How “Fake” My Bloody Valentine and Cocteau Twins Lyrics Ended Up on Spotify

Snafus involving the ethereal ’80s bands illustrate how streaming platforms make an imperfect replacement for old-fashioned album-listening

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Graphic by Callum Abbott

Last month, in the tone of a band reluctantly summoned from some deep seabed, My Bloody Valentine issued a prickly public service announcement: “Just noticed that Spotify has put fake lyrics up for our songs without our knowledge,” the Welsh shoegazers tweeted. “These lyrics are actually completely incorrect and insulting.” Cocteau Twins’ Simon Raymonde chimed in to report that they, too, had found gibberish transcriptions of their famously elliptical songs on streaming services. Raymonde didn’t point to any particular song, but according to streaming platforms, their song “Violaine” begins, “Ik does a dashik dozen,” before meandering toward a climax of, “Oh eat off your toe.”

Spotify’s stock tumble the following week was not, alas, a testament to the public’s allegiance to ethereal ’80s alt-rockers. But for a certain breed of meticulous artist, these lyrical oversights and the concurrent Joe Rogan debacle are two sides of the same coin. Streaming giants outfoxed and cornered the market, and now, having become “odiously indispensable” to listeners, are polluting that market with garbage.

The lyric snafu was not limited to Spotify. Over the past decade, a data platform called Musixmatch has assumed dominion over the world of lyrics, securing sub-licensing deals with the major publishing companies. The lyrics you see on Spotify, Tidal, and Amazon Music usually come through Musixmatch, via a data pipeline that links the platform’s enormous transcriber community with a small core of paid quality-control monitors. (Apple Music has a dedicated lyrics team handling most of its transcriptions.)

The lyric industrial complex may strike some artists as another advance in big tech’s inexhaustible optimization of music. Utilitarian streaming interfaces already curtail artists’ creative input, with uniform album listings that feature no label or liner notes, thumbnail-sized artwork, and tracklists and credits presented like spreadsheets. Lyrics, it seems, are just one more space for streaming giants to conquer.

Before Musixmatch came along in 2010 (and before the site formerly known as Rap Genius raised venture-capital millions in its bid to “annotate the world”), lyric sites were disheveled relics of a more innocent internet—one that held an anarchic promise of free information exchange. Nobody was surprised when a site like SongMeanings.net hosted unlicensed, inaccurate lyrics—the janky layout left no doubt of its bootleg spirit. A generation of music fans nonetheless came to depend on these informal databases, for guidance if not authority. A lyric transcription industry—for now wildly fragmented—was born.

Musixmatch is an attempt to centralize the fragments. From one angle, it represents the internet’s transformation from a scrappy repository of nicknacks to a big-data playground that hasn’t met a “1” or a “0” that it can’t commodify. The flipside is that Musixmatch, which claims a 90 percent share of the lyric-distribution market, has helped to usher out a Wild West era of lyric reproduction. Through their publishers, songwriters effectively receive a royalty, albeit a tiny one, when we view licensed lyrics.

Musixmatch’s approach to accuracy is hardly laissez-faire—that would make no business sense. More than 700,000 artists have signed up to its “Official Artist Verified Program,” which lets songwriters greenlight their own lyrics and prevent changes. Unsurprisingly, neither My Bloody Valentine nor Cocteau Twins were among them, but Musixmatch says groups need only ask: After seeing My Bloody Valentine’s tweet, they contacted the band’s label and publishing company to authorize the lyrics’ wholesale removal, then carried it out in speedy fashion.

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