the signal and the noise, or we should destroy the industry

the music industry exploits. the music industry kills. technology made the means of production and distribution easier than ever, but instead of finding freedom in artistic expression, the vultures multiplied and the institutions entrenched deeper into abuse. the confluence of commodity fetishism merged with the parasocialism of blue checkmark influencer personalities has created an ecosystem of commerce and influencers worth tens of billions of dollars, if not more, and every day new acts are masterminded in skyscraper board rooms. these so-called artists are not bad people, but ultimately their survival hinges on their ability to be an advertising platform, for companies to co-sign them to signal their cultural capital, wokeness, or 'coolness'. it's the easiest way to buy an ethos: buy a soul. i have encountered at least two dozen people who have gone "punk rock" in the last three years, the only thing punk about them is a stereotype of an aesthetic.

the year is coming to an end and everyone shares their accomplishments and streaming numbers on instagram, a toy that has become mark zuckerberg's remaining source of relevance in the under 35 anglo-american empire (his exploits overseas, especially in the global south, continues to thrive). spotify streams are now a status signal, an indicator to a 24 year old's parents, ex-girlfriends, and the 30 year-old a&r's they seek to impress that they are succeeding, despite their inability to tour or sell a t-shirt. meanwhile, 45 year-olds build artist development pipelines -- pump and dump schemes where young talent, bankrolled by their trust funds, assemble songs and curate vibes into corporate-approved EPs to sign them off to major label feeders, taking a paycut off commision and repeating the process. money is cheap in the era of tiktok, but recouping advances? next to impossible.

things have always been like this. music has been manufactured since the phonograph was invented, hell, even the sex pistols were put together by sleazy business types who dressed an ignorant group of british boys up like dolls. but the spectacle has accelerated, and with each layer of makeup we tile on top of reality, we enter deeper hyperrealities, copies of copies of copies. and your average music-maker, which seems to be everyone's older brother or high school friend these days, lacks the conviction to do anything different but join them. you can't blame human psychology, and for many artistically inclined twenty-somethings, conforming to the music-instagram-influencer subculture is the only path that is laid out in front of them. you succeed by following the rules, just like in school. it's a little ironic when they pretend to dress like rebels, but i ultimately have to sympathize. for the rich kids, embarrassment from being no more famous than some random 'loser' on bandcamp is enough to kill them. for the not-so-rich kids, well, we have crushing financial realities of the 2020s on our throats. i'll sing any nursey rhyme to stay relevant, or whaever it is that we're being told to do these days.

i have a feeling -- just a tiny hunch -- that this is kind of bad for humanity. i don't know about you, but maybe the arts are important for intrinsic and instrumental reasons that glue our very beings together, like ligaments for the soul and society. music is intrinsically important because it informs the deepest parts of who we are. i remember being 14 and listening to 'fake plastic trees' by radiohead for the first time, and i was overwhelmed by an ineffable feeling of prescience for the inevitable loss of innocence that would follow me as i entered the ninth grade. it was not a feeling i had felt before, only to find it reflected in song. rather, it pointed at a new feeling, creating it for me, and ever since then i could find it in all sorts of quiet, melancholic moments in my life, and my world was made richer and more beautiful because of it. music sensitized me. music is instrumentally important because it serves as a critique of the world we live in. i remember listening to 'one trillion dollar$' by anti-flag, and i was overwhelmed with anger at the violent injustice perpetuated by the governments and adults around me. that moment ignited a fire that has persisted. i saw the darkness around me but knew i was not alone, that i could fight it by finding others who felt the same way i did when they heard that song. it was emancipatory. i was set free.

i have spent over a decade trying to create those two feelings, those two justifications for making music the most powerful, guiding force in my life. i have spent years trying to find it, nuking my previous life and moving to a new continent in search of counterculture. i wanted to find the new punks after CBGB shut down, the misfits who were programming a new cure for the cancerous excesses of society. they weren't there when i arrived. i found only the bright lights of america and her northern puppet state, where they sell souls and turn pretty boys and hot girls into puppets to perpetuate an out of control machine that eats us alive. every year, a new rapper flashes their wealth in a luxury mansion while another tent goes up in an encampment. every year, a new LA trust fund baby finally unlocks more cash from their grandparents to fund their own narcissism while a newly single mother picks up a second job. i have found hundreds of you people, and as more content is added on splice, the likes of you multiply every year.

i've always believed that artists are supposed to be powerful. i don't think signaling your "data driven", metricized influence to stay relevant in today's 15-second attention economy is an act of power. powerful people stand for something. if you don't stand for anything, if you only signal the replication of the mass media spectacle, then your so-called music has no power. it's noise. you've been playing unplugged your entire life. when your 15 seconds are up, will we hear from you again?