Words: Astara Ball (she/her)
‘What do you mean something as simple as streaming immaterial soundwaves could be contributing to climate catastrophe? What am I doing that isn’t nailing my own coffin?’
The increasing omnipresence of the global climate emergency has elevated climate anxiety to an all time high. With the LA wildfires and the UK’s recent Cyclone Eowyne quite literally bringing our fears to our front doors, modern life has become one deeply pressed carbon footprint dependent on the industries that worsen our fate. We could very well be watching our world deteriorate before our eyes. But winding down and zoning out with a Spotify playlist could be making devastating contributions to an already dire situation.
With engagement propelled by the making and sharing of hyper-customisable playlists, daylists, and personalised mixes, digital streaming is enjoyed widely now more than ever. In today’s tumultuous anthropocene, we rely on streaming platforms as universal connectors and a means of self-exploration and expression, yet we make no criticisms for where our music comes from. The apparent dematerialisation of music has led many to think that we are progressing towards more sustainable distribution. In reality, online streaming is far worse for the environment than any of its predecessors, though its negative impact is submerged below the surface. Unbeknownst to us, the networks of downloading, storing, and processing music require immense energy consumption that directly increases carbon emissions.
The history of music distribution has always been one of environmental and human exploitation. Non-material music is not exempt from this. Glasgow University’s Matt Brennan and co-researcher Kyle Devine expose this history in their article ‘The Cost of Music’. From the 1900s-1950s, recordings were made of insect-derived resin, shellac, which was harvested and processed by exploiting women and children in colonial India. In the 1950s-2000s, recordings were made from petrochemical plastics extracted from locations in zones of conflict such as the Middle East, and processed to the detriment of workers and their environment. Since the emergence of digital streaming in the 2000s, accessory technologies such as phones have been assembled in places including the Democratic Republic of Congo and China where labour conditions are often akin to slavery. The rapid consumption cycles of these technologies cause immense wastage, aside from the vast carbon emissions released by the transmission and delivery networks necessary to retrieve streamable music. It’s suggested that streaming now accounts for 3-4% of the global carbon footprint, or 200-350 million kilograms of greenhouse gas emission equivalents since 2016.
So how can music consumers and artists address the climate concerns of digital streaming? Artists obviously want to make a profit, yet many worry about the climate. Billie Eilish, for example, has run various sustainable campaigns for her brand, however, like all modern musicians, she depends on streaming services as the primary means of sharing her music. By contrast, Taylor Swift has faced criticism for her own, more obvious, carbon emissions through the impact of the ‘Eras Tour’ and regularly using her private jets. Artists of all levels of fame should start considering more eco-friendly ways to distribute their music, but can we reasonably hold them equally accountable for their climate impact? Especially when, as in Eilish’s case, artists have little choice but to concede to the unsustainable streaming systems through which we access their music. This moral question complicates the matter greatly, but it can’t be answered without first taking the practical steps to reduce the environmental impacts of streaming at the level of the platform, the artist, and the listener. This is a global issue that can be amended collectively: if only people were aware!
Fortunately, some streaming services are doing their part to regulate these emissions. Spotify joined the Exponential Roadmap Initiative and the United Nations’ ‘Race to Zero’, a network of companies, scientists, and non-environmental organisations that are commiting to halve their emissions by 2030. This is a noble start and from here the best thing we can do is stimulate public conversation. Brennan expresses the value of ongoing discourse – being aware of the lesser known impacts of the everyday on the climate is crucial. Educating yourself, learning the facts, and actively striving to limit your contribution is one of the only ways we can each move forward in such unsettling times. For example, the Canadian Broadcasting Company (CBC) suggests that we should limit our streaming time to below 5 hours per day and use fewer devices. They also highlight the importance of downloading music, as it uses half the amount of battery that streaming does while benefiting the artist through positive algorithmic engagement. Additionally, opting for digital pressings (NFTs) of vinyl records rather than traditional ones is a much more sustainable option.
Writing this article, I embarked on an emotional expedition. It goes without saying that the research I delved into harkens an immense anxiety. Feeling complicit in the climate disaster and unknowingly acquiescing to the half-hearted climate consciousness of Big Tech, my anxiety also stewed with guilt. What do you mean something as simple as streaming immaterial soundwaves could be contributing to climate catastrophe? What am I doing that isn’t nailing my own coffin? It’s hard to move forward with such a serious reality looming over our heads. But pushing the conversation and doing little bits like downloading your top 5 albums allows you to continue enjoying the simple pleasure of flicking on your favourite playlist in an era of climate anxiety.
