I Speak, But No One Listens: Art as Expression vs. Art as a Commodity

Even if you’ve never heard any other songs by Outkast, odds are that you’ve heard their hit single Hey Ya!. Written in the year 2000 and released in 2003, André 3000 should not have had to give interviews elaborating on the meaning of the song’s lyrics. He should not have, and yet one particular lyric from this track remains evergreen to this day:

“Y’all don’t wanna hear me, you just wanna dance”.

The music industry has not changed much since those days. We like to think it has; genres within the music industry have undeniably evolved, with hip-hop being one of the more obvious examples when one compares the work of, say, Kid ‘N Play with that of Tyler, the Creator. As an industry, however, music has remained just as steadfast as other art-driven industries. Most musicians looking to pay the rent with their guitar must kneel to the whims of the market and of the dominant record labels—your Universal Music Group, your Sony Digital Media, and so on. Auteurs must cleave to their independent labels and do their part to keep said labels afloat for as long as possible, lest they and their colleagues die in the water.

But let us consider, for a moment, just what I mean by “auteur”. I will illustrate with two examples; neither figure is known in the music scene, yet they are iconic enough in their own industries that anyone exposed to either film or video games will understand my meaning.

Who Is an Auteur? – Spike Lee

I will begin with a figure from my home country, the United States. Shelton Jackson “Spike” Lee was born in the year 1957 on March 20th, growing up in an era where Black communities in the southern states risked, in the most literal sense, life and limb to fight against the tyranny of unjust Jim Crow legislation and the dual systemic-interpersonal power of the Ku Klux Klan. Black people of the generation of US Americans known collectively as “Generation X” (“Gen X” for short) spent their developmental years bombarded with imagery and rhetoric that emphasized the idea that no one outside their own communities wanted them present or even alive—not to say this was not true of past generations, rather that these ideas were purposefully concentrated during this time period in response to the civil rights movement of the 1960s in particular. When one looks at Spike Lee’s work, any denial that this era has influenced his perspective and beliefs only looks increasingly foolish.

After an education in filmmaking at Morehouse College, Lee continued that education at New York University Tech School of the Arts, winning a Student Academy Award for his film “Joe’s Bed Stuy Barbershop: We Cut Heads” in 1983. The film that launched Lee’s career came only two years later with “She’s Gotta Have It”. However, the most well-known of his films (especially for being snubbed at the Academy Awards, earning only two nominations for Best Original Screenplay and one for Best Supporting Actor) came four years after that, with the premiere of “Do the Right Thing” in 1989. The story of “Do the Right Thing” established a recurring element in Lee’s films that strongly supports, if not proves, the idea that racial tensions in his childhood held heavy influence in his artwork; this element, of course, being racial tensions. What reportedly broke Lee’s heart more than the film receiving no nominations for Best Picture was that the award instead went to “Driving Miss Daisy,” which Lee considered reliant on “safe” racial stereotypes.

This is only the tip of the iceberg concerning Spike Lee and his filmography (as I have not even mentioned his docu-drama epics such as “Malcolm X” or “4 Little Girls”, or his adaptation of David Benioff’s novel “The 25th Hour”), a catalogue as prolific as it is powerful. But perhaps I should address and answer the question likely on our readers’ minds: “Okay, he sounds great. But what makes him an auteur?” The answer to that is simple—Spike Lee makes films to express his views and opinions through an artform he loves deeply first and foremost. While one can argue that profit was more of a concern for Lee in some of his films than others, it would be wrong to assume any of Lee’s films were made solely to make a quick buck. Spike Lee made films first to say what he needed to say, and secondly, for a love of filmmaking.

This is made most evident when comparing Spike Lee and his studio, 40 Acres and a Mule Filmworks, to fellow director/producer Adam Sandler and his studio, Happy Madison Productions. At the same time, Sandler did produce (and even star in!) what I would call “working-class classics” such as “Billy Madison”, “The Waterboy”, or “The Wedding Singer”, many of the films Sandler became involved in following these successes became more formulaic and cynical in the hopes of milking what had clearly become a cash cow. At one point, I recall hearing a rumor that Sandler’s Happy Madison films were often just pretenses for taking his friends on vacation to their chosen shooting locations. I still have little to no doubts that this is true. Of course, this is not to say Sandler does not put out the occasional passion project, nor that these films are not good nor successful, but do yourself a favor and compare just how many films contain Adam Sandler’s true artistic expression rather than what he knows will make him money, then compare Spike Lee’s films in the same manner. It becomes that much clearer which of these men has something to say and which man only seeks to build his fortune.

With this basic idea established—that an auteur is defined by their creation of art for the sole or primary sake of self-expression—let us move on to an example of an auteur more familiar to my generation. This figure creates just as much for the sake of expression as he does for the want of contributing to what he finds cool.

Who Is an Auteur? – Hideo Kojima

Kept you waiting, huh?

Hideo Kojima is the designer, writer, director, and producer of the Metal Gear and Death Stranding series. Born in Tokyo on August 24th, 1963, Kojima’s influences were a far cry from Spike Lee’s in tone and content. His family’s abrupt move from Tokyo to Osaka led to a period of isolation for the four-year-old Kojima, who spent most of his time indoors, watching television and playing with his figurines. His parents fostered a love of Western cinema in a young Kojima, particularly for European horror and ‘western’ films, by taking him to the movies regularly to get him out of the house. This influenced the themes we see throughout his career in video games.

Of course, Kojima had written and designed other games, such as “Snatcher” in 1988 and “Policenauts” in 1994, but the Metal Gear franchise was what made him a household name among millennial and early Gen Z gamers. Kojima designed the first game in the Metal Gear series, though the port of that game was made by a team wholly unaffiliated with the game’s original designer. After the same team made a sequel to that game, again without Kojima’s input, a friend of the then fledgling designer asked him to create a “true” sequel to the first game; this was “Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake”. “Metal Gear Solid” was, in fact, the third game in the franchise, though this was where the various artistic and philosophical influences on Kojima’s writing and direction in cinematography, game design, character design, and so on shone through the brightest.

Let me be clear about one thing right now, however: nobody is claiming Kojima’s plots make perfect sense. Nobody is claiming the details he prioritizes make sense. I can’t even really say his humor makes sense all the time. But what we can’t deny is that Hideo Kojima, first and foremost, creates for the sake of saying something while showing a deep love and appreciation not only for the medium of games, but also for art itself.

What I consider to be the crown jewel of the Metal Gear Solid series, “Snake Eater”, was known not only for its cutting critique of war, of jingoism, and of generational trauma, but for its stunning visuals, moving storytelling, and beautiful music reminiscent of old film scores—particularly for its main theme of the same name, taking just as much clear inspiration from the James Bond films as the game’s cinematography and writing.

Oh, and as I said before, we also can’t deny that Kojima made this series, as well as Death Stranding, because he finds the aesthetics and concepts of dystopian cyberpunk noir to be fucking cool. Kojima is an auteur in the purest sense of the word. We see this much more clearly in Metal Gear Solid’s spinoff series, Metal Gear Rising, where the critique of the war economy and the government’s control of information is counterbalanced by what I can only describe as hype moments fueled by sheer adrenaline and testosterone. Still, Kojima’s works on the whole are made with plain intent and love.

Much like Spike Lee and Adam Sandler, comparing Hideo Kojima’s works to games like Fortnite or to government-endorsed, pro-war propaganda like Call of Duty makes the definition of “auteur” startlingly clear. Games like Fortnite or Call of Duty prioritize profit over quality writing or immersive experiences that challenge one’s philosophies while touching their hearts. Micro-transactions, season passes, loot crates, and so on are pushed in favor of stories that keep an audience hooked; when good storytelling fails, designers instead rely on creating an artificial dopamine loop that secures further profit. Hell, I would argue this is most evident when looking at what Konami did with Metal Gear Solid V, and what became of the company and the Metal Gear franchise following Kojima’s departure. Kojima was an auteur trapped in a corporation beholden to industry; he created art when his superiors wanted a product.

How, then, does this tie back to music and its corresponding industry? Let me shine a spotlight one more time, particularly on two creators the music world and its fans know quite well by now. Now that it is clear who is an auteur and who is not, who creates art and who produces commodities for an industry, we shall revisit the most recent David-and-Goliath story in music.

The Paradox of “the Art Industry” – Kendrick Lamar vs. Drake

This section doesn’t really need any introduction. Unless you lived under a rock during 2023- 2024, you know what happened between Kendrick Lamar and Aubrey Drake “Drake” Graham. Just to cover my bases while saving time, I’ll give the briefest possible summary:

In 2013, Kendrick first hinted at a dislike for Drake on Big Sean’s track, “Control”. Sneak disses were traded between the two for the next decade. On Drake’s track “First Person Shooter” featuring J. Cole, Cole claimed that he, Drake, and Kendrick Lamar were the “Big Three” of hip-hop. Kendrick disagreed, to put it lightly, and made this known on Future’s “Like That”. J. Cole attempted to respond with “7 Minute Drill” on the aptly-named EP “Might Delete Later”. He deleted it and publicly apologized, which, at the time, many considered a cowardly move—including Drake, who came out with his official response track, “Push Ups”. He then followed with the infamously G-d-awful “Taylor Made Freestyle”, taunting Kendrick with AI voice-clones of Snoop Dogg and Tupac, all while posting to social media that Kendrick was essentially ceding ground to Drake by taking his time in responding to the disses.

Kendrick did not take kindly to this, but he took his time about it. His response tracks in turn, “Euphoria” and “6:16 in LA” (the latter parodying Drake’s typical song-naming convention of a time of recording followed by his current location), made clear that he was getting very tired of Drake’s aggression and hyper-focus on making music that could be played in a club rather than making music that really says anything. The former track racked up countless streams right away and continues to be streamed to this day; vexed, Drake decided to strike back with “Family Matters”.

It is imperative to understand that I am not exaggerating when I say that Kendrick released his next diss, “Meet the Grahams”, twenty minutes after “Family Matters” was globally released. I am also not exaggerating when I call this track the most terrifying piece of music put on wax. I say this as a fan of black metal. “Meet the Grahams” seethes with confrontational hatred that, while justified, leaves the unprepared completely stunned; “Meet the Grahams” is to music what Stephen Gammell’s illustrations in “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” are to visual art. On May 4th, as Drake was still reeling, Lamar released “Not Like Us”, a track that needs no explanation because even people who don’t know how this beef started know this track. It was the last track of Kendrick Lamar’s set during the 2025 Super Bowl. The fucking Super Bowl.

But something the less media-literate failed to understand was just why Kendrick held such contempt for Drake (well, outside of Drake’s deadbeat fatherhood and predilection for underage girls). Let me be the one to decode it for any such people in the crowd: Drake, in essence, packages and sells the experiences Kendrick lived through—which he, himself, never had—as a commodity. Kendrick, in turn, uses his experiences to create art. While Kendrick certainly is not immune to collaborating with an artist for the sake of a check (see his previous, albeit brief, partnership with Taylor Swift), he is far closer to an auteur than Drake ever could be.

But why, then, could you not throw a stone on Spotify back in 2018 and 2019 without hitting a Drake song? I am far from the first to make this point, and I am certain that so long as the music industry operates the way it has and does, I will not be the last: Drake’s labels wanted you to hear his music more than they wanted you to find the auteurs that create art you personally resonate with. A recent lawsuit alleged that during these earlier-mentioned years that the stream count of Drake’s music on Spotify in particular was being artificially inflated by use of a bot network; as a result, millions were minding their own business and listening to their favorite artists, only to be suddenly accosted with a bizarre and unexpected recommendation of Drake’s music, no matter how much his work contrasted with whatever track one was listening to before.

The industry does not care for auteurs. It is content to let genuine artists starve in the gutters. The industry has its carefully-selected golden geese, and they will force anything that looks close enough to a golden egg right down our throats whenever they get the chance. Such is the fate of art as a commodity.

Conclusion: Creation for the Sake of Creation is a Revolutionary Act

This is the paradox of an industry built entirely around and upon a means of human expression. It is too risky to try to sell authenticity, as it risks alienating a majority audience through over specificity. By all accounts, Hideo Kojima caught a very lucky break when creating Metal Gear Solid, as his love of the arts and his multicultural background made his work inherently more universal. Auteurs such as Spike Lee or Kendrick Lamar are not without their loving audiences and devoted fans, but they will very rarely see the commercial success that those like Adam Sandler or Drake may by the very nature of the beast each of these figures wrestles with. Auteurs speak to a world that has been conditioned not to listen but instead to consume, to dance, to “turn their brain off” and devour the marketable-by-design slop poured into their trough.

In my opinion, this is what makes independent and DIY music inherently revolutionary. The artists we review on this platform could, at any point, sell their dignity and soul to make sterile, vapid products to rack up streams and views and all the profit these bring to themselves and their record label. Instead, these artists pursue their vision and cultivate truly appreciative fans through their genuine self-expression. If this article is to have any solid conclusion, then I suppose it would be an expression of my thanks to these artists and encouragement to continue creating art. Something emblematic of authoritarian right-wing governments is the censorship and repression of art like Spike Lee’s, Hideo Kojima’s, Kendrick Lamar’s, or yours. The push for generative AI over man-made art comes from an industry that wants nothing more than to remove the pesky human artist from the mass production of art, thereby taking the “arts industry” to its natural conclusion: the mass production of the subpar yet “safe”. I will emphasize: to continue creating for the sake of self-expression is, by nature, a revolutionary act right now.

So keep going. Keep creating. And keep it real.

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Written by Alexei Lee