How Music Reflects—and Reinforces—Individualism
At some point in history, the melody became the main character in Western music. Since then, we’ve rarely looked back.
Walk into almost any concert in the Western world (or globally!)—whether a stadium show or a quiet coffee shop—and you’ll likely see the same thing: one person leads the music while others back them up. The lead singer or instrument carries the melody, and everything else supports.
That might seem normal now, but it hasn’t always been that way. The rise of melody—especially as a single, standout voice—goes hand in hand with Western culture’s emphasis on individualism, personal expression, and stardom. I believe that over time, this way of organizing music has played a role in shaping how we experience life: less together, more alone.
Foundations of Voice and Community
The earliest Western thinkers placed a high value on community over individual expression. Ancient Greek philosophers like Aristotle and Plato believed that humans could only thrive as part of a society. The city-state (or polis) was seen as the natural home for the individual, and a good life was one lived in harmony with others. Obedience to shared laws and customs was essential, and even the pursuit of personal virtue or wisdom was always considered in relation to one’s place in the community.
This communal mindset underpinned many aspects of Western life—including music. And yet, over time, the focus shifted. Gradually, the individual voice rose to the top, literally and metaphorically.
Why Does Melody Stand Out?
Melody stands out because of how our ears work. It usually sits higher in pitch—meaning faster vibrations—and has a brighter or more noticeable sound. It might also be louder or more rhythmically active. Our brains naturally latch onto it.
In Western musical notation, melody is literally written on top. It’s the voice we’re trained to follow. The harmony or accompaniment is placed below, visually reinforcing its supportive role.
Even the law mirrors this distinction. Melodies can be copyrighted, but chord progressions usually can’t. That’s because melodies are considered original and identifiable, while chord patterns are seen as basic building blocks.
So what does it say that we focus so much on the melody? Do we value leaders over teams? Visibility over support? And how does this shape our deeper beliefs about what matters in life?
From Chant to Soloist: A Quick History of the Lead Voice
In medieval Europe, the most common music was Gregorian chant. These were simple, single-line melodies sung together in churches. There was rarely harmony (octaves and perhaps some 5ths) or accompaniment. The goal was to focus the mind on God, not on any individual singer.
These chants were performed by groups for parishioners and God in vast stone cathedrals. The acoustics blurred individual voices into a single, “spiritual” sound. Music was something people experienced collectively, not a platform for personal talent.
During the Renaissance, music became more complex. Composers wrote polyphony—multiple melodies happening at once. Each voice had a role, but none stood out more than the others. It was like a conversation among equals.
In the Baroque period (1600s), things shifted again. A new style emerged: one melody supported by harmony. This “melody with accompaniment” structure felt clearer, more emotional, and more dramatic.
This musical change echoed what was happening in society. Monarchs like Louis XIV of France and Peter the Great of Russia were consolidating power. Just as society revolved around the king, music began to revolve around a single lead voice.
By the Classical and Romantic periods, melody was full of personal expression. It wasn’t just music—it was storytelling, often conveying deeply personal experiences through lyrics and musical devices. The story of the composer also added to the listener’s experience. This deeper focus on the creator and performer—not just the musical construction—reflected the growing importance of the individual in Western culture.
Stars of the Stage: How the Soloist Took Over
In the 1700s and 1800s, soloists became celebrities. Opera stars like Farinelli and Maria Malibran drew huge audiences. Their dramatic arias were the hit songs of their time. People didn’t just go to hear music—they went to see the star.
Niccolò Paganini, a 19th-century violinist, became a household name across Europe. His concerts sold out, his ticket prices soared, and his technical brilliance and wild persona captivated the public. He was the first true “celebrity performer,” with a cultural impact and media frenzy that rivaled modern figures like the Beatles or Jimi Hendrix.
This shift wasn’t just about musical taste. It made economic sense. It’s easier and cheaper to promote one person than a whole group. One name, one face, one story. The rest of the musicians faded into the background.
And this trend hasn’t slowed down—it’s only grown. Look at the top 20 most-streamed artists on Spotify today. Only two are bands—Coldplay and Maroon 5—both formed in the 1990s! Even those groups are centered around prominent lead singers. The rest? All solo artists.
What’s being rewarded is individuality. Why share the spotlight (or the paycheck) when one person can do it all?
The soloist is no longer just a musical role—it’s a business model.
Side note: just image where this leads when AI makes it so that we don’t even need a human singer or performer anymore! Music went from groups to soloists and may be going to AI.
When the Soloist Goes Global
This soloist-centered model didn’t stay in the West. Thanks to media, colonization, and globalization, it spread around the world. Not that the Western music tradition is the only one to hold up the melody and hence star performers, but it is for sure the most widespread.
Take Thailand. Traditional Thai music—like piphat ensembles—is based on heterophony. Everyone plays the same melody but adds their own ornamentation. No single voice leads. The sound is layered and communal. Of course, there were virtuoso Thai performers, but the music itself was not centered on a singled-out melody. As a result, virtuosos were viewed more as part of the group rather than elevated above it.
As Western pop music arrived—through records, radio, and film—the idea of the soloist and “star” took root. Over time, Thai pop began to resemble Western pop: clear stars, solo branding, and lead singers front and center.
The horizontal, group-based style of traditional ensembles still exists, but in terms of cultural influence, it has taken a backseat to a vertical structure: the star above, the band below.
From Cathedrals to Earbuds: Music Gets Personal
Now it’s not just the music that’s solo—it’s the listener too.
A hundred years ago, music was heard in community: at church, in concert halls, or at home with family. Today, we listen through headphones, alone. The songs are personalized by algorithm or mood.
There’s no shared space, no acoustics to shape the sound. Just a soloist in your ears.
As artist Brian Eno said, “Music used to be something people did. Now it’s something they consume.”
Melody led to soloists. Soloists became stars. Now those stars sing directly to each of us. The more music has centered around the individual, the more our listening habits have tended towards isolation..
So Who Gets the Solo—And What About the Rest?
There’s a cost to always focusing on the melody. If we’re taught to connect only with the standout voice, what happens when we’re not the one singing? What if we’re the background? Or worse, not heard at all?
Melody teaches us that importance equals prominence. Being in front means being heard. That the supporting roles don’t matter as much.
But maybe that’s not true.
Maybe the melody only makes sense because of the harmony that surrounds it. Maybe the background holds just as much meaning. Whether the accompaniment is just as important or not, it is the melody (the individual) that is valued. The backing band can change and no one will notice. But remember, it doesn’t have to be this way. There are other musical traditions that don’t place the same sort of extreme value on the lead individual. In some traditions there is no leader and perhaps no melody.
A Final Reflection
I believe sounds matter. They are primal elements of what it means to exist in this universe. We are vibrating beings—so perhaps we should take music seriously as a way to understand ourselves.
By elevating the melody, and with it the individual, what kind of values are we committing to? What kind of people have we become by constantly praising the solo voice?
Are we all trying to be soloists without an ensemble? Probably because we were/are raised that way and society guides us down this path. We leave our families to make our mark. We want to be famous, to be wealthy. We want to rise above the crowd. But often, we’re left alone—neither rich nor recognized—just isolated, struggling, and quietly aching. When our culture’s highest value is the heroic individual, what happens to the 99.99% of us who don’t reach that ideal? Shame. Frustration. Emptiness. Not the kind that opens into insight, but the kind that hardens into loneliness and despair.
I propose we begin to temper our glorification of the melody. Let’s seek out music—and communities—that don’t place one performer on a pedestal. This shift won’t change our values overnight, nor am I suggesting we eliminate melody altogether. But if we can bring a bit more balance to our musical lives, perhaps we can nudge our values away from the worship of the exceptional individual, and toward a deeper appreciation of the ensemble—the many voices that make life rich, connected, and whole.
I’ve written a short book for composers that explores how music is organized and the roles it can play across the globe. The book is called Formative Forces in Sound. If you are interested, it’s available on Amazon here for $0.99 www.amazon.com/formativeforcesinsound