The Changing Face of Underground Music: From the 90s to Now
Growing up in the UK during the 90s, discovering underground music felt like unearthing hidden treasure. At 13, I stumbled upon bands like The Offspring and Stone Temple Pilots, (wrongly) convinced I had found rare, underappreciated gems that no one else knew about. There was a certain thrill in thinking I was ahead of the curve, cooler for my eclectic taste. This sense of exclusivity was shattered the day The Offspring’s “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)” topped the UK charts. It was a disappointing moment; the song felt like a betrayal of the band’s earlier raw, authentic sound. By then, my tastes had evolved, gravitating towards UK electronica like Aphex Twin and Autechre, as well as American noise rock from bands like Shellac and Big Black — artists who seemed steadfastly uninterested in mainstream success. (Yes, I am aware that Aphex is pretty big though, hardly what you would call underground anymore).
If I had grown up in the US, I suspect my experience would have been similar but inverted. Bands like Blur and Oasis, who dominated the UK charts and the Britpop scene, might have held that same allure of underground cool for an American teenager. The allure of foreign music often comes from its exoticism, the sense that it represents a subculture distinct from the mainstream. It’s a feeling that transcends borders and generations.
In the 90s, buying a CD was a gamble. With only a vague idea of what the music might sound like, I would spend my hard-earned paper round money on albums by bands like The Jesus Lizard. When the music hit the mark, the satisfaction was immense. Today, young music fans have a different landscape to navigate. With streaming services, social media, and music platforms like Bandcamp, discovering new music is instantaneous and often free. The element of financial risk is gone, replaced by an overwhelming abundance of choices, or even perhaps a “paradox of choice”, as explained in Barry Schwartz’s book of the same name. Schwartz argues that while having choices is generally seen as positive, too much choice can lead to anxiety, decision fatigue, and dissatisfaction. In the context of music, the sheer volume of available options can be paralyzing. Listeners might spend more time searching for the perfect song or artist and less time actually enjoying the music. Spotify playlists with one good song by one good band might further perpetuate the “one hit wonder” problem, but also make it harder for bands to gain traction.
The music industry has transformed drastically. In the 90s, artists made money primarily through album sales and tours. Today, streaming revenue is a fraction of what physical sales used to be, forcing musicians to diversify their income streams through merchandise, licensing deals, and live performances. According to a report by the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (IFPI), global music sales in 2022 were only 60% of their 1999 peak, even with the rise of streaming.
This change has also impacted the concept of “selling out.” In the past, a band’s leap to mainstream success often felt like a betrayal to their core fans, who cherished their underground status. Nowadays, the lines are blurrier. Artists can maintain their indie credibility while achieving mainstream success, thanks to platforms that allow them to reach a broader audience without sacrificing their artistic integrity. For instance, indie artist Billie Eilish gained a massive following through SoundCloud before signing with a major label, managing to retain her unique style and authenticity. But I never listen to that shit. Right now, I’m in love with Wolf Alice. They have an authentic sound which makes me realize I don’t actually hate all things pop, especially if they fucking ROCK.
The globalization of music means that what once felt exotic is now easily accessible. An American teenager today can delve into UK grime or K-pop with greater ease than mine, as I once hunted for ‘obscure’ American rock bands like Mr Bungle. I remember sneaking into my girlfriend’s older brother’s room, pad and pencil in hand, jotting down the names of as many bands as I could from the albums littering his awesome, cool older kid room. This was my treasure map to the musical underground. I would also study what T-shirts Kurt Cobain was wearing in photos and videos — The Melvins, Mudhoney, and others — each one a clue to another potential musical breakthrough, and the smug satisfaction of impressing a friend by sharing a new discovery. I remember it took me months to track down the name of a song featured in an episode of The X-Files. I heard it again, of all places, on the soundtrack to Cable Guy with Jim Carrey and had to buy the soundtrack to that awful film just to learn that the song was Hey Man, Nice Shot by Filter. We didn’t have Shazam in those days. This democratization of music discovery is a double-edged sword; it erodes the thrill of exclusivity but opens up a world of diverse sounds and cultures.
Reflecting on my journey from the 90s to now, I realize how much the way we interact with music has changed. The internet has dismantled the barriers between mainstream and underground, local and international. Musicians now have unprecedented control over their careers, but they also face the challenge of standing out in an overcrowded market. The sense of discovery may have shifted, but the love for music remains constant, driven by the same passion that made me gamble my paper round money on a handful of CDs I was so proud of over two decades ago. I am looking forward to seeing how bands and musicians incorporate AI and future technologies, and I am excited for a return to the Old Skool Raves of my mis-spent youth, only this time within the futuristic setting of the Singularity. WTF is that going to be like!?
