When the Music Industry Becomes the Toxic Ex

Lola Young fainting on stage wasn't just a viral clip. It was a metaphor, one we've been ignoring for too long. Because if you zoom out, every indie artist I know is already fainting in their own way, working 9-5 just to turn around and pull a night shift on their real dream. Writing, booking, marketing, performing, posting, praying. It's not a career path, it's a double life.

And what happens when you "make it"? The grind doesn't stop, it only shifts. Labels don't say, rest. They say, push. Push harder. Push numbers. Push streams. Push content until your voice cracks and your body follows.

Meanwhile, the culture outside of music is shifting toward something else entirely. Healing has gone mainstream. Authors and speakers like Yung Pueblo are on the rise. Apps for meditation and sleep are billion-dollar industries. There are wellness brands for everything from your skin to your inbox. Everywhere else, rest is sacred. But in music? Exhaustion is still a business model.

And now labels are even signing AI artists. Don't get me wrong, I love AI and the ways it can open doors for new voices to express themselves in music. But an AI artist is the industry's vision of the perfect worker: no breaks, no therapy, no fainting on stage. Just streams, streams, streams. If the culture of push-push-push had a mascot, it would be an algorithm with a record deal.

I think about Motown sometimes, how they turned artist development into an art form. They didn't just throw singers on stage and say, "good luck." They gave them coaches, stylists, choreographers, an ecosystem of support. Out of that came something bigger than music: a sound that defined a generation. Motown proved that when you invest in artists, you don't just make hits, you make history.

It was proof that caring for artists could create cultural impact. But somewhere along the way, that ritual of development was replaced with a race, and the finish line became nothing more than numbers on a screen.

And here's the thing: the music industry does need record labels. They've been the engines that made it possible for artists to reach national and global stages. Whole genres spread across the world because labels had the infrastructure to amplify them. The problem isn't that labels exist; it's how they've lost sight of the balance between supporting artists and squeezing them for numbers.

Sometimes I think the music industry is that toxic ex in the city, you keep coming back because the highs are electric, the love is intoxicating, and the memories taste like forever. But then you wake up on the bathroom floor, wondering if it has to be this way.

Could labels adapt to the culture of healing? Could contracts come with therapy sessions, creative sabbaticals, even the radical permission to pause? Could "artist development" mean developing the whole artist, not just their numbers?

And I couldn't help but wonder...does the music industry want artists who actually last, or just artists who are marketable for a moment and disposable the next?

What do you think? Are we building an industry for longevity, or just chasing the quick hits? Comment below.

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PS: If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, you're not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, mentor, or professional for support. Your well-being matters more than any number on a screen. And for the creatives, keep reaching for your dreams, but always remember you matter most. And for the music industry professionals and record labels that center their artists, thank you. And lastly, special shout-out to Shea Rose, founder of Embodied Voice & Yoga, who approaches artist development with wellness and holistic practices, putting the artist at the center.

With love & grit,