Grief through Spotify Blends
Stream of conscious essay regarding music + grief
One of my favorite ways to discover new music is to go through my old favorites, especially since I have had the same Spotify account for about a decade now. I shuffle my “liked” collection of several-thousand songs or revisit old playlists.
My old playlists span across multiple themes: roadtrips, audition music, art inspiration, set lists, gifts for people, working out, sad music, dinner parties, etc etc. It makes my archive lengthy and confusing, but I don’t really like to delete any of them. They’re useful for recalling old memories and emotions as well as finding specific sounds from the past that I want to reintegrate into my future.
Over the past few years, Spotify has been amping up the social aspect of their platform: things like collaborative playlists and in-app DMs. A few years ago, however, Spotify debuted “blends,” which are playlists shared among people that automatically adds songs to “blend” the music tastes of individuals involved. It will include songs liked by specific participants, songs enjoyed by multiple participants, and songs that all of the users might potentially enjoy. It also updates frequently, I think daily, so if you like a specific version of a blend make sure to save it. When you view the blend, Spotify displays which specific user inspires each song.
A few years ago while in college I was meeting lots of new people. Many of my friends lived in dorms or their parents’ houses, so I would try and keep my apartment open for hangouts. I specifically made one new friend who asked around for help on his big school projects. He needed manual labor that I had experience in, so I would spend several of my days off with him. After hours of work, I would invite him over to hang out and debrief since he lived with his parents, which was nearly an hour by train and bus transfer. We would take the brownline to my apartment where I would set out snacks and drinks while we chatted and played whatever boardgames I had in my tiny living room. We weren’t very similar people, but the conversation was good and I liked to dig deep into his life growing up in the city and studying a major I was interested in. I sensed that with him staying in the same home and area his whole life, there were some aspects of his personality and inhibitions that he kept locked away. While it never happened with me, I learned that he could sometimes be quick to anger or frustration, which to me was a sign that he felt a bit sheltered. Our chats stayed relatively light, but I wanted to encourage him to share whatever he needed to share.
I had one of those cylindrical JBL-type speakers, so I would connect my phone and shuffle things we might both like. He would compliment some of the music I played and cue up some of his own songs. We talked about our favorite albums, and I learned he was passionate about some of the same genres as me. I think we initially connected over “midwest emo,” which is a little bit embarrassing looking back. Especially since he is a native midwesterner, and I am not, I listened closely to his thoughts on the genre. He introduced me to artists and albums that were more specific to his area and niche within the genre. I would chat about mathrock and he would talk about shoegaze. Within the first time listening to music together, we created our own Spotify blend.
I learned through text of his passing, after knowing him for only a little over a year. Depressed people meet other depressed people, so it’s one of those types of texts that are sad, but never too surprising. Obviously no one knew this was going to happen, but it’s news that I have heard before and will unfortunately hear again. I was taken aback and upset, and I have not handled it well. I am sad for him, his family, and his other friends. I am also afraid for myself and my friends. He was a depressed person who isolated himself, just like me and many of the people I know. We can all look out for each other, but anything can happen, despite hosting many game nights in our shitty urban apartments.
I never met his parents, so I was not able to attend his funeral or visit his grave. I do not know many details. Especially while trying to survive my own early twenties with school and work, the news definitely weighed me down. Time has passed, and I have sifted through my thoughts and emotions regarding everything.
Within the months after his passing, I came across our blend while looking for inspiration in my Spotify archives. The pang of sadness shot through me, but I was also warmed by the thought that what we shared, our music tastes, could live on through this infinitely updated playlist. A ghost sandwiched between my “open mic inspo” and “friendsgiving ambience” playlists. For a while I would check back regularly to get new recs and notice things, like that we both listen to the band Ganser. Especially since we had very few mutual friends I could chat with, it was a good way to honor his memory while grieving.
When you initially create a blend, Spotify generates equal parts for all members of the playlist. For two people, it would be about 45% for either user and then about 10% of shared songs. This is not always the case especially if one user has a greater data of music for Spotify to pull from. When I create a blend with a newer Spotify user, it will be more like 65% of my tastes.
For the first couple of months since his account became inactive, it stayed relatively balanced. The first time I noticed my influence became a majority of the blend, I thought it was just a random occurrence. This was not the case, though. While my listening data on Spotify has grown over time, his stayed stagnant, and now my taste controls about 85% of the playlist.
Realistically this is not a big deal. That is how Spotify programmed their blends to work. Objectively I now have more activity on Spotify to alter the playlist than him. Grief is weird on the brain though, and I started to fear that this was some kind of big crazy metaphor. Like this was a sign that I, or the world, am/is forgetting about him. Like we are all forgiving ourselves for letting someone feel so trapped and out of control that they could do the unthinkable, cleaning our hands of the situation. I started to have this unshakable thought that I failed him while he was alive and now that he is dead I should keep being sad. Even in the times I am not troubling myself with this idea, I am reminded when I see our blend in my music archives, and I notice how much more my songs have overtaken his.
I don’t really have a resolution to this writing. I feel sad about him and all the stuff that could have been. I think about the many articles written that discuss what happens to our social media when we die. This is a new phenomenon that the grieving must now deal with in our technology-driven world.
I am not a family member or a longtime friend to him, but even I must deal with this weird online repercussion of his death. I haven’t gotten rid of any of our photos, I haven’t unfollowed any of his accounts, and I do not plan to delete our blend, even if someday it is 100% based on my influence. I will have to reconcile with all of this any time I look through my old playlists. Even when some other big corporation kills off Spotify, I will still see signs of him everywhere.
Grief is strange and I miss him despite only being a small fraction of each others’ lives. When your loved ones are grieving, give them support. Even better, check in with the people in your community whether or not they are in distress. That, in turn, prevents future grief occurring. I don’t endorse Spotify or whatever music platform you use, but I do recommend creating a blended playlist. It’s a lot of fun.