Once upon a time, listening to music meant committing. You dropped the needle, flipped the vinyl, and let an artist drag you through their emotional rollercoaster whether you liked it or not. Albums weren’t just playlists with a fancier name — they were maps, manifestos, and occasionally, therapy sessions you didn’t know you needed.
Fast forward to 2025, and let’s be real: the album has been shoved in the backseat, while shuffle and skip are driving the damn car. We don’t “listen” anymore, we graze. A hook here, a chorus there, and before you can say “Spotify Wrapped,” we’ve forgotten the artist’s name. Albums have gone from sacred text to optional seasoning.
Now, it’s easy to point fingers at the algorithm. After all, it’s the puppet master dangling playlists in front of us like cat toys. But the algorithm isn’t the villain — it’s just the overeager sidekick. The real Big Bad? Overload. Too much music. Way too much. We’ve got more songs than we’ll ever listen to crammed into our pockets, and instead of savoring, we’re speed-dating tracks like we’re on Love Island: swipe, skip, ghost.
And trust me, I’m in the mess too. I’ll hit play on an album with every intention of soaking it in, and fifteen minutes later I’ve jumped ship because another shiny new release whispered, “Hey, I’m hotter.” It’s not that the music’s bad. It’s that there’s so much of it, my attention span has turned into a goldfish on Red Bull.
Meanwhile, artists are still out here trying to craft actual journeys (Welcome to the Madhouse by Tones and I? The latest from The Cure? Those are meant to be road trips, not pit stops). But our culture chews them up, spits out the singles, and feeds us the scraps like that’s the whole meal. It’s like buying a novel and only reading the pull quotes.
Indie artists get it the worst. Want attention? Better chop your song into TikTok bait and hope the algorithm gods throw you a pity stream. Suddenly albums — those carefully built arcs — are sacrificed on the altar of “Can your chorus go viral?” Spoiler: the altar is sticky, and it smells like desperation and Monster Energy.
But here’s the thing: abundance isn’t evil. If teenage me had a Tower Records in my back pocket 24/7? I’d have died happy in a pile of scratched CDs. Access isn’t the enemy — it’s what we do with it.
So maybe the cure isn’t mourning the album but making a damn choice. Fight the flood. Pick a record, play it front to back, and live in it for an hour. Let the artist drive for once instead of letting Spotify be your clingy backseat DJ.
Because no, the album isn’t dead. It’s just waiting for you to quit scrolling long enough to breathe it in.
Here’s your dare: grab an album from one of the bands we’ve interviewed at SONIQLOOX. Read their story on our Substack, then actually listen — all the way through, no cheating. Worst-case scenario? You remember what music feels like when it’s more than background noise. Best case? You fall in love with albums again.
And really — isn’t it time we all stopped acting like distracted squirrels on shuffle?
