Playlist-Making: Reviewed
A reflection on the hundreds of playlists lurking in my Spotify account
Intro
In 2021, John Green released a book titled The Anthropocene Reviewed: Essays on a Human-Centered Planet. The essays were based off a podcast he had created of the same name. I just finished reading this book and loved the concept, so I decided to try it for myself. Essentially, out of five stars, John Green rates…things. Anything within the Anthropocene is fair game. So, I chose making playlists.
Playlist-Making: Reviewed
I am a serial playlist creator. I write this as the last sentence in my bio sometimes when I have to share a bio somewhere, because it’s a funny thing to say, and also it’s very true.
When I go to my Spotify right now and choose “create a new playlist,” it informs me that this will be my 216th playlist.1
There are a few reasons for this. The first being that I’ve had the same Spotify account since I was thirteen (I am now twenty-five). And there was one moment, when I was fourteen, where I deleted a playlist I had made, thinking I didn’t like it anymore. Lo and behold, months later, I wanted to listen to that specific playlist but couldn’t. After being burned, I decided I would never delete a playlist again.
I do believe I have generally held steadfast on this. Since that fateful day, I have not deleted a playlist and that is why I have 215 of them. Many people update their playlists when they grow sick of the songs featured, removing and adding songs, but I simply start a new playlist when that urge hits. Sure, I move songs around and add new stuff on occasion, but if the integrity of the playlist will be compromised, it’s time to start a new one. I can’t delete or alter my playlists because that would be forsaking my fourteen-year-old self, who, one time, wanted to listen to something that no longer existed.
So, my Spotify is a playlist graveyard. Or perhaps a playlist purgatory.
The best part of this practice is the nostalgia of it all. I never have to wonder what songs, exactly, I was listening to my junior year of high school—I have a playlist where they’re all saved. I have playlists from the Paleolithic Age of Spotify: a “liked from the radio” playlist where Spotify saved all of the new songs I’d discovered through their radio feature. (This feature has since gone to shit. The Spotify radio used to show you songs you’d never heard of before. Now it plays you the same songs you listen to every day with one new song thrown in for every ten you already know.)
I’ll be the first to admit that my music taste has been quite varied throughout the years. And I don’t mean that as a compliment. There are playlists with Mumford & Sons and Justin Bieber and the Glee Cast all situated right next to each other. I have whole playlists of just Christian rock from my early high school years. Soon after, the playlists become inundated with showtunes from Broadway musicals. College years are pop and alternative. Around 2021, we make our journey into the world of K-pop. A few months ago, I started listening to softer indie music again for the first time in a while.2
Initially, I wasn’t deleting playlists due to the fact that I thought I’d want to go back and listen to them one day. I can confidently say I have no interest in listening to the Christian rock playlists of my youth. But I love the time capsule these playlists have become. They are every iteration of myself from teenage years to today.
Sometimes when I scroll through the very old playlists, I notice that some of the songs are darkened, meaning they’ve been removed from Spotify. I wonder why an artist would choose to remove one of their songs. I wonder why Spotify is considerate enough to let me know that these songs were once on my playlist but no longer are. I think it’s an odd kindness from a music platform that has since become a corporate conglomerate.
These songs are like ghosts. And, more than listening to the songs that remain on the playlist, they are reminiscent of my past selves. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember how these songs go. The most popular ones, the ones I remember, are still up on Spotify; I can listen to them right now if I want. There’s no chance “Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance will be removed from the platform. But these random songs, from small bands that I had forgotten about entirely, are lost to my ears.
I’m sure I could google the ghost songs but that feels like cheating. These playlists, like my youth, have dark spots. There is so much of these years that I can’t remember that I feel like I should. Or wish that I could. And some parts that I’d prefer stay forgotten, honestly. (If you’re familiar with the bands in the above picture, perhaps you can understand why. These are not the song choices of a mentally stable teen.)
But for the most part, I resent myself for what I can’t remember. I give myself grace when I think of the passage of time and realize it’s been eleven years since these songs were added to their playlists. But that doesn’t help ease the disappointment I feel towards my memory.
Why can’t I remember how this song goes? What was the name of my sophomore chemistry teacher? I see pictures of myself from these years and think, I forgot about that sweater. What did you say to me the first time I saw you?
Memory is fickle, and apparently, so are the Spotify playlists I made when I was fourteen.
I give playlist-making five stars.
The Spotify playlist shown—“bops bangers and bitchin’ tunes”—is my 215th playlist, aka the one currently on repeat. I’m not sure why the image (a picture of Jungkook) is blurred but such is life.
2016 was the first official year of Spotify Wrapped, and you bet your bottom dollar I saved mine. This was deep into my Broadway musical phase.