When protest becomes strategy: The political marketing of music

The final performance by The Strokes at Coachella ended with something no one expected. Images of Gaza, Iran, and decades of U.S. military intervention were projected as the band played. A direct critique of the CIA and the current geopolitical landscape, set to their song Oblivius, asking — more than singing — “What side are you on?”

The video disappeared within hours. The copies didn’t. Within a short time, five million views on X — and a question that lingered: was this a political statement or a visibility strategy engineered to perfection?

Probably both. And that’s precisely what makes it interesting.

In today’s music industry, authenticity and strategy are no longer opposites. They coexist — and often depend on each other. “The most effective cultural actions tend to have a dual nature: they can be authentic and, at the same time, commercially useful,” explains David López, Full Professor and Associate Dean of the Full-Time MBA at Esade, with whom we discussed this viral moment.

The interesting question is not whether the gesture was “real” or “calculated,” but how protest becomes a mechanism of cultural distribution. In an ecosystem shaped by algorithms, fragmented attention, and identity-building through networks, dissent does more than challenge — it circulates, positions, and builds brands.

From provocation to positioning

For years, the music industry thrived on personal scandal — feuds, excesses, controversial statements. Today, the focus has shifted. Political controversy doesn’t just attract attention — it builds identity.

Sharing content is no longer just a reaction; it’s a statement.

“A political clip works as content, but also as a social signal,” says López. “Sharing it doesn’t just mean you like it — it means saying: ‘this is where I stand.’”

This shift follows a clear logic: content no longer seeks consensus; it seeks intensity. In López’s words, “content doesn’t aim to please everyone — it aims to be intensely relevant for some and sufficiently irritating for others.” In this context, indifference is worse than rejection.

When the message stops belonging to the artist

The video quickly accumulated millions of views. It was deleted, replicated, reinterpreted, cut into ten-second clips with conflicting subtitles. And this is where something crucial happens: the message stops belonging to the band.

“When a political message enters viral logic, it no longer fully belongs to the artist. It belongs to circulation,” López explains.

What began as a broad critique of U.S. foreign policy became, depending on who shared it, “The Strokes against Trump,” “Coachella allows propaganda,” or “Julian Casablancas censored.” The network doesn’t preserve complexity. It preserves what fits into ten seconds.

It’s a paradox familiar to anyone who has followed a Twitter thread: the further a message travels, the more it mutates.

Coachella and the system paradox

Coachella knew what would happen — and allowed it. That adds an uncomfortable layer: can a political gesture remain disruptive when it happens within a global, sponsored, highly commercial platform?

“It’s no longer a rupture from outside the system, but a tension within the system,” López points out. The festival doesn’t eliminate conflict; it manages it and turns it into part of its visibility logic.

The paradox is clear: the same stage that amplifies the message also domesticates it. “To have mass impact, you need the stage — but the stage also softens part of that impact.” The Strokes know it. Coachella does too.

Authenticity, consistency, and storydoing in the age of AI

In a context where storytelling has become cheap, any artist, brand, or institution can generate emotionally sophisticated narratives in minutes. What differentiates is no longer telling a good story — but proving it.

“In branding, consistency is one of the main sources of credibility,” López explains. Casablancas has spent years signing pro-Palestinian petitions, building a public image critical of corporate power and U.S. institutional politics. That’s why the Coachella moment wasn’t ideologically surprising — though its scale and execution were.

When there is a prior trajectory, the gesture reads as continuity, not opportunism.

This connects with Ty Montague’s concept of storydoing: the strongest brands are not those that tell values, but those that turn them into visible actions. In the age of AI, this becomes even more relevant: words can be generated; sustained behavior is harder to fake.

“Credibility today lies not only in storytelling, but in storydoing,” López summarizes.

Activism or spectacle?

The closing performance raises an inevitable question: is this activism or spectacle?

“It can be both — but they are not the same,” López warns. “A spectacular ending uses politics to generate emotional intensity. Activism implies continuity, risk, and action beyond the stage.”

The difference lies in trajectory. A gesture with real reputational costs, embedded in a consistent line of action, leans toward activism. One that remains at the level of aesthetic protest leans toward spectacle.

In The Strokes, López sees both elements. The strength lies in the combination: without prior consistency, it would feel opportunistic; without strong execution, it might not have spread.

More sophisticated audiences

Today’s audience doesn’t just consume — it audits.

Part of the discussion on X focused on timing: The Strokes waited until the second weekend to show the most explicit version of the montage, while the first weekend was far more subtle. Many interpreted this as a calculated move to avoid backlash or restrictions.

They may be right. Or not. But the interpretation itself reveals something important: audiences fully understand that the music industry is also a risk management industry.

“Authenticity is no longer claimed — it is collectively scrutinized,” López says. A powerful message is not enough. It must withstand analysis of context, timing, and incentives.

The weight of the messenger

The comparison with Kneecap — who performed at the same festival a year earlier — is unavoidable. The Northern Irish group denounced that their pro-Palestinian messages were cut from the official broadcast and later faced political backlash and visa scrutiny. The Strokes, by contrast, were received in a more institutionally acceptable way.

The same message does not carry the same weight depending on who delivers it.

Kneecap activates a frame of conflict and suspicion. The Strokes activate a frame of prestige, nostalgia, and artistic legitimacy. As López notes, drawing on classic source credibility theory by Hovland and Weiss: “The messenger doesn’t accompany the message — it transforms it.”

Visibility as a battleground

The Strokes’ Coachella performance is not an isolated case. It is a symptom of something deeper: visibility has become the main cultural battleground, and protest is one of its most effective tools.

“The interesting question is not whether it was authentic or promotional,” López concludes. “The question is how an authentic action can also become a marketing asset.”

There is something slightly uncomfortable in that answer. Not because it is cynical, but because it is honest. In contemporary culture, authenticity and calculation do not exclude each other. Sometimes, they reinforce one another.

And if that makes us uneasy, it may be because we still want political gestures to exist outside the market — while the market has long been learning how to absorb them.