The Industrial Complex: When Does a Band Become Just a Brand?
The Industrial Complex: When Does a Band Become Just a Brand?
If you take a scroll through the Bandcamp daily feed or check the latest releases on Metropolis or Out of Line, the health of the industrial and EBM scene looks surprisingly strong. There is no shortage of dark, thumping basslines, distorted vocals, and angsty synth leads being produced in bedroom studios from Berlin to Bogota. The creative spirit of the dark alternative scene is, thankfully, very much alive.
But if you zoom out a little and look at the economics of being a legacy act in the mid-2020s, the picture gets a lot more complicated – and a lot more corporate.
We are living in an era where the “Album Cycle” is effectively dead for major artists. The days of releasing a record, touring it for eighteen months, and then disappearing to write the next one are over. In the age of algorithmic streaming, where a play is worth a fraction of a cent, the “Band” is no longer just a musical entity. Itâs a lifestyle brand, a content farm, and a licensing machine.
And honestly? Weâre finding it harder and harder to decide if we hate it or if we just accept it as the price of survival.
Table of contents
The “Merch Table” Economy
It used to be that “selling out” was the ultimate sin in the industrial and punk scenes. If you licensed your song for a car commercial in 1995, you were done. You were a pariah. Today, if you get a sync deal for a car commercial, youâre popping champagne because it means you can actually afford to pay your rent and maybe fix the van.
This shift has led to some bizarre branding exercises. Weâve seen hot sauces from goth bands (because apparently, nothing says “darkness” like habanero peppers), weâve seen branded cheese from legendary metal bands, and weâve seen high-end fashion collaborations where a t-shirt costs more than a synthesizer.
Itâs a necessity. The music itself has become the “loss leader” – the free sample you give away to get people into the store to buy the hoodie. But at what point does the merchandise overshadow the music?
The High-Stakes Game of Licensing
This relentless hunt for revenue streams has pushed rock and alternative music into spaces that would have seemed unthinkable thirty years ago.
Take the gaming and gambling sector, for example. Itâs a massive industry, and itâs hungry for intellectual property that resonates with a specific demographic – namely, us. Itâs why weâve seen the heavy metal giants embrace the world of iGaming with open arms.
You might have noticed that bands like Guns N’ Roses, Megadeth, and Motörhead now have their own official online slot games. On the surface, it feels like a strange juxtaposition. Lemmy Kilmister was the ultimate rock and roll outlaw, yet now his digital avatar spins on a reel while someone tries to win a jackpot on their phone.
But if you strip away the initial cynicism, it makes a weird kind of sense. These bands built their image on excess, danger, and living fast – themes that fit perfectly with the adrenaline of the casino floor. Itâs loud, itâs visual, and it keeps the brand relevant to an audience that might not be buying physical CDs anymore. If trends at the sister sites UK players visit most often are to be believed, it might even be finding these acts a new audience – these branded slots are staggeringly popular.
The question for us, as fans of the darker, more electronic side of the spectrum, is whether this trend will bleed into our scene. Are we going to see a Front 242 slot machine where you have to match the “Headhunter” eggs? A Skinny Puppy game thatâs just terrifying noises and visual glitches?
It sounds absurd, but seeing how Rammstein has monetized literally everything else, we wouldn’t bet against it. The line between “artistic integrity” and “smart business” is blurrier than ever.
The Live Experience vs. The Hologram
This commercialization is also changing the live environment. Weâve been tracking the “Farewell Tour” phenomenon for years. How many times have Ministry or NIN said goodbye, only to come back three years later? KISS have unretired once already in the past twelve months, and who would bet against them doing it again?
We don’t blame them. Touring is the only place the money is real. But as our heroes age – and letâs face it, the pioneers of EBM and Industrial are not young men anymore – the industry is looking for ways to keep the show on the road without the actual humans involved.
Weâve seen the ABBA Voyage success, and the KISS avatars. It feels inevitable that the dark alternative scene will eventually face this dilemma. Kraftwerk basically prepared us for this decades ago by putting robots on stage. They were, as always, ahead of the curve.
Would you pay to see a hologram of Ian Curtis? Would you go to a club night where a generated AI version of VNV Nation plays a set? It feels dystopian, which, ironically, is exactly what industrial music has been warning us about for forty years. We are slowly living out the lyrics of the songs we danced to in the 90s.
The Physical Resistance
However, there is a counter-movement. For every digital licensing deal and branded slot game, there is a surge in hyper-physical media.
Vinyl sales in the industrial underground are stronger than they have been in decades. We are seeing a resurgence of cassette culture – not because it sounds better (it doesn’t), but because itâs tangible. Itâs a rebellion against the cloud.
When you buy a record, you aren’t just buying the audio; youâre buying a piece of the identity. Youâre signalling that you are part of the tribe. No amount of branded hot sauce or online slots can replace the feeling of holding a sleeve in your hands and reading the liner notes.
A Necessary Evil?Â
So, where does that leave us?
The industrial scene is currently split in two. On one side, you have the “Business of Darkness” – the big festivals, the legacy acts licensing their logos to anyone with a chequebook, and the inevitable creep of corporate sponsorship.
On the other side, you have the underground. The kids in basements making harsh noise on broken pedals, the small labels pressing 300 copies of a 7-inch, and the club promoters losing money to put on a show because they love the music.
Both are necessary. The big acts bring the new blood in. A kid might play a Motörhead video game, think the logo looks cool, and then go discover the discography. Thatâs a win. But the underground is where the blood pumps.
As we move through this complicated future, our advice is simple: tolerate the brand, but support the band. Buy the ticket, buy the vinyl, and maybe skip the branded coffee. Unless itâs really good coffee. Weâre not monsters.
Chief editor of Side-Line â which basically means I spend my days wading through a relentless flood of press releases from labels, artists, DJs, and zealous correspondents. My job? Strip out the promo nonsense, verify whatâs actually real, and decide which stories make the cut and which get tossed into the digital void. Outside the news filter bubble, Iâm all in for quality sushi and helping raise funds for Ukraineâs ongoing fight against the modern-day axis of evil.
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