Here it is, the classic lament that reappears on Reddit every few months. The same conversation that has existed since the early days of pop radio: “Music used to be better.”
This time, though, the complaint feels different. Because maybe something really has changed.
The Era of the Infinite Playlist
In the 2010s, pop still felt shared. Even if you did not like “Uptown Funk,” you knew it. You heard it at weddings, basketball games, rideshares, and office parties. There was a common language to what counted as a “big song.”
Today, that shared experience is mostly gone. Spotify, TikTok, and algorithmic curation have made pop music infinite and fragmented. One person might be looping Charli XCX’s “Von Dutch,” another might be obsessed with a deep K-pop track, and someone else could be discovering 1989-era Taylor Swift through sped-up TikTok edits.
What we used to call “pop” has become a patchwork of micro-scenes stitched together by the algorithm.
So when something like “Ordinary” breaks through the noise, it can feel foreign. It is not your sound, your aesthetic, or your algorithm. But it belongs to someone else’s.
The “Lowest Common Denominator” Myth
Calling today’s chart hits “lowest common denominator slop” is a familiar reaction, one rooted in nostalgia as much as taste. Every generation has done it. Boomers said it about synthpop. Gen X said it about boy bands. Millennials said it about mumble rap.
What is different now is the reason these songs exist. In the streaming era, pop music is not built for the charts. It is built for retention. Artists and producers design songs to fit into playlists, brand placements, and streaming ecosystems that reward consistency instead of surprise.
A song like “Ordinary” is not necessarily meant to move you. It is meant to blend in. To keep the listener’s day flowing rather than interrupting it. In a world where music is often background for work, commutes, and workouts, smooth predictability sells.
That is not always bad. But it is rarely exciting.
Pop’s Disappearing Middle Class
The biggest casualty of the streaming model is the middle ground: artists who once balanced art and accessibility.
In the early 2010s, there were performers like Lorde, Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars, and Robyn who made music that was both experimental and commercially successful. They could take creative risks and still reach the mainstream.
Now the gulf is wider. On one side are niche artists building personal micro-audiences. On the other are songs written by committee, engineered for playlists and retail radio. The creative middle class, the ones who made hits feel human, are disappearing into touring fatigue or TikTok trends.
The Paradox of Choice
Here is the twist. Pop might not actually be worse. It is just harder to find the version that feels like yours.
When you could only listen to what radio gave you, you did not have to curate your identity. Now you do. Every playlist reflects your algorithmic twin. The song that sounds like “Macy’s music” to one listener might be the soundtrack to someone else’s happiest memory, their first kiss, or their morning walk through a city that still feels too big.
The modern listener has endless options, yet often feels disconnected from the collective experience that once defined pop culture.
Maybe Pop Isn’t Dead. It’s Just Everywhere.
So, is pop music actually bad in 2025? Probably not. It has simply changed shape. It has become ambient, distributed, and omnipresent.
Pop no longer means “popular.” It means “optimizable.” The songs that thrive today are the ones that can live in many worlds at once: a TikTok trend, a YouTube vlog intro, a Peloton playlist, a Target commercial, and yes, the sound system at Macy’s.
That does not make them soulless. It just makes them functional. And if you want pop that feels personal again, the kind that jolts you instead of blending in, the good news is that you can still find it.
You only have to look a little deeper than the algorithm wants you to.
