In an era dominated by streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music, where algorithms dictate visibility and discovery, artists already face an uphill battle. Revenue is scarce, smaller acts are buried beneath playlist politics, and now we’re seeing a new, more personal shift: artists quietly removing individual songs from their discographies.
Matty Healy’s decision to pull certain tracks from The 1975’s catalogue raises questions about ownership, legacy, and the evolving relationship between artist and audience. Removing full albums has reason – whether as protest against streaming economics or a pivot toward physical-only releases. That’s understandable. But when artists begin erasing single songs simply because they no longer resonate with them, it introduces a more complicated dynamic.
Songs aren’t just files – they’re timestamps of emotional states, cultural moments, and artistic growth. To remove them retroactively is to rewrite a part of that history. Sure, the tracks still exist on physical formats, but streaming is the dominant mode of consumption. For many fans, if it’s not on Spotify, it might as well not exist.
It’s perfectly valid for an artist to outgrow a song. In fact, it’s inevitable. No one loves every piece of work they’ve ever made. But that discomfort is part of the journey. The original decision to release a track came from a place of intention, even if that intention later feels misguided or immature. Letting those songs remain is a quiet act of vulnerability – a way to honour the messiness of growth.
On the other hand, art ultimately belongs to the artist. It’s born from their experiences, their emotions and their choices. Fans may form deep connections to songs, but that doesn’t override the creator’s agency. Just as artists evolve, so too can their relationship to their own work. Deleting a song might not be about erasing history – it might be about protecting their present. And maybe that’s valid, too.
Art doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. And maybe the real rebellion isn’t in curating a flawless discography, but in allowing the flawed, the awkward, and the regrettable to live on. Because that’s what makes it human. And with AI “artists” and “songs” already making their way into popular streaming services, being human is more important than ever.
M. Müller, 2025