This post is part of the IndieWeb Carnival, V.H. Belvadi is hosting this initiative for January.

I bought my first album in 2001. I was 13 years old.

I’d heard a particular song on the radio, and it did something to my brain. I was hooked. I needed to know more.

For those interested, the song was Clint Eastwood from the debut album by Gorillaz—the virtual band created by Blur frontman Damon Albarn and artist Jamie Hewlett. Back then, I had to get it on CD from Woolworths. (I only added it to my vinyl collection in 2024.)

I had the internet, so I could dig up a few details about the band, albeit at dial up speeds. They were cartoons? WTF? There was mysticism around them, a sense of the unknown that felt so different from the clean-cut, hyper-accessible pop of my childhood (although tbf that is a banger).

NOW OBVIOUSLY, THIS WAS THE PAST, AND THEREFORE IT WASN’T EASY LIKE YOU KIDS HAVE IT. THE PAST WAS HARD, MATE. IF I WANTED AN ALBUM, I HAD TO PHYSICALLY GO TO WOOLWORTHS AND BUY IT ON CD. THAT INVOLVED A BUS. IT INVOLVED EFFORT. IT INVOLVED FRICTION.

Even the Gorillaz website was full of intrigue and imagination. It was designed as a virtual version of Kong Studios, the fictional home of the band. You could explore rooms, sneak into a recording session, play games, and uncover lore. Every corner had something to discover, if you were willing to put in the time.

Today, hearing new music has never been easier, but discovery has become harder. Frictionless listening fosters homogenisation. Listeners may start to prioritise what the algorithms surface, dismissing anything outside that narrow scope as unimportant. And what’s to stop your “Discover” playlist being filled with AI slop to avoid paying artists. When art, human made, is sidelined in this way, it creates a dangerous state for cultural growth and diversity.

Everything you need to know about an artist is now summed up in a short bio. Their entire back catalogue is instantly available, along with playlists showcasing their inspirations. I no longer need to carefully listen to each track to piece together what influenced their recording process. The urge to scan liner notes for details—like who played guitar, who produced the album, or whose sample was used—has all but disappeared. The joy of uncovering these connections feels redundant in the face of instant access.

It shouldn’t be up to tech billionaires to decide what music I will enjoy. What I listen to should come through the sharing of friends, the surprise of a support act at a gig, or the magic of catching the last 30 seconds of a song on the radio. And fine! Check out the music on a streaming platform! But then get it on vinyl, from a record store, ask for recommendations and then thumb through the racks and surprise yourself.

There is thrill in the friction. Friction leads to discovery. Friction leads to connection. Friction leads to community. Friction leads to life.

2025-01-13: I came across this piece by Tracy Durnell that basically says what I wanted to, better, and in more detail 😂