Chappell Roan’s Grammy Speech Was a Trojan Horse

The most insidious propaganda appears to promote the opposite of what it truly seeks to implant in the public psyche. Because its true meaning is not explicitly stated, such messaging bypasses the conscious mind’s defenses and embeds itself in the collective unconscious before it can be critically examined. 

The brilliance of this kind of indoctrination is that it does not rely on brute force or overt coercion. Cloaked in the language of progress, justice, or common sense, it suppresses dissent before it even forms—because what kind of monster would challenge something so obviously good? 

In this way, we are persuaded to adopt a harmful agenda willingly, all while believing we are resisting it. The result is a culture in which millions of people fetishize their own disenfranchisement as a “virtue.” 

Chappell Roan’s Grammy acceptance speech encouraged this kind of delusion. As a person not lacking in their own delusional weaknesses, I do not say this from a high horse. I am well aware that I am riding a flea-ridden donkey, or groveling in the mud like a pig, but I digress.

Because I know someone will accuse me of attacking her from a place of pettiness or jealousy (in fact, they already have), let me be clear: I think Chappell is sincere—and I commend her for trying to leverage her platform for a good cause. 

But sincerity is irrelevant when discussing the impact of ideas. Even the most well-intentioned rhetoric can ultimately serve an agenda that harms the people it claims to uplift. What matters is not her character but the implications of her words:

“I told myself if I ever won a Grammy and I got to stand up here in front of the most powerful people in music, I would demand that labels and the industry profiting millions of dollars off of artists would offer a livable wage and health care, especially to developing artists […] record labels need to treat their artists as valuable employees with a livable wage and health insurance protection. Labels, we got you, but do you got us?”

Commendable, right? In the era of Luigi Mangione, how could any reasonable person possibly oppose her brave call for major record labels to provide artists with a “livable wage” and “health insurance”?  As one Chappell fan messaged me, “find something better to hate on.”

Yet, as an independent artist and student of music history, I cannot think of anything more important to “hate” on. It’s easy to point fingers at the obvious villains in society—the overt exploiters, the corporate overlords, the industry gatekeepers. But these targets are low hanging fruit. Few need to be convinced that they’re on the wrong side of history. 

More critical to examine are the ideas that masquerade as solutions while reinforcing the very mechanisms they claim to oppose. I’m called to dissect Chappell’s words precisely because so many people think they deserve to be celebrated. 

Sam Cooke’s manager lived by the following motto: “never take twenty percent of an artist’s earnings. Instead give them eighty percent of yours.” To this day, his (white) family collects royalties from Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.” In begging major labels to treat artists like “valuable employees,” Chappell normalized the structures that allowed this to happen, because being an “employee” means that you don’t own the rights to what a business sells. 

Her speech also perpetuated the idea that the right to healthcare ought to be tied to one’s employment status. By framing health insurance as something record labels should provide, rather than a basic human right independent of corporate benevolence, she reinforced one of the very mechanisms that keep workers—artists included—beholden to employers.

Under this business model, healthcare is not something musicians should have by default as citizens or human beings, but something granted to us by record labels if we are deemed “worthy.” In other words, access to medical care (which is free in nearly 70% of the world) becomes yet another carrot dangled in front of struggling artists; another reason to sign shitty and exploitative deals. 

She invoked the language of workers’ rights—“livable wage,” “health insurance protection”—not to challenge the industry’s exploitative foundations, but to reinforce them. Neoliberal progressivism, long since co-opted into the corporate sphere, cannot even imagine dismantling oppressive systems but offers feel-good catch phrases to make them seem marginally less cruel.

When demands like these are framed as revolutionary, they distract from real systemic change, ensuring that people remain dependent on institutions rather than reclaiming ownership over their work, their labor, and their lives.

At this point, you might be thinking, “You’ve listed out all the problems with her speech, but where are your solutions? Stop yapping and propose a concrete plan of action!”

I hear you. Just hold on for a sec while I step onto my soap box…

*Clears throat*

For the first time in history, musicians no longer need to sign away their rights to build a meaningful career. Thanks to the internet, independent artists can cultivate an audience, distribute their music, and sustain themselves financially without the backing of a corporate machine. 

“But artists shouldn’t have to do the work of running a business in addition to the work of creating their art!”

My response to this common complaint is simple: no one is forcing you to rely on your musical talents to pay the bills. If your goal is to make art purely for personal satisfaction, without the pressure of financial survival or public expectation, that’s fair—commendable even. But call it what it is: a hobby. And if the word “hobby” feels demeaning to you, ask yourself whether that reaction stems from an internalized, capitalist tendency to devalue work that isn’t profitable.

If you choose to pursue a career in this industry, however, be prepared to hustle—whether you get signed or not. The idea that a record label exec will recognize your God-given talent and make you a star overnight is as naive as it is disempowering. In a world where creative brilliance is as common as the air we breathe, feeling entitled to success because of one’s natural gifts is a narcissistic fantasy that keeps many artists from fully embracing the work, strategy, and dedication that are actually required to cultivate lasting success. 

Let’s not forget that nowadays, major labels won’t even consider signing you unless you’ve already built a following online. In other words, they want to swoop in and claim a piece of the pie only after you’ve finished baking it. This is the reason why their primary selling point is no longer artistic development, but sheer visibility. The only real “benefit” they provide is a level of mainstream fame that, given its well-documented costs, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

If you still believe that achieving megastardrom—the kind that makes it impossible to walk down the street like a regular person and alienates you from the rest of humanity—will fill that insatiable void in your heart, let me bring you back to reality. Even if you do get signed, there’s a 99% chance you’ll be dropped before you ever gain any recognition.

Major labels operate on a numbers game—their entire business model is built on signing as many artists as possible, knowing that only about 1% will become profitable. The rest? Collateral damage. At this point, the question becomes: Why would you gamble your life’s work away on a system that sees you as disposable? 

A few people have slid into my DM’s to argue that only the most privileged artists can afford to invest in their work without relying on the financial stability a record label supposedly provides.

First of all, we’ve already established that labels don’t develop artists anymore. Whether you like it or not, artists must learn how to grow their “brands” before anyone else will consider investing in them. This is the work that separates an amateur hobbyist from a professional.

More importantly, a record label advance isn’t free money; it’s a debt that must be recouped before an artist ever sees a dime in royalties. If you don’t believe me, take it from Frank Ocean. In a 2019 interview, he said, “I’ve been independent since 2016 […] I’ve got amazing credit, so if I need a loan, I’ll go to a bank.”

While financially struggling artists usually don’t have “amazing credit” and often face immense pressure to prioritize immediate survival over long-term growth, that doesn’t mean signing a predatory record deal is the only option. The urgency of making ends meet can make exploitative offers seem like a lifeline, but better alternatives exist.

As James Blake recently pointed out, groundbreaking new agencies and platforms now offer label services without the exploitative contracts, allowing artists to access funding, marketing, and distribution support without relinquishing ownership. Many of these teams operate on a fairer model, taking only a cut of what they help you generate. This means that there are ways to fund and advance your art without paying out of pocket or signing away your intellectual property. 

The industry will always try to convince you that you need it more than it needs you. That without its approval, you will remain invisible and irrelevant. But the landscape is changing, and artists no longer have to choose between financial desperation and major-label exploitation. 

Last year alone, 50% of Grammy winners operated independently of major labels. Don’t be the artist who sacrifices your future in exchange for mainstream clout. I beg you: don’t allow industry execs to build generational wealth for their families on the back of your work. 

The world does not need more creatives restrained by corporate interests. Rather than hoping to be treated like “valuable employees,” it’s time for us to pioneer a new frontier; to reject the system rather than begging it for breadcrumbs.