influence of fashion, design, and image. The same logic that applies to HiFi gear applies to music. If a track is associated with the right space, the right people, the right atmosphere, it suddenly cuts its way through the noise.

And this is where I think music discovery could learn something from nightlife.

How about this: instead of music discovery being a solitary scroll through endless playlists, what if it felt like a party? A cool DJ dropping unexpected tunes, a room full of interesting, stylish people, the drinks flowing (drink responsibly, kids), the energy buzzing. A setting where music feels alive, social, and exciting. In that environment, you don’t feel overwhelmed by choice…you feel exhilarated by it.

This, I think, is where HiFi events, listening parties, and even streaming platforms could innovate. Make discovery feel fun again. Curate (grrr) and create experiences, not just libraries. Give abundance a context that makes it a bit more human.

Let’s face it: the abundance isn’t going away. There will only be more music tomorrow, more producers, more releases, more genres. The genie is out of the bottle. The task isn’t to reduce the amount of music; it’s to find ways of filtering it that make sense.

Some of that filtering will come from technology; algorithms that try to learn your tastes. Some of it will come from culture: scenes, communities, DJs. And some of it will have to come from ourselves choosing to dig a little, to explore beyond the obvious, to follow a recommendation and see where it leads – getting lost down the rabbit hole. Virtual crate-digging, anyone?

So, is there too much music? Maybe. But I’d rather live with this problem than the alternative. I think I’d rather be overwhelmed by abundance than limited by scarcity. The challenge is real, but the reward is extraordinary, IF we can filter it.

Because when you do find that gem, it’s like stumbling on treasure. And perhaps the joy of that discovery is greater precisely because you know how vast the choice is. I’ve just got massively into Future Islands after hearing a track in Portugal. I’d heard of the band, but a spark from hearing a track on the radio in a taxi had me going down their particular rabbit hole, and I’m now about to spunk a small fortune on their vinyl output. 

Older listeners sometimes complain there’s nothing good left to hear. I think they’re wrong. The good is out there. The excellent is out there. The freaking wonderful is out there. It’s just that we now have to work a little harder (or trust the right people) to find it.

Too much music? Perhaps. But also not enough time to hear it all. And maybe that’s not such a bad problem to have.

Stuart Smith

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