The Death of Intentionality - Industry Plants

If you follow my blog and/or newsletter, you're almost certainly the kind of person who knows about the magic of being an early believer in artists. I remember preordering Castle Rat's debut record and chomping at the bit to see how their medieval doom-metal rat lore would translate from live shows to a record. I felt the same electricity when a friend put me on to Geese a few years ago; they felt so totally untethered from corporate scripts.

With that background established, you can then imagine my whiplash at the latest online discourse, where gatekeepers are screaming the same exhausted phrase at both of them: "Industry Plant."

This isn't new, and it isn't unique. Whether it's a post-punk band finding its feet, a fantasy metal band swinging swords at human-sized rats, or Angine de Poitrine, the math-rock duo blowing up feeds in polka-dot suits, the verdict remains the same. If a band looks cool, sounds punchy, and takes off quickly, cynics assume there's some shadowy record executive who willed them into existence.

Today's obsession with "industry plants" doesn't actually expose the rampant corporate corruption that we know exists. Instead, it shines a light on a cultural blind spot at the crossroads of DIY theatrics and algorithmic feeds.

For far too long now, rock has been dominated by bands with no real theatrics or visuals. Just some guys dressed like they're running errands, looking down at pedalboards with the band name behind them. That's okay! Plenty of my favorite bands fall into that category, but it has created an environment where audiences desperately crave world-building.

Building an entire universe takes a massive creative expenditure. From Castle Rat's interdimensional medieval lore, to Angine de Poitrine's massive papier-mâché masks and body paint, to Ghost's church-dominated world, this is a way for musicians to make their live shows a fully immersive event.

Long before these bands were dominating TikTok feeds, they were playing obscure gigs in their respective hometowns before a licensing deal was ever signed. I also want to pose a question: If a major record label is going to secretly plant a band for a quick cash-out, why the hell would they choose a masked math-rock band that speaks its own language, or a fantasy doom band centered around the lore of the "Rat Queen"? If corporations are going to fund anything, it's going to be the most easily digestible, soulless people they can find, not a parade of freaks (positive connotation).

We are also simply living in different times. Friends getting together to create and play music isn't new, but the way their creations are consumed sure has changed. Before the era of streaming, if you were going to discover a small band, it was through word-of-mouth, college radio, or hanging out at local venues. It could take years for a band to break out of their local scene. That isn't the case anymore.

Now there's an algorithm for everything, and it pushes for maximum visual engagement, pushing bands into millions of feeds all at once. To a casual listener, Geese seemingly appeared overnight, fully formed, with top-notch production and a dedicated fanbase. What this casual listener didn't see were the years of small shows, practice, and self-funding that happened before a song went viral. In our age of disinformation, that blank space is immediately filled with a conspiracy theory.

The greatest shame of the industry plant accusation is that independent artists are chastised for creativity and clever marketing. Our world is inundated with music; you have to have some kind of identity that isn't solely sonic to be noticed. But when you are successful, and your lore or visuals work with the algorithm to push you into the cultural zeitgeist, fingers are pointed your way to accuse you of being a fake.

I am a firm believer, especially in our current climate, that we must practice radical optimism. But by dismissing these bands as "plants," you're letting cynicism pull the wool over your eyes, blinding you to genuine human creativity.