While normally we might expect such a decoupling of art from its commodity status to release the artwork from some of the demands of the market, leaving it slightly more free to go its own way, just the opposite seems to have happened in the world of streaming music. At the extreme point, the pop song abjures any dream of artistic autonomy and shrinks down to a mechanism for delivering bursts of raw sensation — a scream of anguish, goosebumps on your neck, a whisper in your ear.
A bit esoteric in it’s pontification, but I’m here for ragging on Jack Antonoff and the Bleachers (I don’t hate them, just not my thing, but I did love the debut album from Fun. before they went down hill with Some Nights/We Are Young).