In his book, Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture, journalist Kyle Chayka describes the dystopian society we currently live in, where algorithms used by apps like Facebook, Instagram, Spotify, and Tik Tok have created a dull monoculture where machines dictate our taste in art and the way we communicate with each other. Chayka outlines the history of algorithms and accurately describes how they have seeped into every facet of our everyday life, which is increasingly taking place online. Maybe the scariest part of Filterworld is that it feels like Chayka is only scratching the surface at times, because a true thorough reckoning of the impact algorithms have on us would need to be a 10,000-page book.
Chayka expresses a similar history with the internet as me: specifically, being in the right age group to witness how the older “good internet” turned into the “bad internet” we have now. Growing up, I didn’t fit in socially, and the internet was not only an escape, but a place where I felt like I could be myself. I bounced around various forums, usually related to the card game Magic: the Gathering, and got my first experience writing for an audience at a couple different sites. As I got more interested in pop culture, I loved reading websites like The AV Club, which had critical writing along with a geeky sense of community. I even enjoyed the early days of Facebook and Twitter, where I was able to make some connections with people while also following writers and critics I enjoyed reading.
Now The AV Club has become a husk, and I haven’t looked at it in years. In fact, I don’t really read any pop culture writing anymore, as so much of it is bland and there is no sense of community anywhere. I use Facebook very begrudgingly, usually to share blog posts in case a couple friends might be interested. Twitter is an absolute garbage fire that I should probably delete at this point, but for writing purposes, it feels like I’m supposed to be on there. The decline of these sites is maybe not fully due to algorithms, but it’s at least a significant part of it. The feeling I get on the internet now is sort of like playing a game that has already been solved — you can’t really play for fun because you’ll be matched against people who have memorized the “correct” strategies and will run you over.
One of the key points Chayka hits in Filterworld is how algorithms encourage conformity and “more of the same.” Once something connects with an audience because it’s pushed by the machine, creators are implicitly encouraged to produce more similar content in order to keep their likes, follows, and other numbers going up. The algorithm looks at metrics such as likes and engagement, which means everyone is incentivized to post safe, popular opinions, or to construct an echo chamber where their particular takes are valued. Eventually, the desire to continue chasing these numbers means people are steered towards performing as a certain version of themselves that is the most marketable and palatable, so everyone comes off as predictable and dull. It sounds very cynical, but it feels like everyone fits into certain personality archetypes, and the way everyone tries to stand out on Instagram or wherever– all while having a persona virtually curated by an algorithm — is profoundly depressing. And no one is really immune from this because it’s human nature to want to be liked and to have people react to you instead of ignoring you.
In the last couple months, I’ve been trying to get back into a writing routine, and even playing around with the idea of actually trying to succeed at it instead of doing it purely as a hobby. What I quickly realized was that starting from zero these days feels brutally hopeless. Algorithms are how discovery happens now, and they’re not human beings who can read and react to your work. The actual quality of my writing does not matter. I could write the greatest piece in human history, and it would just die in the void, because all the machine is going to see is an article with barely any engagement. The actual way to succeed is probably aggressively networking and selling yourself, while also producing a steady stream of blandly relatable algorithmic-friendly content. But at that point, I’m not really pursuing my dream or hobby of self-expressive writing; I’m playing some weird game with other people to try to make the magic numbers go up.
This was part of the reason I stopped writing for a couple years. But another was that the none of the music I was listening to particularly inspired me. Chayka writes a lot about Spotify and how its algorithms influence taste, especially among listeners who use its playlist and recommendation functions. Where there used to be scarcity of music, and an experience of having to sort through selections at a record store, figure out what you just heard on the radio, or even jump through the hoops of downloading something off Kazaa, now almost all music is available at all times. Left with infinite choices, many listeners let Spotify’s algorithms guide them, which Chayka recognized was limiting his exploration and left him feeling unsatisfied, as he missed the process of discovery. More dedicated fans may read a site like Pitchfork to find recommendations, but at this point, sites like that are also playing into the algorithms and popularity game rather than truly trying to spotlight independent music.
Artists are people too, and the way algorithms now are also determining the music itself worries me. Recently, I was listening to some early Cat Power albums — mostly What Would the Community Think — and all I could think of was how pre-internet they sounded. They’re raw, alive, and believable, and not at all interested in fitting into a playlist or being featured in the credits of a TV show. Most of all, Cat Power herself sounded like a flawed human being who had a range of different experiences and memories that were being expressed cathartically through the music. She didn’t sound like a person who just scrolled on her phone all day or spent a lot of time curating some image of herself on social media. And she also was inspired by an eclectic array of music rather than some narrow collection of artists recommended by a machine.
In the last couple years, I’ve sensed a clear line of demarcation between the artists from that era who are still recording and the generations who grew up online and are now releasing their own music. Broadly speaking, the younger artists tend to have less personality, and their music often comes off as a hollow amalgamation of influences with performative, fake-feeling emotion rather than something dynamic that feels like it exists in its own world. It’s not purely an experience thing either, because artists like Fiona Apple, PJ Harvey, or Mary Timony were young in the 90s, and they never sounded boring or uncreative. Of course, those are great artists, but even somewhat forgotten 90s rock bands like Madder Rose, Tsunami, or Sarge, to me sound more authentic and have much more personality than the vast majority of today’s artists. I know what this sounds like — I’m the guy who is getting older and out of touch — but it’s not like I don’t desperately want to enjoy new music, or like I have some special fondness for a decade I barely remember. These are observations made from listening to and analyzing these artists objectively, and from recognizing that the internet has massively changed culture in a way that has no real precedent.
Obviously, this isn’t to say great music doesn’t still exist, and I try my best to push the artists I feel do outstanding work, like Cold Beat, Emma Ruth Rundle, The Green Child, etc. But in the “filterworld, as Chayka calls it, these artists are massively disadvantaged from catching on widely, even on the indie level, because their music doesn’t fit into neat algorithmic boxes, and they get stomped out publicity-wise by the massive artists who have entire teams figuring out how to game the machine. While there used to be an indie blogosphere of sorts, now most websites covering this territory that I see are just pushing boring PR statements where they debut a video or something. This is why the seeming utopia of Spotify allowing anyone to listen to anything at any time has instead resulted in a monoculture that primarily allows the rich to get richer.
Admittedly, “the algorithm” makes for a useful scapegoat. There have always been unpopular and overlooked artists, and writers who tried their best and just weren’t good enough and never appealed to audiences. But at least all of that used to be in the hands of human beings, which made it feel like creators had at least some autonomy. There was also a more diverse culture that allowed for giant pop stars and raggedy indie bands to succeed in their own ways independent of each other. Now, all of music is presented equally in this giant blob of content, and the nature of the algorithm, the focus on “creating conversation,” and the loss of true independent media means the powerful artists destroy everything in their path.
This all sounds very negative, but Chayka does try to supply something of a happy ending to Filterworld by offering solutions to this problem. He emphasizes that we should focus on curators, such as DJs, who can sequence music and craft an experience that is different from what a machine could do. Sites like Patreon also offer a way to financially support independent artists in a way that allows them to stay true to themselves. But the biggest message he sends is that it’s a matter of individual choice — people need to try their best to simply not participate in this and to seek out different cultural experiences. At the end, as dispiriting as much of the book was, it made me feel somewhat motivated to start writing again, to at least be some part of the theoretical solution. It probably will not be successful in any way, but maybe it’s better to be myself and fail than to assimilate into “filterworld” and succeed.
The Noise Made By People 