Is social media killing the music icon?

Every generation has its musical icons – artists that shape pop culture and live on as the era’s immortal, audible representatives. But in 2024, music execs are reportedly in crisis mode over their inability to create them. It’s not that the 2020s are devoid of innovative, exciting talent, but rather that the music industry’s unhealthy dependency on social media has created a saturated, bland digital landscape that new artists are struggling to break through – and it may mean we’ll never see larger-than-life, culture-defining icons emerge ever again.

When Universal Music Group, the corporation that releases music for the likes of Taylor Swift and Drake, pulled their entire catalogue from TikTok last month, the industry’s overreliance on the app was illuminated. Since its explosion in popularity during the pandemic, music execs have developed a fixation on the platform as the most important tool to find and break talent, resulting in pressure from major labels on their artists to build a strong, palatable social media presence. Laura Lewis-Paul, founder of music non-profit and artist development platform Saffron, says this has trickled down into the rest of the industry. “When artists who are signed to a particular label are being asked [to post regularly] then independent artists and other emerging artists are seeing this and following in these footsteps,” she says. 

“It feels like another new job for artists to add to the long list of things they’re already doing,” agrees singer-songwriter Pip Millet. With record labels spending the past few years shunning artists who aren’t willing to become watered-down, palatable social media personalities, prioritising posting over musical development and simplifying songs in the hopes of securing fleeting algorithmic success, it’s no wonder this emphasis on quick, easy success over building meaningful careers is taking its toll on artists. “[We] have to be content creators. That’s something that’s expected,” Millet says. “If new artists don’t have a hit via social media I imagine there’s a fear they’ll drop off.”

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These attempts to grasp at transient TikTok success have had a knock-on effect on the art itself – recent research found that song lyrics are becoming simpler as artists write to capture the fragmented attention of users scrolling through the app. It’s also led to the introduction of AI-generated muzak, created as bland fodder for the algorithm and further contributing to a bleaker, less original musical landscape. This has been felt by musician Sofie Royer, who was allegedly pressured by her label to remove long, elaborate intros from her songs to appease algorithms. “I try not to let these things factor into my music, but inevitably I find myself disheartened when I look at certain streaming numbers,” she says. “My most successful song is one with the least effort behind it; just a simple loop.”

It’s not the first time artists have had to mould their music to fit technological advancements – radio in particular has shaped song structures for decades – but while a commercial radio hit in the 80s or 90s may have been lucrative, TikTok virality doesn’t necessarily translate into financial gain for the artist. Last month, James Blake shared that, despite having a viral hit on the app, he never made a cent due to the lack of regulation on the platform.

There is, of course, potential for some to cut through the noise, with artists like PinkPantheress, Olivia Rodrigo and Tyla examples of those who’ve capitalised on TikTok success to build careers. But while the algorithm can be beneficial to a handful of fortunate acts, the dependency on it can eliminate the elusiveness that has been so integral to so many iconic, era-defining artists. “I think any artist who craves privacy would have a different experience in today’s industry,” says Millet. “I love Lauryn Hill and I imagine if she’d have started her career today, it might have been much harder for her to take off.” 

It’s a privilege not afforded to young artists today who are encouraged to develop likeable personalities for social media, so it can be bleak to imagine iconic figures from previous generations navigating today’s landscape. “I had the same conversation with someone about Amy Winehouse recently,” one major label A&R tells Dazed. “I think she’d have struggled with the reliance on artist communication outside of music, and I wonder if her music would have had the same level of connectivity if it were released now.”

“I think any artist who craves privacy would have a different experience in today’s industry… if Lauryn Hill had started her career today, it might have been much harder for her to take off” – Pip Millett

These examples suggest that the iconic music figure – at least in the enigmatic form – may soon be a thing of the past. As a result, our ideas of building audiences are also shifting, with many artists already leaning towards forging smaller, dedicated communities rather than plotting world domination. “I think we’re beginning to understand that the pursuit of content virality is a losing game for individual artists,” Abelow points out. “Social media is, in fact, transforming into infinitely scrollable broadcast television dominated by content produced specifically for the medium. Even your own followers are unlikely to see your stuff if it doesn’t ‘hit’.”

It’s why some artists, like poet and musician James Massiah, are prioritising a return to ‘real life’ connections following years of digital dependency. “It feels even more important to make things as physical objects that exist tangibly, speaking as a musician who has seen some of their favourite songs disappear off streaming sites,” he says. This sentiment is all the more poignant in light of Universal’s swift departure from TikTok, given that it was these very major labels that cultivated such widespread dependency on the app in the first place. While more established acts will be mostly unaffected, it demonstrates the lack of control emerging artists have when any shred of stability surrounding their art can be pulled from their feet by major corporations at any moment. “It feels even more important to connect with people offline and form communities that can support and nourish themselves,” Massiah says.

Yet our widespread, unrelenting hunger for icons doesn’t dwindle – it’s present in the Y2K aesthetics punctuating the mood boards of young artists, the slew of pop gossip Twitter accounts and their immense followings, and the constant rebranding of musicians hoping to capture scraps of public attention and etch their names into the zeitgeist. In 2024, however, it’s becoming harder to permeate an already saturated digital landscape. 

While discourse surrounding Beyoncé’s country-imbued COWBOY CARTER and the colossal, 31-track The Tortured Poets Department from Taylor Swift proves people still want to unite over album releases, it’s hard to imagine how many more of these monumental musical moments we’ll see going forward. Beyoncé and Swift had both firmly established themselves before social media presence was a major priority, and they were able to build meaningful, lasting careers as a result. Today, when views and followers are heralded as the holy grail by labels, it seems unfathomable for young artists to dream of attaining the same longevity. After all, who will define the decades to come when the artists we depend on to innovate, challenge and drive pop culture are instead forced to beg to their iPhone front cameras for streams?