'On My Way' and the glut of music mystique
How streaming has made music more disposable
‘On My Way’ by IS Tropical is one of my favourite songs.
I found it on Soundcloud when I was 14, drawn to the artwork I would keep as my iPod Touch background for months. With chugging guitars and reverb-heavy vocal harmonies, it sounded like an excerpt from the Drive soundtrack. I was smitten.
Unlike most of my early music discoveries, ‘On My Way’ has stuck with me. It has accompanied me for nearly a decade, on trains and planes, through early mornings and late evenings, on portable speakers and car radios.
It is a beautiful song – my go-to music suggestion and my litmus test for taste compatibility. It’s been with me for so long that I no longer listen to it on merit, but out of habit, my musical mid-week sweatpants.
Despite this companionship, I know nothing about IS Tropical, the band that created it. Their Wikipedia page is sparse, they have no social media presence, and they haven’t released new music in seven years.
I don’t know where exactly they’re from or whether they’re still together. There have been no clumsy reunion tours with Mystery Jets, and no bass player-turned-frontman side-projects. All I have as evidence of their existence is this one, precious song.
This is rare. Most artists have a plethora of anecdotes, milestones and mishaps to comb through. There are books dedicated to single years of David Bowie’s life, or clips where Chris Martin explains how he wrote ‘Yellow’. The music documentary has re-emerged, not to mention the glut of paint-by-numbers music biopics. Even bands, like Radiohead, who strive for anonymity, have enough information floating around the public domain for audiophiles to lap up.
I love these trivia titbits, the did-you-knows which are usually met with forced enthusiasm (or exasperation) if ever shared in a social setting.
“Did you know, Ray Davies stuck knitting needles in his amp to get the guitar sound on ‘You Really Got Me’?”
“Oh...”
Whilst not always the best conversation fodder, facts and folklore can add depth to music.
In high school someone told me that ‘Maggot Brain’ by Funkadelic was improvised by the guitarist after George Clinton then locked him in the recording booth and told him his mother had died. I have no idea if that’s true, but the tale has intertwined with the song, elevating it, adding jeopardy and romance.
However, in the case of ‘On My Way’, the opposite is true. With virtually no real world or internet presence, IS Tropical have achieved what many artists try so feverously to curate: mystique. Some do this better than others, but in the age of mass information maintaining mystery is almost impossible. Lana del Rey can put as many sepia filters on her Instagram posts as she wants, but her signature is still on Wikipedia.
I’m sure in the last nine years I could’ve scoured NME articles and plotted the rise and fall of IS Tropical, but what would be the point? Why risk discovering they split up over a royalties dispute after allowing their sophomore single to be used as ‘Chelsea Dagger’-esque advert accompaniment?
Instead, to me they remain bastions of artistic credibility, foregoing fame to prioritise their undiluted creative vision. I am free to imbue them with whatever virtues I wish, mould the significance of their songs to my life without anything to contradict this. They’re a musical Jane Doe, a mound of clay waiting to be formed into whatever shape I see fit.
A little mystique can make all the difference. My concern is that, with modern music discovery, there may be too much.
A few months ago, after many referrals and the occasional social shunning, I converted from Apple Music to Spotify. It is, as its disciples insist, amazing.
Discovering new music is simple. The algorithms, in their omniscience, have presented me with treasures I would have otherwise never discovered. I have my own musical shaman, guiding me through the swamp of content to the music I desire.
I am free to imbue them with whatever virtues I wish, mould the significance of their songs to my life without anything to contradict this. They’re a musical Jane Doe, a mound of clay waiting to be formed into whatever shape I see fit.
However, in recent weeks, I have been enjoying my Spotify gems less and less. What started as suggestions to augment my existing library have multiplied, turning my playlists into faceless, nameless collections.
A song will appear that is unfamiliar, only for me to discover I “liked” it weeks ago. I know nothing about the artist or the song. This doesn’t make it bad music, but it is disorientating; the volume of excellent suggestions has caused me to lose my musical bearings.
The mystique which elevated IS Tropical is diminishing my newer discoveries. This is because they aren’t discoveries at all.
When 14-year-old me found ‘On My Way’, it became mine. I dedicated time to searching for new music and, after multiple disappointments, had stumbled onto something I enjoyed. I had forged a connection with the song which is far rarer in the passive world of streaming.
A similar process occurred when my dad took me to music stores during the CD death rattle. I wasn’t researching Robert Fripp collaborators back then, so would usually buy albums I’d heard of or artwork that I liked.
This meant I once went home with Songs About Jane by Maroon 5. A timeless classic it is not, but, having spent money on it, I persevered and ultimately found value in an otherwise forgettable album. Do I listen to it now? No. But it’s an artefact of my early forays into music, and so has my undying affection.
Similarly, I stuck it out after I realised Justin Timberlake’s FutureSex/LoveSounds did not sound like the Green Day I had on constant rotation. It’s now quite possibly my favourite album of all time.
Whether through actual financial loss, or through time and effort, it felt like I had – and still have – ownership of this music. They were investments; some have failed, while others have borne hours of listening pleasure. Music has never been more disposable than right now, and so this connection must be cherished.
This does not, I must stress, mean I hate streaming. Nothing could be further from the truth. But it does mean that I’m more likely to be listening to ‘On My Way’ than anything that appears on my ‘Discover Weekly’. And that’s okay. It is mine after all.