Spotify Discover playlists are the secret best playlists generated for humans today. They do two things, simultaneously, that few other programs do well: introduce you to songs and artists you like but had never actually heard before, based on very intense and specific information you've fed them over the course of your extensive listenings. And, maybe more important, they don't include Bill Withers's "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" unless it's appropriate. It's a nearly unattainable combination anywhere else.
Another thing Discover playlists do is serve as an abstract audio documentation of where you were generally at in life last week. A passive-aggressive nudge that says, "hey, you know there are other good alt-country artists besides Ryan Adams." It would be annoying if it weren't right so much of the time. So here's this week's What Spotify Tells Us We Like, a psychomusical analysis of our own relationships to the increasingly sentient algorithms of the world's largest streaming music operation:
I have always had a peculiar obsession with the last songs on albums. This morning, I put my Discover Weekly on shuffle and within a few seconds of the song Dream Cave by Cloud Control I had the thought, "this one's a Last" and, sure enough, it's the last track on their 2013 album. *Pats self on back* Anyway, I added it to a playlist I started three years ago called The Lasts, which I only update when I unintentionally find a final track on an album that I love. That playlist is more interesting than what Spotify gave me on my Discover Weekly playlist this time around, so here that is.
I'd like to delegate today's Discover Weekly playlist analysis to an old pal.
Between Neutral Milk Hotel, The Postal Service's We Will Become Silhouettes and The Mountain Goats, your boy is feeling ANGSTY this week.
“Back at the crib. Fresh bib. Big ‘ole rack of ribs. Meat fall off the bones, smoke a little homegrown. Yeah, I got the whole party lit.” —Apparently a Country Song
Spotify, thank you. For without you, I would still be blissfully unaware of the fact that I share a planet with a rotund, country-/rap-singing fellow by the name of Big Wet. Oh this is definitely the worst song in the history of vocal chords, but the video more than makes up for that fact. There’s a little Robert Plant and Bob Seger to even things out a bit, but I guess it’s just nice to know that this kind of garbage is out there, too. Alternative ending: Spotify hates me and thinks my name is Cleetus.
Here's to another week of pop princesses and discovering that my private listening sessions aren't as private as I had hoped.
I was asked to make the Top-40 stop on the office Sonos this morning so I popped this on. I think I was doing well until the 8:45-long Red House Painters track. Funny story about track 16: I emailed Joan As Policewoman in 2003 (high school, for me) asking that she let me know where I could find a certain song of hers that wasn't on any album I could find. She wrote back and sent it to me. Thank you for reminding me, Spotify.