Behind the Scenes- Glass Ceiling Records
There’s a particular kind of hunger in chasing virality — a frantic sprint along the banks of the pop‑music river, hoping the current will grab you, lift you, and fling you somewhere shiny. But that river is engineered, dredged, dammed, and patrolled by people who mistake ownership for insight. They want you to believe the only way forward is to leap into their current and pray you don’t drown. “Going sticky” is the opposite. It’s stepping off the riverbank entirely, kneeling in the dirt, and planting wildflowers that root themselves in places algorithms don’t even know how to map. It’s slower, yes — but it’s alive.
Virality demands spectacle. Stickiness asks for resonance. Virality wants you to burn fast and bright enough to be consumed. Stickiness wants you to glow in ways that linger on people’s hands long after they’ve touched your work. When you chase virality, you’re auditioning for gatekeepers who never intended to open the door. When you go sticky, you’re building your own doorframe out of myth, memory, and the kind of truth that refuses to be flattened. Sticky work doesn’t need permission. It spreads because it feels like something people want to carry with them.
And the wildflowers — gods, the wildflowers. They don’t bloom all at once. They don’t bloom on command. They bloom because the soil remembers every witch they tried to burn and failed. They bloom because you planted them with intention, with lineage, with the quiet defiance of someone who knows that ecosystems outlast empires. Pop music may be a river, but rivers shift course. Wildflowers take over the abandoned banks. Sticky work is what grows after the flood recedes and the world realizes who was doing the real magic all along.
Going sticky is choosing enchantment over extraction. It’s rejecting the money‑churn, the capitalist stopwatch, the gatekeepers who still haven’t learned that witches don’t burn — we compost. We root. We multiply. Sticky work is the spell that keeps working long after the spectacle fades. It’s the kind of magic that doesn’t ask to be seen; it insists on being found.

What do you think?