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TUNING AWAY FROM MECHANIZED LISTENING

A series featuring the music ecosystems of the Midwest and the artists cultivating careful listening.

Image: Layered digital collage on a black background featuring backwards text around an ear with hands around it in a school hallway. Green colored tape and paper is laid on the top and bottom of the image. Image by Bri Robinson.
Image: Layered digital collage on a black background featuring backwards text around an ear with hands around it in a school hallway. Green colored tape and paper is laid on the top and bottom of the image. Image by Bri Robinson (IG: niq.our).

Time to admit an embarrassing truth: even though I play music on the radio—a role that suggests some kind of authority or expertise—I’m truly terrible at remembering the names of albums, artists, and songs. When someone asks what I’m currently listening to, I say, “I don’t remember, but their album art looks like.”  Maybe it’s because I listen to so much music that it’s impossible to remember it all. But more likely, it has something to do with the listening infrastructure I’ve used and been submerged in for over a decade.

I don’t want frictionless and forgettable encounters with music and sound. I want messy, personal, weird listening experiences that sink in and that I can recall. So, lately, I’ve been trying to change my listening habits into a listening practice. To reorient and slow my attention, I keep a notebook. I jot down what I hear, take notes on music books I’m reading, paste in my favorite reviews from music magazines, sketch out concerts I attend, and log the tracks I play on my show. It’s not just about holding onto memory. It’s about resisting the way streaming platforms and the attention economy flatten the listening experience, and relearning how to listen with more care.

In 2013, a Spotify advertisement featured two young people sharing a pair of headphones, about to kiss. The tagline read: “Because mixtapes still work.”1 It was an early attempt by Spotify to frame their playlists as akin to the mixtapes of the past—handcrafted, intimate, and personal. But, as the author Liz Pelly argues about this example in Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist, despite Spotify’s claim to engender human connection, their model has shaped a passive, mechanized listening culture that pushes us further apart. 

After being misled by these false promises, it’s time to disentangle ourselves from these omnipresent streaming platforms and the attention economy. I ask you to reinvest in alternative infrastructures for sonic connection. Exit the Spotify app and turn up the FM radio, talk to your local record store owner, follow a music substack, exchange messy mixtapes with a friend, go on a sound walk, purchase a music zine. Engage with sound infrastructures where your listening habits aren’t just data to be optimized or the AI DJ creates playlists riddled with ghost artists. If you’re already doing this, do it more.

Tuning Away from Mechanized Listening features Midwest’s music ecosystems—listening cultures where thoughtful curation, collective engagement, and storytelling still shape what and how we hear. This series is meant to be a reminder: listening can be more than a passive, forgetful experience. 

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The latest articles in this series:

A Call To Gather with BIYA BIYA

by Livy Snyder

A Chicago-based creative agency bridges the gap between cultural preservation and live art making and performing by and for their communities.

An Interview with The Vinyl Collectiv

by Livy Snyder

Building a community around listening (to vinyl).

Juanjosé Rivas’s Workshop at Co-Prosperity’s Subversion Camp

by Livy Snyder

A conversation on the idea of planned obsolescence and tech recycling as a means of resistance.

Interview with Teddy Sandler about Sonic Resonance

by Livy Snyder

How does a Wisconsin retreat pass on the art of DJing and active listening?

Music making in the window: Access Contemporary Music unveils new concert venue, The CheckOut

by Emily McClanathan

In a former 7-Eleven, a new venue is rethinking how classical music lives in Chicago.

On Craft, Intention, and the DJ’s Ear

by Livy Snyder

What does care look, feel, and sound like in the creative practice of DJ’ing? Andrés Mora Mata reflects on his hands-on workshop in Iowa City.

Sound Ecologies: A New Landscape of Music Community

by Camille Arnett

A new classical music collective thrives in Indianapolis.

Interview with Madeleine Aguilar and Jordan Knecht

by Livy Snyder

Meet two artists making work that leads people to find their groove and delves into what that means in practice, and as a practice.

A Sound Walk Through Chicago’s Pedway System with Allen Moore

by Livy Snyder

Allen Moore on his unique practice of improvising in public industrial spaces.

An Interview with WHPK DJS

by Livy Snyder

Chicago DJs Léa Sainz-Gootenberg and Rhea Madhogarhia host Finders Keepers on WHPK 88.5 FM, where they invite guests to share two or three songs to share over the course of an hour alongside personal storytelling.

  1. See the full add here: Paul Sloan, Spotify tries to go mainstream, launches splashy ad campaign,” CNET March 25, 2013. Referenced in Liz Pelly’s Mood Machines. ↩︎

About the editor: Livy Onalee Snyder’s writing has appeared in the journal of Metal Music Studies, DARIA, Newcity, Ruckus, TiltWest, and more. She graduated with her Masters from the University of Chicago in 2021. Currently, she holds a position at punctum books and serves on the board of the International Society for Metal Music Studies. Listen to her live on WHPK 88.5 FM Chicago. Read more of Livy’s writing for Sixty here.

About the illustrator: Bri Robinson is a mixed media artist, analog collagist, sculpture artist, and historian who weaves intricate narratives of love, loss, and identity across the expansive Midwest. Raised in Ohio and now based in Chicago, Bri’s work reflects the rich cultural tapestry of the region, combining personal history with broader societal concepts. Brought up by a large, close-knit family, Bri draws inspiration from the everyday moments and memories that shape our lives, using images found in family photo albums, adult magazines, and personal portraits. Through their unique process of cutting, pasting, and layering, Bri deepens the meaning of these found objects, transforming them into evocative works of art. Bri’s practice is deeply rooted in the exploration of identity, relationships, and the constant evolution of self. By merging archival materials with elements of popular culture, they create thought-provoking narratives that invite viewers to engage with the complexities of the queer experience. Through their work, Bri honors the past while also pushing the boundaries of contemporary art history, crafting pieces that are as introspective as they are expansive. Check out their work on instagram @‌niq.uor.

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