I guess my point still stands. Part of the fun of music for me is I have something in my head - a melody, a chord sequence - and I figure that out. Then I think, “how do I want that to sound?” and I work that out. I think typing a prompt into Suno or uploading a melody and saying, “can you put some drums around this or put a vocal on this?” just takes away part of the fun. For me, at least.

I’m not in any way a successful musician, but what I do like about writing music is the whole process. Part of that process is, “how do I make the sound that’s in my head? What do I sample? What can I play? I’ve got some instruments, I’ve got some synths and stuff. How do I make that sound? How do I write those lyrics? How do I sing? How do I set the key so that it matches my voice and I can actually sing it?”

If I can’t sing it or play something I’ll occasionally get session musicians to play things I can’t play. Or let’s say I need to play an instrument I don’t have - l’ll borrow one or I’ll buy one. For example, I’ll get a ukulele and I’ll play a few chords. This is part of the fun for me.

Perhaps it doesn’t sound as polished as if I’d asked Suno to do it, but the feeling of accomplishment is much stronger. And yes, I have tried Suno, so this isn’t coming from a point of, “I refuse to use it. I’ll never use it.” I’ve sat down with Suno and I’ve come up with some songs. I’ve played with prompts and I’ve made a number of songs from them and thought sure, they are pretty good.

But I feel no connection with those songs. I’ve played with the prompts and I’ve seen what it can do and, yes, I’ve been impressed in a way, but those aren’t my songs. Even if I come it came up with the words or the melody, what comes out isn’t something I had to work out, practice and create. I haven’t had to get better at producing, I haven’t had to mix it, and I haven’t had to do all the things that give me a sense of accomplishment.

If you want to come up with some words and then tell Suno to you make a tune, produce it and master it, then all power to you, I suppose. However, I don’t get any feeling of accomplishment from that. For me, making music is a learning experience, and every time I write something and come across a problem I can’t solve, I learn how to do it. Maybe I don’t do it very well, but I’ll be better next time, and then better the next time, Then eventually, maybe, I’ll be able to do a lot more stuff well and I’ll have a sense of having progressed.

Suno can do almost anything - write, add instruments, add vocals… and yes, I could do all of that without learning anything about doing it myself. But then… where’s the progression and where’s the accomplishment? Where’s the fun?

I’ve got a lot of stuff I haven’t used in any completed music. This will take time. Wish me luck!

It’s Not About Hiding Anything

I’m not shying away because I’ve got something to hide. I’m perfectly open about the fact that my music reaches a modest audience. In fact, this year, I’ve gained more listeners than ever, and I’m pleased with that. But I’m still operating on a small scale. My reluctance to share my stats doesn’t stem from embarrassment or a desire to obscure my standing. Instead, it’s about something deeper: the toxic culture that surrounds these numbers.

The Problem With Spotify’s Numbers

I’ve always had a problem with Spotify prominently displaying an artist’s monthly listener count on their profile. This feature fosters an unhealthy obsession with numbers. It drives behaviours like playlist botting and paid promotions to artificially inflate stats because, like it or not, those figures influence how listeners perceive music.

The logic is flawed, but it exists nonetheless: low numbers equate to low quality in the eyes of some. This system discourages genuine discovery of lesser-known artists. On other streaming platforms, where such statistics aren’t front and centre, listeners are arguably more inclined to give unfamiliar music a chance. That’s real discovery—finding artists who are talented but not yet well-known.

Spotify, however, perpetuates a cycle of promoting the already popular. Even the platform’s much-touted discovery features, like its recommendations, often lead to artists who are already well-established. After one of my songs finishes playing, the next recommendation is almost always someone with hundreds of thousands of listeners—artists I already know. That’s not discovery; it’s recycling. What about the smaller, independent artists who deserve a shot?

The Broader Implications for Artists

This obsession with numbers has practical consequences too. Venues and promoters increasingly use Spotify stats to determine whether an artist is worth booking. They’ll often check monthly listener counts as part of their decision-making process. For many smaller musicians, this makes Spotify an inescapable part of their career, even if they’d rather direct listeners to platforms like Bandcamp or Tidal, which pay far better royalties.

Spotify has us hooked, and they know it. Their dominance ensures that artists feel compelled to drive traffic to the platform, even if it’s not in their best interest. I’m guilty of it myself. When I release a song, I post a Spotify link because I want those numbers to climb. I resent doing it, but the ecosystem leaves me little choice.

Why I’m Opting Out of Spotify Wrapped

This brings me to Spotify Wrapped, the culmination of this numbers-driven culture. Every year, artists and listeners alike are encouraged to share their stats as a badge of honour. It’s become a normalised ritual, but it’s ultimately just another way Spotify reinforces the importance of these numbers.

As an artist, I can see my stats anytime. They’re useful for marketing, understanding my audience, and planning my next moves. But making these numbers public doesn’t benefit me—or most artists. Unless you’re a massive name, your numbers will always pale in comparison to someone else’s. It’s a game that smaller artists can’t win.

A Call for Change

Instead of feeding this toxic system, I propose we do better. Let’s stop amplifying Spotify’s advertising under the guise of Wrapped. Let’s question why we’re promoting a platform that pays Joe Rogan hundreds of millions while underpaying independent artists. Let’s push for platforms that treat musicians more fairly and genuinely support discovery of new talent.

I’m not suggesting that Spotify has no place in the music industry, but its current model doesn’t serve smaller artists. Wrapped is a celebration of numbers, not music. So this year, I’m choosing to step back. My voice may be small, but it’s one I’ll use to advocate for something better—something that values artistry over algorithms.