When I checked the monthly Spotify listener count of my favorite artist for the first time in weeks, I was hit with a bone-chilling, horrifying realization: they were getting famous. I felt the words “niche” and “underground” escaping my lexicon the very second I processed the white letters on my screen spelling out “1.1 million monthly listeners.”
My sister introduced me to Jane Remover in my junior year of high school. Their main digicore-hyperpop tracks as well as their more experimental side projects, available under the names Venturing and Leroy, feature genre-bending combinations of rage, rap, and rock that were novel to sixteen-year-old me. Despite this, it only took one song, “Magic I Want U,” for them to become an immediate favorite. Since then, they have consistently crowned my list of top artists. Conveniently, their underground status, until now, conveyed that I was the adequate level of tapped-in.
My sister and I both experience the same mysterious phenomenon in which our music histories regularly feature those with listener counts in the tens and profiles so enigmatic only the most dedicated college radio show hosts and music journalists could fathom their existence. But the explanation behind this phenomenon is not so mysterious: we suffer from a desire to be niche.
This desire to be engaged with anomalies, whether that be in streaming arcane artists or participating in unusual hobbies, stems from wanting to deviate from mainstream culture. We view being peculiar and individualistic as synonymous with being cool. Seeking out unique interests can be a way to discover identities separate from algorithms and increasingly corporate-driven trends that often feel like participating in mob mentality rather than fun, uniting activities. However, this desire can also be a foolish one. After all, enjoyers of mainstream artists and media reap the benefits of participating in a robust fanbase as well as having a way to relate to many others. Bonding over shared pursuits is a tried-and-true method of creating close-knit groups both online and in-person: frequent fan meetings and concerts, a Louvre’s worth of fanart, and prolific Tumblr blogs penned by ardent and eloquent enthusiasts. Restriction to esoteric interests robs oneself of these communities.
Getting lost in hyper-individuality in the obsession with being niche can also devolve into a signal of exclusivity and become itself a performance. Gatekeeping, or blocking someone else’s access to information or a particular community, is an especially performative practice that uses exclusion to bar other people from enjoying a wider range of experiences. Admittedly, this is a practice I am guilty of.
I do not entirely reject the mainstream. I keep up with the latest fads and will tune into whatever cheesy Netflix show is trending each summer. Music is where I become territorial over my uniqueness. I pride myself on being one of the early riders of the hyperpop-electronic wave before it took over everyone’s playlists. I gatekeep artists. My listening history spans foreign countries, SoundCloud links, and obscure indie spaces.
On September 22, I saw Jane Remover in concert after losing the Ticketmaster war during their past two tours, unheard of for me due to my niche taste. Taking a 7 a.m. Amtrak and powering through three classes on four hours of sleep the next day was worth what I can confidently label as the best night of my life. Packed into Terminal 5, one of New York City’s most notoriously overcrowded venues, I remained in the very back of the building in order to avoid getting crushed by the ruthless pit. I jumped during their most hype tracks, scream-sang along with the crowd at their most popular hits, and teared up when they sang “In the Dark,” an introspective ballad released through their side project Venturing.
The opener and DJ throughout the concert, Dazegxd, was a flawless hypeman with an opening setlist that got the crowd moving and set the stage for Remover. The venue’s flashing lights and screen-projected visuals complemented Remover’s abrasive, electronic music-heavy set. The majority of Remover’s setlist featured their most recent glitchy-rage album Revengeseekerz as well as their, more pop-oriented EP Heart. However, most songs were reworked with more dramatic beat drops and noisier choruses. They also performed two unreleased songs, including “Push,” one of my favorites of the night that mixed yearning lyrics with maximalist, gritty rhythms.
One of the best parts about concert-going is meeting people with similar music tastes. While I waited in the ever-lengthening line, I struck up a conversation with the person behind me, who was wearing a handmade dress inspired by the Southern Gothic aesthetic of another artist I loved, Ethel Cain. Later, in a room full of thousands singing the same lyrics, I felt a sense of belonging and inclusion.
Through the haze of my post-concert depression, I arrived at two major conclusions.
First, Remover deserves the fame and every single one of their 1.1 million monthly listeners. Their quick-rising and ever-growing popularity was a natural product of their undeniable talent, not to mention their ability to unify the noisy mess of a crowd with just their music. I started to feel as though it was not my place to gatekeep them or want to constrict their audience when their music and performance clearly merited a transcension of the underground scene.
Second, community is nice! Niche is overrated. I enjoyed being among the crowd, connecting with others, and seeing the sea of alternative outfits and colored hair, reminiscent of Remover’s own red dye, as much as I enjoyed seeing my favorite hits live. I realized that I had been tired of revelling in nicheness. I no longer mind that Remover’s listener count increases every time I take a breath. In fact, the prospect of being in a stadium filled with their fans at their next concert excites me.
There is beauty in supporting little-known ventures, in exploring the infinite amount of artists that are still waiting to be heard. Appreciating music beyond the typical scope of trending tunes, traditional radio stations, and social media platforms expands one’s palate and worldview. The problem lies in doing so with the intention of adding to a performance of nicheness. Fueling a competition of “Who liked it first” or “Who knows more underrated music” is toxic and unproductive.
All this to say, I will continue to seek out unsung artists. My listening history will still feature artists of all genres and levels of success. However, rather than gatekeep them or feel superior to others not in the underground loop, I plan on recommending them to anyone who will listen.
