Giving Up Spotify Premium Gave Me Back My Sanity

+ me in the NYT, thought digest, 11.28.2025

Good morning,

I’m sorry I’ve been a little slow on the paid content (and thank you for sticking with me, if you have).

Well—you know why now! And if you don’t, it’s because I’m not just pregnant, I’m turbo-pregnant: twins.

I’m not far along at all, but I’m already showing, already out of breath, and, unfortunately for my productivity, already drifting into long, unplanned naps in the middle of the day. Words are escaping me, names vanishing altogether, and if I so much as think about certain foods, I want to vomit. That’s pregnancy alright.

Oh, to be torn back into the world of the living!

So, with all that said — some housekeeping and updates:

• I’m a columnist at Tablet! If you enjoyed Adam Lanza Fan Art¹ (“enjoyed” is perhaps not the right word here but you know what I mean) I’ll be publishing a deep dive like that with them once a month. I’m especially excited about my next piece with them. It’s about an Internet mystery that’s haunted me since 2002.

• I’m also The Spectator’s tech correspondent where I write about a whole host of things but typically with a touch of magic sprinkled in. Listen to me chat with Freddy Gray about techno-necromancy here.

• I was in The New York Times (!!!) expanding on my Internet-as-Fairyland thesis. Please share it widely.

• The call-in show WON’T be back on this coming week, December 4, but December 11th at 7:30 PM CT/8:30 PM ET. The theme is SINISTER MEN and there will be a special guest. More on that closer to the date.

• And finally, here’s a coupon to make up for the pregnancy schedule. I encourage you to subscribe because it makes me feel good about myself (just being honest):
  

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GIVING UP SPOTIFY PREMIUM GAVE ME BACK MY SANITY by Stephen Adubato

Every year toward the end of November I find myself plagued with an acute and rather peculiar form of anxiety. The annual release of Spotify Unwrapped leaves me conflicted between my disgust, on one hand, at the extent to which internet culture has rendered us so inane, vapid, and basic af…and my ravenous excitement, on the other, to know people’s most-listened-to music—and even more so for people to know mine. I attempted to absolve myself of this anguish three years ago by writing a think-piece excoriating the app—and globohomo in general—for ruining the once-sacred experience of listening to music. But at a certain point I decided I needed to put my money where my mouth is: a better solution than writing snarky think-pieces would be to cancel my Spotify Premium account.

Over the course of the last three years, I’ve gone from streaming music on Spotify Free with Ads and YouTube (also the free version with even more ads) to going analog and listening to the radio—as in the kind that requires a transistor that, in addition to running ads, is subject to randomly getting static-y. As much as foregoing the luxury of getting to listen to whichever song tickles my fancy at any given moment without being penalized with ads has been taxing, I’ve found that on top of making me (slightly) more mentally stable, it’s also made me a better person.

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Naturally, not being able to listen to specific songs on-demand took some getting used to. I tried going the playlist route using my free Spotify account, which I kept despite the countless emails Spotify sent (which they continue sending me now even three years later) begging me to return to Premium, offering me a variety of sales and deals, and even guilt tripping me about how much my favorite artists “miss me.” But I was surprised to find that the burning irritation I initially felt whenever an ad interrupted my Spotify “smart” playlists (smart: because the algorithm further interrupted my playlist by adding songs it thought I would like) soon morphed into curiosity and fascination. I learned about all kinds of new products, drugs, podcasts, musicians, political and social initiatives—often ones that were random af and had little to do with my interests…which is precisely what made them so interesting. I suddenly felt more tapped into the culture, as I was exposed to things—as well as to ad techniques and marketing trends—that I never would’ve known about had I remained stuck in the silo of my uninterrupted Spotify Premium listening experience.

I got ads for TREFMYA, a drug that treats various forms of psoriasis, one for a podcast about Zionism, one from the State Department telling illegal immigrants to self-deport, and another from an immigration lawyer promising to help them get work papers. I heard these ads so frequently that I eventually memorized the scripts and the jingles, to the point that I rejoiced to hear them as if they were a familiar friend. Some ads were quite useful for my work: While listening to my classic neosoul playlist, I got an ad for the Modern Anarchy podcast hosted by a “pleasure activist” named Nicole who promises to help you with “opening up your relationship, navigating jealousy in non-monogamy, or expanding your sexuality through playful kink and radical ecstasy,” which spurred a new idea for my Substack; and while listening to my Byzantine chant playlist, I got an ad for PrEP, which sparked a few ideas for an essay that eventually got published in a book.

When I couldn’t help but scratch the itch to listen to specific songs, I resorted to YouTube, which hit me with even more ads: for Grammarly, to save 80% on auto insurance, for NY and NJ politicians, as well as some ads in Spanish and (after listening to a few Samba songs) even a couple in Portuguese.

My post-Premium life took me to new heights after I went back to listening to analog radio. It wasn’t until college that I got hooked on streaming services—I grew up listening to the radio as a kid, and continued on into my teen years. I always used to look forward to DJs releasing brand new songs and their interviews with singers, the celebrity gossip and the phone pranks, the listeners calling in to comment on some hot topic and the requests to dedicate a song to a loved one on their birthday, the talk shows like the Breakfast Club and the Wendy Williams Experience, the ticket giveaways to radio station-sponsored megaconcerts like Hot 97’s Summer Jam and Z100’s JingleBall, and of course the commercials.

Getting back into FM radio immediately shifted not only my mood, but also my overall sense of reality. There’s something electrifying about that moment when the DJ spins a song that you love—especially an old throwback that you completely forgot about—as if the stars have perfectly aligned to give you the precise song you needed to hear. Other times I discover brand new songs that I probably would’ve never stumbled upon on Spotify, or I just get a string of boring songs that I just gotta learn to rock with…or at which point you can just turn the dial to another station. I even have learned to welcome the end of the hour when all stations seem to be on a commercial break, making P!nk’s otherwise-wretched song in which she claims that “God is a DJ…you get what you’re given” seem like it was written by a wise sage.

Perhaps the most grounding part about listening to the radio is the live commentary. The art of being a radio talk show host is severely underrated, as it requires a buoyant personality that can keep people’s attention for hours on end as well as a knack for spontaneous wit and improvisation. I find myself especially entranced when listeners call in. I think especially of the listeners who call to share their romantic woes on air, and the DJs who invite other listeners to call in to give their advice. NYC’s Spanish-language radio stations are the most riveting, where the DJs invite listeners to call in to comment on everything ranging from politics, to the pope’s latest tweet, to ethical conundrums, to their favorite sex positions, to the price of plantains.

Live radio is one of the last remaining spaces for people of influence to be in dialogue with everyday people in real time. The fact that it’s live and uncensored allows for a level of rawness that interactions between “influencers” and their followers on social media—which is easier to curate and control—doesn’t allow for, making the listener feel more tapped into the real lives of other everyday people.

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In his book The World Beyond Your Head, Matthew B. Crawford asserts while being faced with an unlimited set of options breeds anxiety and dissatisfaction, being faced with limits breeds a life-giving “spiritedness.” Paradoxically, the tension born of having to work with what you’re given—and of not getting to “manifest” the set of options you happen to desire at the moment or to rely on automation—empowers rather than inhibits our sense of agency.

Crawford goes on to claim that services like Spotify Premium that promise us unlimited options—and ultimately, the prospect of curating reality according to our whims—is predicated on the invention of “non-problems.” The reality is that I don’t actually need to listen to Rosalia, and then to Chris Brown, and then to Erykah Badu, and then to Chopin in precisely that order without any interruptions. I could be perfectly happy turning on the radio and listening to a commercial for Ozempic, the traffic report, Kenridick’s new song, and commentary on Trump’s latest tweet. In fact, I find myself happier doing so precisely because the weight of having to think of the next song to satisfy my itch for pleasure has been lifted, and I can enjoy what the DJ, or the universe, or God himself has chosen for me to listen to.

Unlimited streaming left me in a dizzying state of dissatisfaction and loneliness…and gave free-reign to my unabashedly schizo-brained tendencies. Breaking free from it by placing myself in tension with the limits of “the given” brought me back into “the world beyond [my] head,” filling me with relief, gratitude, and the feeling that I was less alone. Giving up Spotify Premium released me from the prison of my mind and my fleeting whims, my spiraling thoughts and the anxiety of having to pick the next thing to make me happy, and from the burden of having to manipulate reality to satisfy yearnings that are not even naturally occurring, but that have been stirred up by distant entities in power, and to receive reality as a gift.

When one ceases to anxiously grab at satisfaction and learns to take a receptive disposition toward life, it is easier to recognize that real happiness comes less from the particular gift itself—which may or may not happen to please me in the moment—but from the fact that someone thinks to give me something at all…which is to say that someone thinks of me. Of course, it’s nice to be able to choose whatever I want sans limits or interruptions, but I’d be lying if I said that made me truly happy.

Getting accustomed once again with the fact that reality cannot be curated according to my whims has made me more flexible and patient, and cultivated a healthy “detachment from the outcome.” Learning to embrace the limits of ads and songs I don’t particularly like that much has taught me to get less aggravated when things don’t go my way and to be more grateful when they do. I feel less entitled, and get less petty and bratty when friends don’t do exactly what I want them to do. It’s become easier to go with the flow and to let things go. Letting others pick the restaurant has become less of an issue for me, as I’m reminded that the true value is that I’m spending time with people I love, regardless of the place we end up going to. I’ve also noticed that I’m less clingy and possessive, and less inclined to “punish” people when they flake on me or when they wanna hang with their other friend tonight.

As much as I like to shit on Spotify Wrapped, I know I’m still going to flip through your story to see your list (and I’ll still post mine, even though it no longer fully encapsulates my actual listening habits). At its core, the trend speaks to the deep-seated longing to enjoy life together. Even the most cringe songs awaken this desire in us: when he see or hear something that makes us happy, we can’t help but want to share it with other people. Surely, radio is much more conducive to fulfilling this longing than are streaming services…and even more so listening to music together with friends IRL or going to a concert with them. So no judgement against those of you who are unironically going to post their Wrapped this year. But I can’t help but hope that you’ll follow me out of the cave and into the light of reality—with all its glorious limits and commercial breaks.

1. You can also listen to the Adam Lanza Fan Art article here, which includes a short interview at the end.