I Music serves as a remarkable tool for adjusting your mood, and Spotify excels in this regard. Feeling down? Check out your custom “Depress Sesh Mix.” Navigating a romantic dilemma? You’ll find a curated “situational mix.” As I write this, I’m tuned into Spotify’s daylist—a compilation that refreshes every few hours based on my listening preferences. Today’s vibe is the “Funky Beat Roller Skate Early Morning Tuesday Mix.” At a brisk 120bpm, the algorithm gets that an energetic soundtrack is essential for transitioning from bed to desk.

The downside of this tailored listening experience is its overly familiar AI-driven intimacy, where the same tracks loop predictably. Spotify’s algorithm has dulled the novelty of artists I once loved. I find myself hitting Skip every time Kluang Bin’s slippery, psychedelic bass enters my playlists or seamlessly flows from another artist’s radio.

A decade ago, Spotify championed human-curated playlists crafted by artists, celebrities, and music enthusiasts. However, by 2021, streaming platforms started pivoting toward machine learning, with computer-generated models creating nearly half of daily events. Nowadays, user data—primarily our listening habits, interactions with Spotify, and the time of day—are compiled into tightly personalized mixtapes.

Proponents argue this offers an opportunity to democratize music promotion by accurately matching it with audiences. Yet, critics claim this hyper-subjective approach restricts music discovery to what listeners already know. Despite my attempts, my musical taste has become increasingly narrow. As an experiment, I paused my Spotify use for a month, rediscovering how to find music.

Initially, I consulted my father, someone who has never used streaming services, and who grew up in the vibrant punk and glam rock scene of 1970s London. Spending time at his local record shop, he would sample vinyl, selecting A-sides or B-sides to purchase. Some albums missed the mark, while others transported him to another dimension, akin to experiencing Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon.” He advised me to start with my favorite artist and listen to each album sequentially, as if I were reading a narrative.

Inspired, I purchased a $30 record player from a thrift shop and sought out vinyl. My visit to Record Renaissance yielded slim pickings—Australian pub classics, Christian country, and Christmas hits. However, when a friend pointed out that my new turntable lacked a needle, it unfortunately became a dusty but eye-catching décor piece in my living room.

My 20-year-old neighbor provided another idea: an iPod adorned with rhinestones, found on Facebook Marketplace for $200. Plugging it in with wired ear buds and hitting shuffle was a nostalgic throwback. Sadly, this romance was short-lived since the iPod struggled to sync with my Bluetooth speaker and required hours of tedious uploads.

The biggest hurdle arose during drives in my old silver Subaru, where I was limited to just one CD, a flimsy auxiliary chord, and my thoughts. Stuck in silence, I chanced upon my local community radio station, Vox FM 106.9. More than five million Australians tune in to community radio weekly for an average of 17 hours—and I understand why. The station prides itself on “real music” with the slogan, “I don’t know what I like until you try it.” It was just what I needed! I rediscovered the thrill of rolling down the window and blasting tracks by the Sugababes.

I reached out to Justin Moon, who manages a popular underground radio station and record shop in Newcastle. He sources music from Record Fairs, friends, and Bandcamp, distributing interesting sounds like a modern-day Hermes, guiding listeners like me towards new auditory experiences. Moon notes that his audience seeks a more “active” listening journey. “It’s not the kind of background noise you forget about ten seconds into boiling two minutes of noodles,” he remarks.

Like movies, TV, and food, music is now more accessible than ever. However, this accessibility has resulted in a phenomenon where music is often drowned out. Instead of relying solely on algorithms, I spent a month finding new music independently, fostering a deeper connection with my parents, friends, radio presenters, and even strangers. Their recommendations embodied parts of themselves, their memories, or mutual interests, regardless of my past preferences.

After my month-long Spotify hiatus, my algorithm hadn’t completely reset. While composing this piece, my daylist evolved into “Indietronican Swimming Pool in France on a Tuesday Afternoon,” featuring two Khruangbin songs. It’s safe to say it’s time to roll the dice on the radio.