Spotify Wrapped 2024 shows us the songs we loved — why does it seem so wrong?

Whether you like music, data, viral marketing or just arguing with people on the internet, Spotify Wrapped day is always a lot of fun.

It's one day of the year where we conveniently forget that they pay most artists a pittance while gleefully signing enormous cheques for controversial podcast hosts and celebrate the service for throwing our data back at us with some cute animation and, this year, a surprisingly condescending AI-generated podcast that wraps up your data.

But how accurate is it? Does your Wrapped really tell the full story of who you are as a music fan?

We obsess over our Wrapped just like everyone else. But we've got some questions about what Spotify dished up to us this year.

WTF is 'Surf Crush Actor Indie' anyway!?

Each year, Spotify Wrapped has introduced some gimmick to ensure extra virality.

Remember last year's "Sound Cities"? Y'know, which puzzlingly lumped the music tastes of LGBTQI+ listeners with Californian residents of Berkeley, Burlington, and Vermont?

Well, this year's confounding novelty is "Music Evolution", which assigns musical moods to each month seemingly based on a pool of artists and songs.

For example, March was my "Indie Sleaze Catwalk Pop" phase, and July declared my "Mcbling Abstract Hip Hop" mode. Meanwhile, my partner was none too chuffed with her "Coastal Grandmother Fingerstyle Folk Rock" August.

Others I've spotted in the wild have been "Surf Crush Actor Indie", "Mallgoth Catwalk Pop" and even more head-scratching, "Snow American Football UK Hip Hop" and "Goblincore Wrestling Folk Punk".

Sure, seeing this gibberish shared on social media has prompted a chuckle or two. But it's also a cringe-inducing reminder that this WTF factor is just playing into the hands of Spotify overlords wanting your free promotion.

— Al Newstead

They didn't even have a song out yet

I'm feeling a little bit of "Déjà vu" because it is the year 2024 and my top artist on Spotify Wrapped is Something for Kate. Something for Kate haven't released a record in four years.

I listen to so much Something for Kate I am apparently in the top 0.5 per cent of fans. I listen to so much Something for Kate I took the train to Wollongong to see Paul Dempsey play solo, where I howled along with the lyrics, had a cathartic cry, then took the last train straight back.

The kicker? Four out of five of my top songs were by Dempsey's synth-rock side project Fanning Dempsey National Park. But at least that band had a record out this year.

And Spotify is making fun of me for my devotion, by describing my January listening habits as "Van Life Rock Out Australian Indie", which feels like an insult. I don't even like camping, let alone sleeping in a van.

The top artists for that strange take on a genre were "artists like" Something for Kate, Fanning Dempsey National Park and Dick Diver. Fanning Dempsey National Park had not yet released a song in January. The word "like" is doing a lot of heavy lifting.

Then, in May, I was allegedly listening to Something for Kate, Grinspoon and Spiderbait, or the precisely named "Apocalyptic Old School Punk Australian Rock".

Because I appear to be trapped with "Monsters" in a mid-00s time warp. And I don't really want to leave.

— Hannah Story

Stupid sand movie

At the start of my year, my life was so carefree.

I had never seen or read Dune, I did not know what a Bene Gesserit was and I was laughing at the fans lining up for the sandworm popcorn bucket.

Then in March, I was asked to pick up an interview with the Dune franchise's Australian cinematographer, Greig Fraser (amazing man, really knows how to capture a sandworm). So, of course, I had to see Dune 2 (yes, I watched the sequel first, no it didn't make a lot of sense).

Sitting in that theatre, Hans Zimmer's entrancing score rocketed into my mind like spice coursing through a Fremen's bloodstream. Before I knew it, I was returning to the theatres for another viewing, and I wasn't even getting paid to do it.

I started listening to the score on repeat, particularly the opening track Beginnings Are Such Delicate Times. One thing led to another and now my number one track for the year is an eight-and-a-half-minute orchestral piece about space wars (boooo).

I blame Hans.

— Velvet Winter

Who are you calling 'Pink Princess'?

If the hooks that have been bouncing around in my head in a chaotic, joyful loop for months are anything to go by, Chappell Roan was always going to feature prominently in my top artists.

I was surprised to see she was at number five, although she was competing against Beyoncé's Cowboy Carter, Waxahatchee's Tiger's Blood and the general sadgirl beauty of boygenius and Phoebe Bridgers, so it's not completely inexplicable.

I am incredulous her track Casual is not in my top songs — it was the first of her singles I got truly hooked on, but its absence is perhaps explained by how frequently I watch the song's absurd music video.

But where I draw the line is my alleged July mood, which I feel was Spotify's attempt at conceding Chappell's mega influence on my music choices. To do this, they chose the unholy word salad of "Pink Pilates Princess Strut Pop".

I know they've just done a virtual mind map of the songs I've selected — and lazily pulled most influence from my new favourite karaoke song, Pink Pony Club — but there's something about this sweeping, hyper-femme, mischaracterisation that gives me the ick.

Chappell's riotous, racy, incredibly queer music has given me catharsis and joy this year. It has helped me feel like I belong in pop music for the first time in a long while. Turns out that a giant multinational company mining my data and then packaging it up for me doesn't quite do that feeling justice.

— Katherine Smyrk

'Turn the Page'? More like change the song

I really like the song that Spotify claims was my number one of the year.

UK electronic duo Overmono took The Streets' 2002 classic Turn the Page and made it even more anthemic, jacking it up just enough to make it ripe for the dance floor. It was a nice hat tip from an act on the rise to an artist who blazed a trail a couple of decades ago.

But geez, I didn't like it that much.

When Charli xcx released her collaborations with Lorde (Girl, so confusing) and Billie Eilish (Guess) this year, I could barely think of anything else, let alone listen to other songs.

After hearing Dua Lipa's 2017 song New Rules in an Uber to the pub in early winter, I was reminded of what a banger it was and began to obsess over every second of it, repeating the song over and over to try and understand what made it such an alluring piece of music.

The only potentially plausible explanation I can give for Overmono and The Streets taking out the top spot is that the algorithm really wanted me to listen to this song more. I recall more than a few occasions where I skipped the song because it just didn't fit the vibe for what I was doing at the time. Do those few seconds where the song was thrust upon me count in the final tally? They must.

If that's the case, then Spotify gets way more say in our yearly Wrapped than we might expect or hope. For a service that many claim puts the power of curation back into the hands of the consumer, that's kinda annoying.

— Dan Condon