For ten years, Spotify was the undisputed soundtrack to my life. I had meticulously crafted playlists for every mood and occasion. My “Wrapped” was a badge of honor. But after reading about the “Death to Spotify” movement, a seed of doubt was planted. Was my convenience coming at too high a cost? I decided to try and quit, and this is what I learned.
The first week was the hardest. The silence in the car felt deafening as I fumbled with a new app, Bandcamp. I felt a pang of social anxiety when a friend sent me a link to a Spotify playlist for an upcoming party. As organizer Manasa Karthikeyan predicted, I had to “accept that I won’t have instant access to everything.” It was genuinely inconvenient.
But then, something shifted. I decided to use my old Spotify subscription money to buy one album a week from an artist I loved. The act of actually purchasing music for the first time in years felt surprisingly good. I was making a conscious choice. I was placing a value on the art. I listened to that album on repeat, absorbing the lyrics and the liner notes. I was hearing it in a way I hadn’t in years.
I started tuning into my local indie radio station on my commute. I discovered weird, wonderful new bands that would never have made it past my Spotify algorithm’s velvet rope. I visited a record store and had a 20-minute conversation with the clerk about post-punk. My musical world, which I thought was shrinking, was actually expanding in exciting, unpredictable ways.
Quitting Spotify was not easy, but it has been one of the most rewarding changes I’ve made. I’ve moved from being a passive consumer to an active supporter. My relationship with music is deeper, my discoveries are more meaningful, and I know that my money is going to the people who actually create the sounds that enrich my life.