Why Releasing Music Feels Different Now
Hey friends,
Do you remember being a kid who didn't want to go to sleep? Not because you were stubborn, but because the world was too exciting to leave. There was always one more thing to explore, one more world to build.
I was that kid. I'd spend hours building entire universes out of Power Rangers figures, soft toys, cars, and bricks. Then LEGO came along and changed everything. Suddenly every brick felt like a gate into a new level of a world I'd made myself. I lived inside those worlds for hours.
The end of a journey
For me, releasing music always felt like the end of a long trip. You spend months on the road, and then you finally see your destination come closer. Reaching it is rewarding — not only because you finished, but because every ending clears space for something new. The old project makes room for fresh ideas, and you get to leave for a new journey.
I still love that part. Releasing is, for me, an important piece of the whole process, even though making the music will always matter more.
So what changed?
The journey still feels good. The destination doesn't, quite as much. And the more I sit with it, the more I think it's not the music — it's the environment the music now lives in.
The internet made it wonderfully easy for independent artists to release on their own and I really appreciate that labels are no longer gatekeepers. But platforms like Spotify quietly devalued the thing in the process. Not just through the royalty payments (we all know that story), but by slowly turning music from a piece of art into "content." Keep feeding the machine. Quantity over quality. Singles over albums. Constant release pressure. And now AI-generated tracks are flooding the same platforms, piling even more weight onto human artists.
Owning what you love
Here's something I've noticed about myself. A year ago I streamed basically everything. Now I keep buying music digitally and adding it to my own library. Some albums I just want to own — so that no platform has the power to take them away from me.
And maybe a change in how I consume music points to a change in how I want to release it, too. I don't have the answer yet. Do I still want to be part of this? And if not, where could my music find a new home? Those questions are open, and I'm okay with that for now.
Where I still find hope
I know all of this sounds bleak, but I don't think it has to be. The more saturated these platforms get, the closer we move to a tipping point. At some point, I believe people will start looking for a more human connection to art — one that an AI-flooded feed can't give them.
Maybe that connection moves back into real life. Maybe live music becomes more of a thing again. Maybe new platforms appear that are built around people, not algorithms. It sounds idealistic in times of AI and big tech, I know. But time will tell — and a lot of it comes down to us and our own habits.
I'd love to hear where you stand. If you release your own art, how do you do it now? And if you don't, how do you listen these days? Drop me a line — this quiet corner is exactly where I want to have that conversation.
Stay creative,
Milan
P.S.: The EP that started all these thoughts, "A Taste Of Void," is out now — you can give it a listen and grab it here: https://kvndra.bandcamp.com/album/a-taste-of-void
