wizard

You can leave Spotify, but you don’t leave it completely until Spotify allows you to. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard just found out the hard way: They left the platform in protest of the CEO’s investmentsbut there are still his songs inside. The terrifying thing about it: they are not the ones who composed or recorded them. We go, or not. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard left Spotify in July 2025: it was a protest against Daniel Ek’s investments in military technology. Weeks later, however, they discovered that several of the group’s songs were still available on the platform. But they were not the originals, but rather instrumental versions that imitated the original songs, with the same artist name, identical titles and official covers. According to Platformer accountthese songs managed to accumulate more than 10 million views before being detected. The trick. Spotify presented these tracks as authentic. As a fan of the band tells Platformer, when playing ‘Deadstick’ from the album ‘Phantom Island’, what sounded was a simplified version, almost a cell phone ringtone, a kind of low-quality version. But without knowing the original song (and especially taking into account how fond of jokes and experimentation this unclassifiable and prolific band is) any listener could have confused it with the real song. The same thing happened with other songs on the album such as ‘Aerodynamic’ and ‘Grow Wings and Fly’. The article sparked a wave of protests that led Spotify to remove the content, confirming that it violated its anti-phishing policy. There are currently no songs from the group on the platform. It is not an isolated case. According to data from the company itself published in September 2025Spotify has removed 75 million tracks classified as spam over the last year. The consulting firm Luminate estimates that about 99,000 songs are uploaded daily to streaming services, often through distributors that do not verify the identity of the artist. The situation is accentuated on other platforms, in what seems to be a widespread problem with a clear trigger: the ease with which songs can be generated using AI. Deezer, for example, counted this same month which receives more than 50,000 tracks completely generated by artificial intelligence every day, 34% of all the content that reaches its servers. 70% of AI-generated music plays, he says, are unauthorized songs or songs that replace real artists. The Ghost of The Velvet Sundown. In June 2025, a band called The Velvet Sundown reached more than one million monthly listeners on Spotify. Its promotional photos had that artificial appearance characteristic of images generated by AI, and its members did not exist on any social network, but the group started with 550,000 monthly listeners after being recommended by the platform’s algorithm. After weeks of denying the accusations, those responsible admitted it was an “artistic provocation” created with artificial intelligence. His songs are still available on Spotify. The dead artists. However, in terms of impersonated artists, the case of deceased artists is more disturbing: numerous songs generated by AI began to appear in official profiles of deceased musicians. The page of Blaze Foley, country singer-songwriter murdered in 1989, received new songs. It also happened with Guy Clark, a Grammy winner who died in 2016, Sophie, an electronic artist who died in 2021, and Uncle Tupelo, Jeff Tweedy’s former band from Wilco. All of these tracks were uploaded by distributors without any verification and remained active for weeks before being detected. A systemic problem. Although Spotify is the visible head of this chaos, there is a real mess at many points on the diffusion scale. For example, distributors like DistroKid allow massive topic uploads without verifying the real identity of the artist. In the aforementioned September communication, Spotify announced new anti-spoofing policies and an anti-spam filter, but at the moment its effectiveness has not been proven. For now, the King Gizzard case raises a devastating question: after abandoning a platform, you do not abandon it completely. Maybe you’ll never do it. Header | Paul Hudson