Music
Records got louder for thirty years, and the reason was competition rather than taste
The loudness war was a rational response to how music was encountered. Understanding what was traded away explains a great deal about how older records sound.

This is less a set of instructions about loudness and dynamic range than an argument, and it is worth saying so at the start.
The argument in brief
- Perceived loudness rose by compressing dynamic range, not by raising the maximum level.
- The incentive was comparison: a louder track sounds better when heard next to a quieter one.
- Streaming loudness normalisation removed most of the competitive advantage.
The physical limit and the workaround
Digital audio has a hard ceiling, so a record cannot simply be made louder by turning the whole thing up once it reaches that ceiling. What engineers can do is raise the quiet parts, which reduces the distance between loud and quiet and lets the average level sit higher.
That distance is dynamic range, and reducing it is what makes a record sound loud without exceeding the ceiling. Compression and limiting are the tools, and both have been used musically for decades before anyone was competing on level. The war was not about using them but about how far they were pushed, which increased steadily as the tools improved.
Why the incentive existed
Listeners comparing two tracks at a fixed volume reliably prefer the louder one, an effect measured repeatedly in listening tests. Radio programming, jukeboxes, shop playback and later playlists all put tracks next to each other at a common setting. Any artist or label whose record sounded quieter than the one before it was at a disadvantage that had nothing to do with the song.
In the mix, the rational response was to master louder, which raised the baseline and forced everyone else to follow. This is a classic escalation with no natural stopping point, which is precisely why it ran for as long as it did.
What gets lost
Heavy limiting flattens transients, meaning the initial attack of a drum or a plucked string loses its edge relative to the sustain. That reduces the sense of impact even as the overall level rises, which is why some very loud records feel oddly inert. It also reduces contrast between sections, so a chorus arriving after a quiet verse no longer lands as an increase.
In extreme cases the waveform clips, introducing distortion that is audible as a harshness on cymbals and sibilants. None of this is universally bad, and some genres use exactly these artefacts deliberately, but it becomes a problem when applied by default.
How normalisation ended the arms race
Streaming platforms generally play back at a normalised loudness, turning louder masters down so that tracks match each other. That removes the competitive benefit entirely, because a heavily limited master ends up at the same perceived level as a dynamic one. What remains is the cost: the compressed master has lost its dynamics and is now merely quieter in peak terms.
Here is what the choice buys: engineers responded by mastering with more headroom again, since there is no longer anything to gain from pushing.
Different services use different targets and implementations, so the effect varies, but the direction of the incentive has clearly reversed.
Why old records sound different
Music mastered before the escalation typically has considerably more dynamic range, which is why it can seem quiet on a modern playlist. Turned up, those records often reveal detail and impact that a modern master has traded away for level.
Structurally, vinyl reissues sometimes use a different, less compressed master because the format cannot physically accept extreme limiting. That is the honest basis for the claim that vinyl sounds better: frequently it is a different master rather than a superior medium. Checking whether a release lists separate masters is more informative than arguing about formats in the abstract.
Budget and streaming figures are rarely audited and frequently strategic.
Listening for it yourself
Play a track and watch whether the quiet passages feel genuinely quieter, or whether everything sits at a similar apparent level. Listen to cymbals and consonants, since limiting artefacts show up there first as a slightly gritty or pumping quality. Notice whether the drums push the rest of the mix down momentarily, which is audible compression working across the whole track.
On the call sheet, compare an original release with a later remaster of the same album, where the difference is usually immediate. None of this requires equipment beyond decent headphones and the willingness to listen to the same thing twice.
The takeaway
Loudness was never a quality; it was a comparison advantage, and the comparison has been taken away.
Popularity and craft are two different measurements, and both of them are real.
Questions readers ask
Is compression always bad?
No. It is a core creative tool and most records that sound good use it heavily. The issue is aggressive limiting applied purely to raise level.
Should I turn normalisation off?
Only if you listen to whole albums in isolation. With mixed playlists it prevents jarring level jumps and removes the incentive that caused the problem.
Also by Sanjeev Pillai
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