But in a lot of ways, Beyoncé is just reprising the way things used to be done.
"It's a positively 1978 release that she's got going on here," says Casey Rae, director of the Future of Music Coalition. "Limiting availability is inherently old-school."
Of course, it's old school because before the Internet there just weren't that many ways to make music available. You bought the record, and then you owned the record. Now, when music can flow instantly around the world in a second, artists use a practice known in the industry as "windowing": They stagger releases so that the product first goes out in complete form to CDs and radio, then to digital downloads and, finally, to streaming services, maximizing revenue from people who want to have the product sooner.
That's a nightmare for streaming services like Spotify, which want to be the go-to places for new music and argue that artists should care first and foremost about reaching a large audience. But it's fantastic for old-fashioned terrestrial radio stations: They can buy the album and play it all day long, paying royalties to the label and the songwriter as mandated by their blanket licenses with performance rights organizations like ASCAP. ClearChannel, in particular, was over the moon with Beyoncé's narrow release. "It made people rush to the radio," the media giant's president of entertainment enterprises told the New York Times. "We were thrilled."
Now, just because Beyoncé did it, that doesn't mean everybody else can do it. In this case, her unparalleled social media reach amplified the longstanding practice of limiting releases, driving 828,773 people toward her chosen platform -- which also happens to be the one with the highest margins -- in its first three days. A few other megastars may be able to pull off the same maneuver, using the element of surprise to generate buzz.
Everybody else, though, is likely stuck with the real imperatives of modernity: working hard, day in and day out, to get paid.