Before We Begin: A Little Context
After last week’s article praising curation and the role of record labels, I wanted to step back and examine the other side of the argument—not just be the old man ranting about “back in my day”. That phrase means nothing; the past is always shifting depending on your age and perspective.
Instead, I wanted to fairly consider the positives of the algorithm, of a system that gives the individual exactly what they want. What’s actually wrong with just asking for cheesy pop music that delivers instant gratification, puts a smile on your face, and is served to you forever? If the algorithm is just reflecting human desire, is that really bad?
But the more I explored this, the more questions I had. If algorithms truly dominate, and if playlists have replaced albums, then surely most major artists today would have abandoned the album format. I expected to find a massive reduction in album releases, clear proof that the one-hit algorithm-driven model is the future.
But I didn’t. Albums are still everywhere.
So the real question is: If algorithms rule music, why do albums still exist?
The Stubborn Survival of the Album
Despite the dominance of fragmented listening, albums remain a key part of electronic music, even within niche underground scenes. Part of this is about identity. In genres like techno, IDM, and dub techno, a well-crafted album offers a deeper artistic statement than a series of isolated singles. It allows for long-form exploration, for shifts in mood and texture that wouldn’t work in a playlist-driven world. Albums invite listeners into an artist’s sonic environment, rather than just providing them with a handful of functional DJ tools.
Take A Walk in the Countryside, the latest album from Daiki F (one of my alter egos), released on Rednetic Recordings. This collection of what IglooMag described as “slow fantasies for keyboard” and “drifting electric guitar” was never intended to be just a set of tracks—it was meant to be a complete experience, something that transports the listener somewhere else entirely. Inspired by the shifting landscapes of rural Japan, —rice fields, bamboo forests, waterfalls, and koi ponds—each composition unfolds like a scene in a film. Many of the pieces were originally written for projects exploring the serene beauty of Kumamoto Prefecture, capturing a sense of stillness and reflection that a single-track or playlist-driven approach could never fully achieve.
I hope it’s albums like this that can remind us why the format still exists. Some music is not meant to be quickly consumed and discarded. Some music is meant to be immersed in, to be experienced as a whole. A playlist may contain beautiful pieces, but it can never replicate the carefully curated journey that an album provides.
The same can be said for albums like Monolake’s Polygon Cities and Vladislav Delay’s Multila.
These are not just collections of tracks but fully realized sonic worlds, designed to be listened to from start to finish. They take the listener on a journey through shifting soundscapes, something that would be lost if they were broken up and absorbed through playlist algorithms.
Beyond individual artists, underground labels have long understood the power of albums in shaping musical movements. Chain Reaction, Mille Plateaux, Raster-Noton, and Sähkö didn’t just drop random tracks—they released albums that defined entire sounds, subgenres, and artistic directions. A label that consistently puts out strong, conceptual albums creates a far stronger cultural presence than one that simply releases a steady flow of disconnected singles.
Physical formats also play a role in keeping albums alive. Vinyl collectors and Bandcamp enthusiasts still seek out full-length projects, valuing them as artifacts rather than just digital files. While streaming may prioritize convenience, the underground electronic community often values tangibility. Albums become more than just music; they become something to own, to revisit, to absorb over time.
But Is Album Culture Just Ego and Commerce?
For all the talk of artistic integrity, there’s another side to this conversation: how much of the album’s survival is actually about ego and industry mechanics? The idea of an album as an important artistic statement is often rooted in old-school rock mythology—the belief that a musician must create a grand, cohesive statement to be taken seriously. But in electronic music, where DJ culture thrives on singles, remixes, and EPs, is an album really necessary?
Some artists insist on making albums because they want to be seen as "serious musicians," rather than just club producers. But does this actually serve the audience, or is it just a way to satisfy an artist’s self-image? Many techno albums feel like they exist purely to justify an artist’s "serious" status, often containing six essential tracks padded with four unnecessary ambient interludes just to create the illusion of a more profound experience.
There’s also a question of whether albums exist for business reasons rather than artistic ones. For labels, albums generate longer press cycles and provide more opportunities for coverage. The industry still revolves around the album format—streaming services highlight new album drops, music journalism still revolves around album reviews, and awards focus almost entirely on full-length records. Even in underground music, a well-received album provides far more cultural capital than a random selection of club tracks.
Then there’s merchandising. A single track doesn’t justify a deluxe vinyl pressing, T-shirt bundles, or an expensive box set. Albums allow labels and artists to package music into collectible objects, to attach deluxe editions, and to turn what might have been a disposable release into a long-term branding opportunity. Warp Records, for example, still relies on full-length releases from artists like Autechre and Oneohtrix Point Never, because albums create longevity in a way that scattered singles never could.
Yet, despite all these practical reasons for albums to persist, there’s still something deeper at play. Even in a culture increasingly driven by data, people still gravitate toward narrative, structure, and experience. A single song might generate a moment of excitement, but albums create lasting memories. They give listeners something to hold onto—something that feels more substantial than a track that appears in a playlist one day and vanishes the next.
The Future of the Album
While albums have survived the streaming era, they are clearly evolving. One of the most noticeable changes is the shift toward shorter, more focused releases. The days of bloated, 70-minute albums filled with filler tracks seem to be fading. More artists are choosing to release tight, intentional projects that feel more like complete statements rather than just a collection of tracks.
Another possibility is that albums become increasingly reserved for major artists, while smaller artists focus on singles and EPs. If labels and streaming platforms continue to push shorter attention spans, will full-length records become a luxury product, something only artists with established audiences can afford to make? Will albums become more of a niche artistic statement, rather than the default format for music releases?
Then there’s the question of how albums will evolve beyond just audio. Some labels are already experimenting with multimedia releases—albums that incorporate visual elements, interactive components, or even AI-generated variations of tracks. A Walk in the Countryside is already halfway there, built around films and imagery of rural Japan, reinforcing the idea that music can be more than just sound.
One thing remains certain: the album is not dead. It may be changing, it may no longer be the dominant form of music consumption, but it still holds cultural weight, artistic depth, and an emotional pull that playlists cannot replace.
https://igloomag.com/reviews/daiki-f-a-walk-in-the-countryside-redneti