Simon Frith OBE, a pioneer in popular music studies, has significantly influenced his field since the 1970s. He is Professor Emeritus of Music at the University of Edinburgh, where he held the Tovey Chair of Music from 2006 to 2017. After studying Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Oxford and earning his Master’s in Sociology at UC Berkeley, Frith helped shape the way we understand music as both a personal and political force. Over a five-decade career, he has worked as a rock critic, BBC broadcaster, Chair of the Mercury Prize, and professor at institutions including the University of Stirling and the University of Strathclyde.
His books – including The Sociology of Rock, Sound Effects, and Performing Rites – explored music as a means of understanding identity, politics and cultural change. At a time when British music is posting record economic returns while many artists struggle to stay afloat, Frith’s work offers a lens for thinking about who gets heard, who gets paid, and how those dynamics have evolved. Now retired, Frith reflects on the shifts that have changed how we make, hear and value music – from punk collectives to Spotify, and from record stores to TikTok.
In this Q&A, he discusses the role of algorithms in shaping taste, the cultural function of live music, and what he believes we might be losing in the age of personalised playlists.
In your book Performing Rites, you write that musical taste is shaped by both personal emotion and societal structures. How do you think that duality plays out today, especially with algorithms and streaming platforms?
For a start, we have to put live music to one side — it’s still how a lot of people develop their taste or what they think of as a proper musical experience. But what social media does is individualise taste in a very strange sort of way. When I was growing up, because there were so few mediums through which you could hear music, you had to spend a lot of time listening to music you didn’t like. Now, people can just listen to what they already like — and a machine gets involved in predicting it.
That was always a part of how the music industry worked. If a boy group was a hit, every label wanted a copycat. But now it’s more efficient. It’s not necessarily about how people listen, but just about patterns. AI can look at the qualities of the music you often listen to and then construct pieces that match those qualities. So it becomes your own data controlling what you listen to. It’s no longer about your interaction.
Who do you think holds the most influence over musical taste now? Is it still the listener?
It’s a very difficult question. There’s always been a difference between music that’s just around you — in shops, in clubs — and music you feel you’re choosing. The Walkman was a huge thing because it let people listen privately to exactly what they wanted. That was an expression of taste. But now? Spotify probably knows more about what you like than you do.
It abstracts taste from any social circumstances. It’s not interested in why you like something, it just sees that you do, and it tries to to predict what else you’ll like. That turns consumers into a kind of running cliché — always hearing versions of the same thing. Listening habits are shaped by Spotify, but taste only comes in when people argue about it. You must have friends whose taste you think is terrible — that’s taste.
You’ve written extensively about ‘taste cultures‘. Do you think they still exist in an era where genres seem to be blurring?
I think both things are true. Taste cultures still exist, but they’re more fragmented. You couldn’t understand grime, for example, without reference to the specific experiences of growing up in particular parts of London. That’s a taste culture. And it’s very different from, say, someone in the Scottish Highlands who’s into traditional folk music. Those identities still exist.
But from a musician’s point of view, it’s more fluid. They’re often just trying to make a living, and that might mean doing a range of things. Genres are useful for marketing. Spotify, for example, would like a genre to be just one person: millions of micro-genres, each tailored to one listener. That’s not really a culture at all. Spotify offers access to an enormous amount of music, but it doesn’t necessarily want you to step outside your comfort zone.
Do you think constant access to music has changed how people emotionally connect with it?
For my generation, that’s very strange. When I was young, it was hard to find the music you liked. You had to go searching into record shops, trying to find American soul records you couldn’t hear on the BBC. That search became part of the experience. Now, music is instantly accessible. And I think that slightly takes away from the commitment to a particular taste. There’s good and bad to that.
But then again, look at someone like Taylor Swift. She doesn’t fit into that kind of algorithmic model. She crosses genres, generations, and that’s not just marketing. She’s good at using media, yes, but people genuinely connect with her music. So clearly, it’s still possible to reach people in a meaningful way.
Has social media changed the meaning of being a fan?
Fans have always wanted a relationship with the artist. Fan clubs were significant; the Rolling Stones made a lot of money from theirs. The Beatles had their own monthly magazine with exclusive photos. Fans wanted to feel part of something. Now, social media creates that same illusion of intimacy, but faster, and on a bigger scale.
The platforms let artists speak directly to fans, or at least, appear to. And fans communicate with each other across countries and cultures. It’s not a new desire, but it feels more immediate. Of course, it’s still part of the business. Watching someone thank their fans on Instagram isn’t that different from a ghostwritten message in a fan magazine — but it feels closer.
Do you think TikTok and streaming have changed the role of music criticism?
Oh yes. When I was a critic, part of our authority came from the fact that we simply listened to more music than most people. Now anyone can share their opinion and that’s good in some ways. More people might read what you write on TikTok than ever read my column in Melody Maker.
But the audience is more fragmented. You find people who agree with you, rather than arguing across a broad readership. Criticism becomes about curating your niche, rather than setting an agenda. It used to be, even if you hated prog rock, you still had to read the magazine that covered it, because it also covered the things you did like. That created a shared conversation. We’ve lost a bit of that.
Has AI and algorithm-driven music changed how artists create?
That’s the logic of the system, yes. But people still find meaning outside of that. TikTok has actually opened up possibilities; artists can be heard without going through major labels. Some musicians have built careers just by sharing videos. In that sense, it’s more democratic. But it’s a tension. It opens some doors, but also encourages conformity. It’s not all bad, and it’s not all good. It just has contradictions.
Do you think the pandemic changed the way we experience live music?
It definitely disrupted it. Some people got out of the habit. And it’s also become very expensive. There’s still lots of live music in pubs, but the scene has shifted. Younger people might be going out less. Dancing, which has always been a crucial way of engaging with music, requires being with others. And COVID interrupted that.
A lot of people now prefer to go to one big event like a festival rather than small local gigs. That’s partly economic, and partly cultural. But it does suggest a shift in what live music means to people.
Of all the cultural and technological shifts you’ve studied, which has had the biggest impact?
Recording. The ability to hear music that was not live was a seismic change. Everything we’ve talked about flows from that. Before recording, you might hear a Beethoven symphony once in your life. After recording, you could build a whole musical life without ever seeing a live musician. That changed how people related to music, how they danced, how they listened. It shaped everything.
And what gives you hope for the future of music?
Musicians. I’ve become much more interested in them than in listeners, to be honest. I still find it amazing how people decide they can make music, write songs, often without formal training, and keep going. They adapt, they work across genres, they do whatever it takes. That impulse to make music doesn’t go away.
The problem is making a living out of it, and getting the resources to learn. The decline of music education and small venues in the last 30 years has been appalling. But I still believe people want to make music, and that they want to listen; not just with headphones alone, but together. And that, I think, is part of what makes us human.
