You won't believe just how tiny the fraction of artists these days who can actually sustain themselves on music-streaming royalties really is. It's crazy over here in Musicville!
Recently, Spotify published an upbeat report on its results for 2024. It's optimistic, it's bright, it instills false hope into musicians' hearts. Only somehow, one little statistical tidbit managed to sneak into this otherwise cheerful document—a detail its authors might come to regret. This nugget of information lets us figure out exactly what percentage of artists are raking in serious cash, decent money, or at least some pocket change through streaming royalties.
The report states that nearly 12 million artists now publish music on Spotify. Firstly, thanks to this info, we learn that with Earth's current population of 8.21 billion people, only 0.146% of them are actively publishing music. Sure, behind each artist persona could be anywhere from one person to ten individuals. So let's generously multiply our calculated share by ten, bringing us to 1.46%. That's right—the musical business involves such a tiny sliver of humanity. Still think we're living in an era where art thrives and the so-called “creator economy” is swimming in success?
But hold your horses, folks—this is just the beginning. Now comes the fun part: calculating the actual percentage of artists who earn any kind of respectable income from streaming platforms.
Let's keep something simple in mind as we proceed. According to the very same report we've been referencing, when trying to estimate total earnings across all streaming services, Spotify experts multiply an artist's revenue specifically earned on their platform by four. As far as we can tell, that's supposed to be the universal scaling factor.
Now, here's where things start getting juicy. Over 200 artists worldwide raked in $5 million USD apiece on Spotify alone during 2024. Woohoo! We're all thrilled, aren't we?
Moving along: the artist ranked #10,000 on Spotify pulled in $131,000 last year. Gotcha—those top 10,000 names on Spotify are doing pretty damn well for themselves. (Starting to see that red warning light flashing in the back of your brain yet? You know, the one labeled "12 Million Artists"?)
What does this tell us? Simple: every single artist below the #100,000 mark on Spotify earns such paltry sums from streaming revenues annually that you'd struggle to survive on those funds—not just in the US, Canada, EU, but also in many other countries with average cost-of-living standards.
And finally, let's circle back to those 12 million artists – bands, solo acts, duos—12 million artistic identities, many backed by entire teams…
Let’s hear it for the shareholders and end-game beneficiaries of the streaming platforms. Bravo, really. Their business setup? It's a goddamn masterpiece—efficient, airtight, ruthless. But in this wild era of musical overflow, what’s left for the other 12 million artists out there hustling on these platforms—besides the top 100,000 Spotify demigods basking in algorithmic glory and corporate champagne?
Doesn’t it strike anyone as strange that, for the actual creators and performers, the so-called “music business” doesn’t really behave like a business at all? No, no… it’s something else entirely. What could it be? Slavery? Digital panhandling? Neo-feudal labor? A tax paid to the lords of monetized attention?
Alright, we’ve done our penance. We get it now — this is a massive gift! For just a few bucks to some second-tier distributor, we can magically land our hot (or not) hip-hop track on roughly two hundred streaming platforms in no time flat. How convenient!
But here's where things take an ironic twist: chances are nobody will ever hear that damn track anyway. See, these streaming catalogs already overflow with over two hundred million tracks. And you know what else we've learned? Composing music and hoping for even a tiny little business out of it is like being a dreamy high schooler scribbling love letters under the bleachers. It’s all so… hopeless, right?
Or maybe not.
Let’s dig into the roots of this tale. The brain behind the theory is Kevin Kelly—a multifaceted character indeed. He’s an American editor, journalist, writer, trend analyst in digital culture, and environmental advocate. His background isn’t exactly humble either: his father was a top executive at Time magazine when Kevin came into the world. Dad employed systems analysis in his work, sparking young Kevin's early fascination with cybernetics.
Kevin Kelly has been rubbing shoulders with media since his youth and began his journalistic career around 1980, at age 28. Twelve years later, he landed the role of Executive Editor at the newly founded Wired magazine. Just two years after its launch, the publication snagged the prestigious National Magazine Award, also known as the Ellie Awards.
Today, Wired holds almost legendary status. It's published both in print and online, exploring how technology influences culture, politics, and economics. As its first Executive Editor, Kevin Kelly undoubtedly played a key part in shaping its success.
Nowadays, he's listed in the editorial team as a special title coined specifically for him—"Senior Maverick." Over his writing career, Kelly has contributed articles to globally renowned publications such as The New York Times, The Economist, Time, Harper's Magazine, Science, GQ, and Esquire.
For nearly two decades, he’s maintained his own blog called Cool Tools. Here, he reviews various tools—both physical and virtual—that enhance life and work, ranging from stands for LCD TVs to online synonym finders, free CAD software to toilet stain removers.
Kelly is also one of the founders of the Hacker Conference in America, author of several books, public speaker, etc. In short, he’s a seasoned media professional who has spent decades navigating the intersection of digital technologies and culture.
Importantly, Kelly himself has extensive personal experience with self-publishing, crowdfunding, and direct sales to fans. In other words, he’s built—and continues building—his very own fan network hands-on.
The original text of the Theory appeared on Kelly’s website back in 2008, then underwent significant revisions ten years later in 2018, reflecting contemporary digital realities. By genre, it's an essay positing an alternative approach to product realization for those directly involved in its creation.
And here comes the catch! The "Theory of 1000 True Fans" wasn’t devised specifically for musicians. There’s no mention whatsoever of music streaming services or any musical industry specifics. Instead, it simply addresses intermediaries between creators and consumers.
Moreover, the Theory isn't scientific—it’s more a reflection of Kevin Kelly’s personal experiences combined with analytical insights gleaned through observing and participating in the evolution of digital culture.
The "Theory" claims to be a concept for securing ongoing funding for craftsmen, photographers, musicians, designers, animators, app developers, entrepreneurs, inventors, artists, authors—in short, anyone producing creative content.
According to Kevin Kelly, each of these individuals can make a decent living if they manage to attract a steady audience consisting of approximately 1000 dedicated followers—or "superfans," as he calls them. Notably, the Theory doesn't focus on fame or earning large sums of money.
In fact, thousands of musicians worldwide have consciously or intuitively implemented the principles of Kevin Kelly's "Theory of 1000 True Fans," achieving solid success beyond major streaming platforms.
Let's lift the hood and see what's inside this Theory.
By "superfans," the essay author means people who would "buy everything you produce." Here's a direct quote:
"A true fan is defined as a fan that will buy anything you produce. These diehard fans will drive 200 miles to see you sing; they will buy the hardback and paperback and audible versions of your book; they will purchase your next figurine sight unseen; they will pay for the “best-of” DVD version of your free youtube channel; they will come to your chef’s table once a month. If you have roughly a thousand of true fans like this (also known as super fans), you can make a living — if you are content to make a living but not a fortune."
Based on the cost of living in the U.S., Kelly asserts that the theory works under two conditions:
1. Each creator (entrepreneur, inventor, etc.) must generate enough products annually to sell them for an average of $100. That's the annual income generated from one true fan.
2. Creators should maintain direct relationships with their fans, meaning fans should be able to pay them directly rather than through middlemen (publishers, labels, online/offline stores, etc.). Because, with intermediaries, creators receive only a small percentage of the actual price of goods.
Kelly argues that reaching an audience of 1000 true fans who pay directly is far more realistic than trying to gain a million fans via traditional intermediaries. The author doesn’t insist on the absolute number of 1000. According to his own words, "the number is determined by rough order of magnitude—three orders smaller than a million." In practice, it should be adjusted individually for each person.
Given today's reality, we understand that having one intermediary might still be acceptable. However, this intermediary should provide digital infrastructure for subscriptions and online sales without taking exorbitant commissions typical of traditional music business entities (streaming services, record labels, publishers, etc.). Offhand, platforms like previously mentioned Patreon or Bandcamp meet these criteria.
Kelly suggests thinking of your audience as concentric circles, with only the innermost circle representing the "superfan" group. He advises focusing all attention solely on this core group, addressing only true fans and prioritizing their joy and satisfaction.
This focus stems not merely from sales considerations, but because true fans often become advocates and propagandists for their favorite artist, painter, writer, etc. They introduce others to this individual or collective who may never have heard of them before.
An attentive reader might say, "All this sounds inspiring, but you've just doused us with cold water talking about streaming earnings. Why should your 'Theory of 1000 True Fans' work?"
Here's why. Until recently, aspiring music creators couldn't even imagine self-distribution within their home country, let alone international direct payments. Banks wouldn't deal with dreamers.
Independent musicians in the US during the 1980s and early-to-mid 1990s, even if they managed to independently release vinyl records, CDs, or cassettes, couldn’t practically sell them—these were rejected by wholesalers and retail stores due to lack of recognition.
Indie newcomers had virtually no access to audiences. Radio stations (including college radio) primarily drove fandom, followed by MTV and other music television channels—all intermediaries again…
Additionally, in many countries, payment solutions (gateways) have become available that allow fans to transfer funds almost directly, and sometimes truly directly, to their favorite musician.
Over time, the need for independent solo artists to secure direct support from fans and fans’ desire to offer this support gave rise to specialized internet solutions. A pioneer in this field was Patreon, co-founded by Jack Conte, member of the California duo Pomplamoose.
Essentially, today, to sustain oneself purely through music, an artist needs to accomplish two tasks:
1. Build up an audience across multiple social networks and video-hosting platforms big enough to include about 1,000 superfans at its core.
2.Redirect this audience to platforms like Patreon and Bandcamp, starting to sell them your product and related merchandise directly.
The hardest part here is "building the audience."
As we recall, regular subscribers aren't "superfans." Hardcore enthusiasts form the "inner circle"; they're exceptionally loyal and deeply committed to the artist's work. These types don't pile up en masse on social networks.
A lone creative individual or small team aiming to implement Kelly's concept would have to spend considerable effort creating their own product outside their main daily non-artistic job.
Then, painstakingly promote it using every possible free and paid method, repeatedly misjudging target audiences, flushing scanty ad budgets down the drain, and feeling despondent over weak initial results. Essentially, it's hard work piled upon hard work, performed after another hard day's labor, with no immediate compensation for most of it...
On the flip side, Kelly maintains that sales volumes of unpopular items on online marketplaces are comparable to those of a limited list of highly popular ones. Online retailers refer to this phenomenon as the "long tail." Turns out, someone does want those obscure items—even willing to pay for them.
Apparently, the same applies to music content. It, too, has a "long tail," according to the proponent of the "1000 Superfans Theory." Every item in the tail (in our case, a song) sits just one click away from the consumer thanks to the inherently peer-to-peer nature of the internet.
Kevin Kelly explicitly states that implementing the "1000 True Fans" concept in practice is not for everyone, but exclusively for extremely goal-oriented individuals. Since it represents, at best, absorbing and complex part-time work.
However, Kelly's theory is much more rational than the hopes of emerging musicians relying on streaming recommendation algorithms. On major platforms, as demonstrated above, the odds of winning are lower than gambling in a casino or trading stocks.
We'll require at least three years of intense effort to build a small community of dedicated consumers.
Our primary issue isn't the product itself, but rather our inability to act as artist-bloggers and reluctance to grasp basic social media marketing fundamentals.
Those among us who don’t merely skim through this advice but actively apply it in real life will succeed (regardless of their numbers on major streaming platforms). Everyone else will continue complaining about their circumstances. The path is hard—but at least it’s yours.
