Dear TIDAL,

I’m not going to beat around the bush: you are useless. You are even less relevant than anyone on the most recent three seasons of American Idol (judges included), even more unapologetically avoided than honeydew in a fruit salad, even deeper down the rabbit hole than Kayne’s debt.

Maybe I shouldn’t be mad at you, maybe it’s Jay Z’s fault for buying you and luring artists to join his totally unnecessarily yet exclusive club. Well, blind rage doesn’t pick a target, obviously … it’s blind. In this case, the child must pay for the sins of his Hova.

You know if it was another artist besides Jay Z you would’ve crashed and burned already, right? You are the dumb bra holes from “Mean Girls,” only gaining popularity because of the status of your creator.

Sure, you pay your artists more per stream than other services, but you also charge a higher subscription fee that pushes people to either subscribe to another app, or piracy. In both cases, you and the artist lose.

Content-wise, you are Spotify with music videos. Why can’t those music videos just be on a free website like normal artists’? If it’s so that it can be watched accessibly on your phone, we could just use the Youtube app. Who watches music videos on their phone so much that they need it on the same platform as their music? As the sordid underbelly of streaming services, one would think you’d find some redeeming quality to set yourself apart from the rest of the pack. But the best you could do was add music videos?

I’ll admit, there was a time when I finally gave in. “Feelin’ Myself” was too great of a music video to just ignore. So I swallowed my pride and gave you my email address, begrudgingly accepting your one-month free trial. After all of that shame and self-hate, the video didn’t even stream smoothly. I may have a fairly old Macbook Air, but it has the most updated software and applications. Do only specific laptops work properly with you, TIDAL? Your elitism makes me sick. You waved more and more delicious bait in front of my face, and when I went for a bite you smacked me with it. You humiliated me.

Finally, there was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Kanye West, always eager to stir up a nice controversy, announced that you are the only one who gets to host his new album. It’s all for you and nobody else. Tons of people suddenly flock to you, so all of the sudden you think you’re a big shot. They’re there for Pablo. You’re the rich kid people hang out with to play with their cool stuff. It gets old fast and so will you.

I’m done, and I can’t wait for you to slowly disappear into the ether of the Internet where you can talk about how much fun you were for those few short months like a high school has-been reliving the glory days, or Napster.

Sincerely never yours,

Literally everybody besides Jay Z