My granny used to say, “Competition builds dreams, but comparison kills them.”
As a child, I didn’t really get it. I thought competition and comparison were the same thing—just different faces of ambition. But now, as I watch the indie music scene unravel under the weight of metrics and manufactured hype, I finally understand what she meant.
We are living through a quiet epidemic in the independent music world. It’s not just about streams or shrinking payouts or the noise of a thousand artists all vying for the same digital space. It's something deeper. Something more corrosive.
It’s comparison—and it's eating away at the creative spirit like a disease.
According to a 2022 study published by SAGE Journal, nearly half of creatives reported occupational stress. Eight out of ten are grappling with financial anxiety. Over a third are dealing with depression.
When you average it out, you realize at least one in every two music creatives is battling a silent war in their minds. And it’s not just about survival—it’s about self-worth.
The industry is changing at lightning speed. Technology has rewritten the rules, and artists are expected to play every role: creator, promoter, analyst, brand. Music, once rooted in soul and storytelling, now feels more like a science.
There are formulas to follow.
Hooks to hit in the first fifteen seconds. Songs crafted not from inspiration but from strategy, made to survive in the savage scroll of the streaming economy.
But the worst part?
We’re being told that if we’re not getting traction, we’re doing it wrong.
If you’re not on a playlist, if your Spotify for Artists dashboard isn’t glowing green, if your Instagram reels didn’t go viral this week—maybe you're just not good enough.
And that’s where the comparison creeps in.
It’s subtle at first. A glance at someone else’s numbers. A scroll through curated highlight reels. A creeping doubt that maybe, just maybe, you’re falling behind. And before you know it, you’re no longer creating from your own voice. You’re trying to mimic someone else’s success.
You’re chasing a version of relevance that doesn’t belong to you.
We’ve entered an era where artists are losing their “why” while trying to become a “who.” They forget what pulled them into music in the first place—the rawness, the feeling, the need to speak.
And in its place is a hunger to be seen, to be celebrated, to be certified by strangers and streaming services alike.
But that’s not art. That’s performance. That’s survival-mode creativity—an exhausting race that never ends.
What we need is a return to self. A quiet remembering. A moment to pause and ask: who am I outside of the numbers? What stories am I still afraid to tell? What sound am I holding back because it doesn’t fit the trend?
We don’t need more songs that just sound good. We need music that feels like something. We need more artists willing to be bold, to be vulnerable, to be themselves—even when it’s not trending.
I believe competition can still be healthy—it sharpens you, pushes you to grow. But comparison? Comparison shrinks you.
It whispers that your uniqueness is not enough, that your journey is too slow, that someone else’s path should be your roadmap. And that, more than anything else, is what's breaking the back of our creative culture.
So the next time you feel like you’re falling behind, stop. Breathe.
Remember why you started. You were never meant to keep up with the crowd. You were meant to stand out from it.
Let the others chase charts and algorithms. You? Chase the truth. That’s where the magic lives.
Keep creating. Keep dreaming. Stay grounded in your voice.
And whatever you do—don’t let comparison kill the music inside you.
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