Week 8 Radio - Protocol to Free Britney

Week8 radio: Tessa Feline Charlie Imre Zuhui

lets collect things hihi

Protocols

Scripts

Stolen and adapted from "Unlicensed: Bootlegging as a creative practice", Ben Schwartz, Valiz, |Tessa's script

Stolen and adapted from "Unlicensed, bootlegging as a creative practice"

I. Cover Version

A cover can envelope the work, but it can also open it up. The best covers tend to create space; between the original and the copy or reproduction, between the artist and the artist, between the thing and everything else. A cover ask what is possible whithin what is given, a theft shows what's possible whithin what's given. Cat Burns recently stole "Teenage Dirtbag", made it black, female, queer. Is that even the same song? Maybe we're asking the wrong questions. Maybe it was never about copying. Maybe it was about stealing all along.

Maybe she just translated language through feelings. Because lately, I, Ben Schwarz/ Tessa/ Anyone reading, have been thinking of theft as a translation. A translator must find what is "unfathomable, mysterious and poetic" in the original and interpret this as the essence of a new language.

Coleman Barks, rumi translator, is known for his translations that prioritize feelings over fidelity. As such, a bootleg, a cover, a theft, must aspire to be greater than a reproduction. It should open up space for the possibility to transform, and even transcend.

However not all of them are created with such noble aspirations, as some people see covers as a mimetic practice. In the global subculture of celebrities impersonations, which involves an intense competitive circuit, greatness is defined by how closely one can get to becoming Michael Jackson, the king of pop, or Britney Spears, princess of the same kingdom. There's no intent to adjust or update, rather the self disappears and in its place, is a red latex jumpsuit, blond hair, and a bright smile. At the core, a mimetic cover is an homage. But a cover's ability to celebrate its source can go further, and in doing so can become something else, such as an interpretive cover.

According to Anthony Huberman, an homage falls somewhere between admiration and research. A tribute maybe? A cover opens up the possibility to express admiration in a way that emphasizes affect over effect. I love it over I get it. We find things that other people wouldn't think of finding there.

"Respect" was originally a song by Otis Redding, in which he demands respect from "his woman" after a long day at work. But the "Respect" most of us are familiar with is Aretha Franklin's rendition. The track surpasses a stylistic interpretation; the most powerful change for the track is actually the context of the word respect, considering the realities of Franklin as a black woman in the late 60s, early 70s. The song became a demand for something that could no longer be denied. She had taken a man's call for respect from a woman, and flipped it. The US had never heard anything like it.

The track demonstrates that even in repetition, there's always a "quality of difference". A cover is never just the same thing, but rather a progression or regression. If a mimetic cover repeats and a transformational cover shifts, then a transcendant cover stutters. Despite the necessity of a cover to work within the limitations of its predecessor (it said originalm but we've established before there's no such thing as an original piece of work), there remains a possibilty for these structures to be manipulated.

Ownership of identity script | Zuhui's Script

https://pad.xpub.nl/p/ownership_of_identity

inspired by the monologue from The Fall of the House

+ stealing lines from k-pop industry forum

**read it with a tone of jaded, pop industry sociopath with the lack of humanity on steroids**

"When you find an artist, don’t just make them a star. Stars burn out, stars fade. No, make them a channel. Something you can tune into, subscribe to, binge-watch. Get the fans hooked on their content, not just their music. You’re not just creating a musician—you’re crafting a 24/7 stream of brand identity, a character arc you can control, a personality you can update, reboot, and reformat whenever the metrics demand it.

First, build the ‘backstory.’ Get the fans to feel like they discovered them, saw them raw, saw them 'before they were polished'—because, of course, we want to think they’re real. But filter it, sculpt it. Get them singing in their bedroom, voice notes in the shower. They’re ‘just like us,’ but on-brand. Every little imperfection, every hint of vulnerability should be carefully curated, because authenticity is the premium package these days.

Then? Optimize. Decide what’s trending and wrap it around them. Are people nostalgic for the ‘90s? Put them in vintage tees and scrunchies. Are they craving dark, edgy vibes? Send them to a therapist for ‘rehabilitation’ and make sure they’re caught reading existential philosophy book on a park bench or something. You’re crafting a lifestyle, something the fans can live vicariously through. They’re not just an artist—they’re an aesthetic.

Now, give them a show. Not an actual show, of course—people don’t come for the real story. Give them an ongoing soap opera, something that the fans can’t look away from. Stage every relationship, every heartbreak, every tweet that ‘accidentally’ goes viral. Let them unfollow and re-follow their exes, post cryptic lyrics that fans can analyze, make every week feel like an episode with cliffhangers. And always make sure they’re a trending topic, like they’re part of your daily news feed.

Then spice up the narrative. Create a storyline for their life, how hardworking young artist struggling in the pop industry, the tears, blood and sweat. Or blood, tears and sweat. The pain of clawing their way up to to ‘make it’. Every long studio night, every little setback, every ‘candid’ moment of self-doubt—it’s all part of their climb, their heroic rise.  Then package it, make it look authentic, make it feel real.

And to cement it? Make it cinematic. Plan a 3 episode worth Netflix documentary, or a 4 part YouTube series. Title it something like "Homecoming," “Raging fire" or “Break the silence"—something that sounds brave and  monumental. In Episode 1, they’re a raw talent, innocent, humble beginnings. Episode 2, they’re struggling, battling through the industry machine. Episode 3, the triumphant rise, the tears, the crowds chanting their name. Capture every tear, every raw moment as if it’s a revelation, like it’s truth.

By the end, the fans aren’t just watching an artist—they’re following a hero. They’re invested in the dream, hooked on the storyline. Every song, every lyric feels like a chapter in this grand epic you’ve orchestrated, every concert a triumphant return to the stage. People buy tickets to feel the victory, buy merch to feel part of it. You’ve made their life a myth, and the audience is paying to be part of the legend.

Now monetize. Their name? Trademark it. Their image? Copyright it. Release limited-edition merchandise every time they wear a new outfit. The only way the fans can ‘really’ get close is if they buy the backstage passes, the personal livestreams, the VIP meet-and-greets. People want access, and you make them pay for every inch. Release “exclusive” content on a premium platform, where they can read the artist’s personal journal or get a front-row seat to their self-care routine. Why not charge a monthly subscription? 7.99 to ‘follow their journey’— 12.99 for the deluxe tier. Depends on how much they care for their star.

But don’t just stop there. Expand. A product line, a skincare brand, maybe even their own fragrance. Because the fans don’t just want to hear them—they want to smell like them, live like them. Every piece of them is a potential market, every part of them something you can package, promote, and profit from. And if they ever get tired? Remind them that this isn’t just a career—it’s a community. Tell them they have a ‘responsibility to their fans.’ Make them feel guilty for wanting space, for wanting something real. Because they’re not just a person anymore—they’re a full-scale media ecosystem.

And if they ever try to escape it, ever try to post something unapproved, or say something that doesn’t fit the ‘brand’? Remind them of the contract. Remind them that their very name, their likeness, is company property now, like an algorithm you can turn on and off. And if they still want to leave? Start a rumor, leak a scandal, say they’re ‘difficult’ or ‘burnt out’—spin their exit as a plot twist, something you can use to rebrand them later. Make them a hashtag. ‘Free Britney.’ Start a petition. Because even rebellion, even freedom, we can monetize.

And then, once you’ve stripped away everything that made them real, everything that made them 'them'—you don’t even have to keep them. Because now you’ve got the blueprint. You can just create the next one. The perfect artist, but more streamlined. A new face, a new story, built exactly to spec. Because in the end, the artist isn’t the point. The story is the point, the brand is the point. And you can tell that story again and again, endlessly.

So sit back, watch the ad revenue roll in, and remember: you’re not just selling music. You’re selling a feeling, a fantasy, a carefully manufactured dream that keeps people coming back. And all it costs is a person."