Heard Geese, the ‘saviours of rock’n’roll’? That might not be an accident

As someone who listens to music religiously, I try to block out a lot of the online hype whenever I come across a new artist.

Take American singer-songwriter Mk.gee, for example. “The modern-day Prince” got bandied around online so heavily after the 2024 release of his debut album, Two Star & The Dream Police, that it immediately sent me running for the hills. I only came around once a friend told me almost a year later that I should listen. It’s now probably one of my favourite records of the past five years, but it was the lost art of “word-of-mouth” that encouraged me to take the plunge.

There’s something to be said for the simple act of discovering music organically because, let’s face it, we’re saturated. We’re forever attuned to what’s on our algorithm rather than crate-digging at our local record store to find an album that beckons with its well-considered cover art.

The upside of this though is that more quirky, “hard-to-market” music has now been able to cut through and be successful. In a bygone era, bands that regularly had mainstream appeal like Ween and Primus were considered to have cult followings that the labels wouldn’t bother touching. By no means were their fan bases considered small, but they were niche and weren’t the types to also pick up a Boyz II Men record.

Streaming and social media algorithms have not only changed the way we consume music, they’ve also changed the way our musical psyches work. But the reception for the fourth album from New York-based Geese, Getting Killed, an album characterised by its brash, tumultuous songwriting, has illustrated the use of morally dubious industry practices.

I didn’t care much for this record when it came out, and I still don’t. Musically, there are plenty of interesting things about it, but what was most peculiar to me at the time was for how unconventional it was, the reception seemed disproportionate – so manufactured in its consent that it would have made Noam Chomsky raise an eyebrow. How did a relatively experimental band gain enough online traction to become what The Guardian has labelled “the saviours of rock’n’roll” in less than a year?

Last month, the co-founders of popular US digital marketing agency Chaotic Good, Jesse Coren and Andrew Spelman, joined a Billboard panel at South by Southwest (SXSW) to discuss how songs go viral in 2026 and openly admitted to manipulating online discourse for artists as a social media marketing tactic.

“All opinions are formed in the TikTok comments, which is a reminder to us of what we can help with,” Coren said. “I don’t know if this will make anyone feel better, but a lot of what we do on the narrative side is controlling the discourse. Most people see a video … and that first comment they see becomes their opinion, even when they haven’t heard the whole album. It’s really important for us to make sure we’re ahead of it and controlling that narrative in the direction we want.”

In essence, what Chaotic Good manufactures for its clients is a “grassroots” movement. According to Wired magazine, it commands an army of fake social media accounts to flood the algorithm with an artist’s music, hiding tracks in the background of videos and staging “organic” interactions in comment sections through those same accounts to increase engagement.

Spelman calls it “trend simulation” – fandom designed to trigger the TikTok and YouTube algorithms. By the time a real listener discovers the artist, the “conversation” they’re joining is often nothing more than a well-funded marketing mirage.

Shortly after the Billboard panel, US musician and writer Eliza McLamb linked Geese’s online success directly to Chaotic Good’s client roster, where they were reportedly touted as a prime example of successful “narrative control”. Wired labelled the fanfare around the band a “psyop”(a planned use of communication or propaganda to influence behaviour). Chaotic Good has since removed these references from its website, but the connection remains a focal point for those wondering how much of the band’s “grassroots” acclaim was truly spontaneous and how much was a carefully executed plan.

While this may feel existential to some, today, these practices are not unusual in the music industry. Some may argue that it’s not that different to how it used to be. Putting up posters, standing on the street begging people to listen to your demo; it’s always been about creating your own hype, but to what end is at best questionable and at worst morally offensive because it treats the listener as a target to be manipulated, not someone to be connected with.

There’s no doubt Geese have earned their stripes and for people who genuinely love their music, it wasn’t just sly marketing that pushed them to become fans. You don’t become successful without your music being good, but practices employed by agencies such as Chaotic Good exemplify a growing class divide within the industry. It creates a “pay-to-play” landscape where the barrier to entry isn’t defined by just talent, but the capital required to manufacture the very “word-of-mouth” that used to be free.

For the real Geese fans, please don’t put a bomb in my car.

Benjamin Potter is the SEO editor of The Sydney Morning Herald. He is also a music writer and a local music producer.

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