I remember long car rides as a kid in the early 2000s, headphones on, gazing out the window at the passing scenery while looping background music from The Legend of Zelda and Pokémon games on my Game Boy. After school, I’d occasionally throw the Super Smash Bros. Melee soundtrack on my Discman CD player, keeping me motivated while doing homework. Like many others, I found Nintendo’s music to be an effective accompaniment to everyday activities, a kind of functional listening long before streaming platforms like Spotify and YouTube made it trendy. Which raises the question: how has Nintendo adapted to the streaming age?
Unlike many other game publishers, Nintendo has conspicuously kept its music off streaming services—despite having some of the most recognizable soundtracks in video game history, such as Super Mario Bros., Donkey Kong, and Metroid. Instead, the company took a different direction by unveiling its own music streaming service in October 2024, aptly titled Nintendo Music. The platform, available to Nintendo Switch Online subscribers, showcases soundtracks spanning the company’s history, from 1980s NES titles to recent Nintendo Switch 2 releases.
In a listening landscape dominated by Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube Music, Nintendo’s decision to launch its own proprietary streaming service makes it unique among video game companies. This move is idiosyncratic in a way that feels characteristically Nintendo, but it is also a bold bid to compete in the broader attention economy. By situating itself alongside, rather than within, the major music streaming services, Nintendo signals that its soundtracks are valuable cultural content worth curating and controlling directly.
Nintendo Music caters specifically to video game fans by including screenshots with each track, having a “Spoiler” filter that lets users block music from games they haven’t played, and making personalized recommendations based on each user’s play history. But perhaps most notable is its emphasis on background listening: through features like mood playlists and an “Extend” tool, video game music is explicitly framed as a companion for contexts like relaxing, working out, or doing household chores.
By repurposing game soundtracks as tools for everyday routines, Nintendo Music capitalizes on nostalgia and contemporary listening habits to deepen fan engagement and retain control over its brand—a strategic move from a company that is famously (over)protective of its intellectual property. More generally, it also reflects neoliberal logics in which music is woven into daily life to regulate mood and productivity, revealing the increasing reach of digital platforms over how we work, listen, and live.
Listening in Loops: Video Game Music in the Background
In advertisements for Nintendo Music, actors hum and sing along to famous video game tunes while carrying out their daily activities. “Whether you’re grocery shopping, straightening up at home, or getting some studying done, Nintendo Music can be the background sound to your everyday life,” the description to one video reads.
This marketing is strikingly similar to strategies by streaming services such as Spotify, which encourage listening to music in any and every context. Playlists based around specific moods or activities—like Spotify’s “Gym Hits,” “Intense Studying,” and “sad girl starter pack”—use music as a tool to manage listeners’ energy levels, focus, and emotions as they go about their lives. Anahid Kassabian’s concept of “ubiquitous listening” helps describe this phenomenon, showing how even passive, background engagement can shape listeners’ affects and experiences.
In many ways, video game music is ideal for the ubiquitous listening that streaming services promote. Game soundtracks are generally (though not always) designed for the background and are usually instrumental, setting the emotional tone of on-screen action, from serene soundscapes to intense boss battles. Unlike other multimedia soundtracks, such as film scores, much video game music is also composed to loop indefinitely, making it especially effective for sustained listening.
As Michiel Kamp demonstrates in Four Ways of Hearing Video Game Music, “background listening” is one of the main ways users experience video game soundtracks. He writes that “background music both in games and elsewhere requires us to be so attuned to it that it offers no experiential friction in need of interpreting, and through this it has the capacity to attune us to our environment, be it a mythical underworld full of dangers or a convenience store full of groceries” (2024, 175).
While Kamp primarily focuses on background listening while playing games, game music can attune listeners to moods, activities, or environments even when heard outside of gameplay. In fact, video games train us to listen in this way, using music to establish the appropriate affect for narrative events, settings, and characters. These immersive qualities have made video game music immensely popular on streaming services: soundtracks from games and franchises like Halo, Final Fantasy, The Elder Scrolls, Undertale, and Minecraft have collectively garnered over a billion streams on Spotify alone.
But Nintendo, by launching its own proprietary platform, trades streaming royalties and wider exposure for something arguably more valuable: the ability to control how and where fans experience its content.
Features in Focus: Nintendo Music’s Approach to Passive Listening
Nintendo Music’s features illustrate how the service adapts soundtracks for continuous, everyday listening. Perhaps most notable is the service’s unique Extend feature, which allows users to stretch the runtime of tracks up to 60 minutes. Described in the app as “the perfect accompaniment to studying or working,” this feature facilitates seamless background listening without the distraction of frequent track changes. So if you’ve ever wanted to loop the Wii Shop music for a full hour—and let’s be honest, who hasn’t—now you can.
Screenshots of Nintendo Music’s “Extend” featureScreenshot
Alongside complete soundtracks, Nintendo Music also foregrounds curated playlists, including those based around specific video game characters, themes, and moods. The “Powering Up” playlist features “up-tempo tracks to fill you with energy,” for example, while “Good Night” has “down-tempo tracks to help you drift into dreamland.” Screenshots for each track further immerse listeners, visually reinforcing the moods and environments the music is designed to evoke. On these playlists, Nintendo’s music is presented less as individual compositions and more as “vibes.”
Screenshot of Nintendo Music’s mood playlists
Packaging music around moods or vibes is not a neutral act. In Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist, Liz Pelly asserts that “organizing music by mood is a way to transform it into a new type of media product. It is about selling users not just on moods, but on the promise of the very concept that mood stabilization is something within their control. It’s a tactic for luring users to double click and start streaming” (2025, 40). Pelly’s observation underscores that mood-based playlists do more than entertain: they are a way for platforms to influence how listeners organize their time and attention.
Furthermore, Nintendo Music’s approach positions music not only as a creative or cultural artifact, but also as a commodified resource for self-regulation. This aligns with Eric Drott’s claim that streaming services often employ music as a “technology of social reproduction,” used to structure and maintain day-to-day existence. For Drott, this is “part of a broader tendency under neoliberal capitalism that prizes music, the arts, and culture not on account of their aesthetic worth but on account of their ‘expediency’ for other social, political, and economic ends” (2024, 197).
Many users still actively listen to their favourite Nintendo soundtracks on the platform, and there’s also nothing inherently wrong with background listening—it’s how much of this music was originally designed to be heard. However, presenting music as an aid to concentration, productivity, or mood regulation also risks repurposing soundtracks as a form of “neo-Muzak,” a vehicle for continuous consumption designed to keep listeners plugged into Nintendo’s broader product ecosystem.
Background Benefits: Nintendo’s Platform Power
Beyond guiding listening habits, Nintendo Music reinforces the company’s brand image of nostalgia, innovation, and family-friendly fun while increasing engagement with its intellectual property on its own terms. As a Nintendo spokesperson said in an interview with Nippon TV News, “To increase the number of people who have access to Nintendo IP, we believe that game music is an important and valuable form of content. Nintendo Music is a service that allows us to deliver this game music in a way that is uniquely Nintendo. . . . We hope that Nintendo Music will help you recall some of your favorite gaming experiences and think that it will also encourage people to play the games again” (translation by Nicholas Anderson).
Nintendo’s efforts to centralize its music are also likely, at least in part, a response to fans unofficially circulating soundtracks online. As part of a broader trend of functional music compilations (think lofi beats to study/relax to), YouTube hosts countless user-generated Nintendo music playlists designed for activities such as studying and sleeping. Despite Nintendo’s notoriety for issuing takedown notices over copyright infringement—including shutting down the massively popular YouTube video game music channel GilvaSunner in 2022—many of these unofficial videos and reuploads continue to accrue millions of views.
By providing an official home for soundtracks and its own contextual playlists, Nintendo Music is a subtle exercise in platform power, gating access to subscribers. It redirects listeners from other platforms, letting Nintendo control its content without diluting its brand on third-party services. Although Nintendo Music’s catalogue is currently slim—as of writing it has roughly 100 soundtracks—the company continues to trickle out new music most weeks, incentivizing listeners to keep coming back.
Nintendo Music promotes ongoing background listening not only to attract users who are already accustomed to mood and activity playlists, then, but also to keep them on the platform and connected to the company’s games and services. After all, every minute a listener spends on Nintendo Music looping David Wise’s “Aquatic Ambiance” from Donkey Kong Country is a minute they aren’t spending on YouTube, Spotify, or any other entertainment platform.
* * *
Video game music is, in many respects, perfectly suited for the streaming age. From the popularity of playlists to the ascent in ambient music, streaming services’ focus on passive listening aligns with the background function of video game soundtracks. As we’ve seen, Nintendo Music takes full advantage of this, using its marketing and features to bolster branding, solidify control over IP, and encourage engagement.
For many, Nintendo Music offers an enjoyable experience and a convenient way to stream nostalgic soundtracks. But the service also exposes how proprietary platforms concentrate power and leverage passive listening for ongoing consumption, reinforcing broader patterns where work and leisure become intertwined with corporate interests. By prompting users to integrate Nintendo’s music into their activities, the platform extends the reach of its games beyond the screen and into daily life.
Whether you’re listening to famed composer Koji Kondo or everyone’s favourite troubadour dog K.K. Slider, Nintendo’s message is clear: press play and lean back.
Ryan Blakeley is Visiting Assistant Professor at Northeastern University and holds a PhD in Musicology from the Eastman School of Music. His research investigates how digital platforms like music streaming services are shaping creative practices, listening habits, and music industry power dynamics.
Dr. Jonathan Sterne passed away earlier this year. He was, in many ways, a model scholar and colleague.
The intellectual ferment of the field now called “sound studies” is often traced to the sonic ecologists of the 1960s, but the theoretical energy of the early 2000s, generated by figures such as Ana Maria Ochoa, Alexander Weheliye, Emily Thompson, Trevor Pinch (1952-2021), and of course Jonathan Sterne, was necessary for the field to gain interdisciplinary traction in the twenty-first century. Sterne’s The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction (Duke University Press: 2003) was perhaps the single-most important book in this regard.
Trained in communications, and working in departments of communication, first at Pitt and later McGill, Sterne oriented his work toward media studies, and indeed, The Audible Past is principally about mediation. It poses questions about the role of sound in the history of mediation that earlier generations of sound studies had tended to elide, especially regarding the contingent and often cultural role of the human ear in reception. These questions opened the door for anthropologists, historians, communications scholars and ethnomusicologists in particular to think and even identify with sound studies, and many of us who were trained in the 2000s did so enthusiastically, with Sterne’s writing a lodestar.
The enduring terms and frameworks that came from The Audible Past alone are remarkable: the audiovisual litany, a critique of the chestnut that hearing and vision are ideological binaries, for example, is practically axiomatic now in sound studies. And its clever expression of the audiovisual binary’s religious undertones (see also “The Theology of Sound: A Critique of Orality” [2011], one of many worthwhile Sternian deep cuts) further thickens the plot. Consider as well the concept of “audile techniques,” or vernacular methods of audition that emerge in response to new sound reproduction technologies, which has been used to frame countless projects in sonic histories of science, medicine, business, and technology. To revisit The Audible Past now is to witness a thinker who anticipated the central questions of an emergent field at the moment of its rekindling, with prescience and depth.
Sterne’s focus on media continued, although his second monograph—and Sounding Out!’s first book review!–MP3: The Meaning of a Format(Duke University Press: 2012) saw a move toward Marxist economic analysis, the kind of methodological shift that he would pull off time and again. The book is almost certainly the most complete treatment of what was (and to some degree remains) the world’s most important audio reproduction format, and once again he introduced a concept, that of “format theory,” that is widely and actively cited (and reviewed by Pitchfork!). The book is also funny! Sterne’s revelation of the Napster cat head logo at the end of a chapter about the role of cat heads in auditory lab experiments is the sort of superb comic timing which, to put it lightly, one doesn’t find much in academic writing.
Sterne was not limited to media-focused work, however. He was responsive to current events: his 2012 “Quebec’s #casseroles: on participation, percussion and protest,” for instance, was an on-the-spot reading of the sonic tactics of local student tuition strikes. He worked ethnographically: a 1997 article, published in Ethnomusicology and called “Sounds Like the Mall of America: Programmed Music and the Architectonics of Commercial Space,” is an immersive study of music in retail space. He was an excellent editor: his 2012 The Sound Studies Reader (Routledge) is superbly curated, remaining a cornerstone assignment. More recently, he turned to disability studies, publishing Diminished Faculties: A Political Phenomenology of Impairment (Duke University Press) in 2022. The book is philosophical as well as reflexive and personal, showcasing yet more of his range. The way that Sterne allowed curiosity to lead his research in many directions suggests a scholar who was in the business for the right reasons.
If you want to hear JS talk about Diminished Faculties or just hear him talk, you can treat yourself here.
Yet still this breadth and influence pales compared to what he arguably did best and most enthusiastically – mentoring students. He did not advise me formally, but when I was a graduate student he was friendly and accessible, which since his admission to hospice I have learned he was for many other people as well. Like the enduringly resonant concepts in The Audible Past and other books, bits of his advice still ring in my ears, and I pass those tidbits on to other students now. His letters of recommendation for his own students were inspired, indeed among the most thoughtful I’ve ever read. He respected his students enormously, and on their behalf wrote long, detailed letters in which they were cast as mature thinkers, and their scholarship as a serious project.
There are many scholars whom we might memorialize for their published contributions, but we should reserve a higher space for those whose mentorship commitments were as deep as Sterne’s. For all of his critical insights, he was motivated in the end not by status but by community, which the outpouring of sadness at his passing reveals above all. Farewell, then, to an architect of sound studies who, safe to say, was also widely loved.
***
JS was a HUGE day one supporter of Sounding Out! His belief in us helped the blog grow in innumerable, weird, and wonderful ways. JS gave us some crucial shine way back in 2012, when he generously published his post on the Casseroles Protests in Montreal before expanding it for print. JS really, really got what we were up to with SO! and we deeply appreciated his encouragement to “keep it weird” when it came to this thing called sound studies. Always, JS, always! and thank you! –JLS, SO! Ed
PS: We encourage you to leave “Sterne stories” and other memories of Jonathan in the comments to this post.
—
Benjamin Tausig is associate professor of music at SUNY-Stony Brook University, and author of Bangkok Is Ringing: Sound, Protest, and Constraint (Oxford, 2019) and Bangkok After Dark: Maurice Rocco, Transnational Nightlife, and the Making of Cold War Intimacies (Duke, 2025).
Recent Comments