Lofi Girl, Spotify playlists, muzak… The music you listen to without listening to it a hundred years

It all began in 1922 in the United States. An American military man, George Owen Squier, made a simple but revolutionary observation: workers are more productive when background music is played. He patented the idea, created his company, named it Muzak, a contraction of “music” and “Kodak,” the leading brand of the time. The ambition was clear: to broadcast music directly into buildings through power lines, without anyone having to choose anything. Automatic, invisible, functional music. Arte is dedicating an interesting documentary to this story in April, “A history of elevator music,” available on arte.tv. It traces 100 years of functional music, from factory Muzak to streaming algorithms, including Brian Eno and Jean-Michel Jarre.

Quickly, Muzak decorates elevators, factories, stores, hotel lobbies. It comes in themes: music for reading, for cleaning, for relaxing, for consuming. In the 1940s, the company developed a concept called “Stimulus Progression”: music programs in 15-minute blocks, scientifically calibrated to increase worker productivity while giving them a sense of forward motion. Muzak even played in the corridors of the White House, installed under Eisenhower in 1953. It passed through the headphones of astronauts on space missions.

But Muzak carries its own contradiction: to function, it must not be listened to. Music designed not to be heard. This is what makes it both fascinating and unsettling. Some artists embrace it. In the 1970s, Brian Eno turned it into a form of art with his “Music for Airports.” Jean-Michel Jarre also plays on these ambient registers. But for the general public, Muzak remains what it has always been: a endured, soft, featureless music associated with elevators and supermarkets.

In the 1990s, the revolt erupted. Organizations demanded its ban. Rocker Ted Nugent even offered to buy the entire catalog for ten million dollars with one goal: to destroy it. He referred to it as a “malevolent force at work in society.” In 2009, the Muzak company filed for bankruptcy. Outdated, manipulative, a symbol of a too visible sonic capitalism. It seemed dead and buried. And then the Internet arrived.

In 2015, a French student launched a YouTube channel called ChilledCow. The idea was disarmingly simple: continuously stream lofi hip-hop tracks with soft, introspective sounds, perfect for work or relaxation. After a rights issue with Studio Ghibli in 2017, he put out a call for a project. A Colombian student from École émile Cohl in Lyon, Juan Pablo Machado, created the iconic character: a young girl with headphones, leaning over her notebooks in a setting inspired by the Croix-Rousse neighborhood. Lofi Girl was born. Today the channel has over 15 million subscribers on YouTube, tens of millions of streams on platforms, and a partnership with Warner Chappell Music France signed in 2024.

In 2020, YouTube temporarily suspended the channel. The global wave of support was immediate. ChilledCow became Lofi Girl, the animated character became a brand. Today, Lofi Girl has over 15 million subscribers on YouTube, tens of millions of streams on platforms, and a partnership with Warner Chappell Music France signed in 2024. Every day, millions of people connect live to work or study with her.

On Spotify, the phenomenon is massive and quantifiable. The official playlist “Deep Focus” has over 4.9 million saves. “Deep Sleep” has 2.2 million, “White Noise 10 Hours” has 2.3 million. Millions of people have voluntarily stored in their digital libraries music designed not to be listened to. The logic is the same as the Muzak of the 1940s: to accompany a task, reduce stress, increase concentration. The difference is that the listener chooses for themselves. The illusion of autonomy is complete. But the function itself has not changed a bit.

Here is where the subject shifts. Behind the popular ambient playlists on Spotify, there is a much darker reality.

The numbers are staggering. According to data published by Deezer in January 2026, approximately 60,000 AI-generated tracks are uploaded daily to platforms. This represents 39% of all music uploaded daily, up from just 10% a year ago. Tracks named “Jazz Brunch,” “Chill Beats,” or “Tropical Relax,” designed to fit into ambient playlists and generate passive income. Without a label. Without an artist. Without anyone really knowing.

The loop is closed. What an American military man imagined in 1922 to make workers more productive is now in our headphones, generated in seconds by an AI, slipped without a label into a Spotify playlist.

The function has not changed. Muzak is not dead. It has simply slipped into your earbuds under a better logo. Only the elevators have been secured.