Yet sometimes I find that Spotify is too cold. As a music library, it’s indiscriminate, and indifferent to my tastes. My music is not mine and never will be again. I’m reminded of what it felt like to open iTunes and feel at home, to be familiar with my music, as I imagine past generations felt as they gazed at their CD rack or their shelf full of vinyl. All I have now are digital playlists. They’re another struggle, not of space, but of time, as I attempt to carve out my own corner of Spotify’s galactic supercluster of songs.
I stare at my smartphone screen, the cursor blinking in Spotify’s search bar, and think about what to put on, or which artist to look up. The choices might as well be infinite. But before long, I’m at my bus stop or I’m running late or I lose the inspiration to listen, and I don’t play anything at all.