Once upon a time, “Prophecy Productions” was a seal of quality. It was a name that stood for aesthetics, atmosphere, and a certain kind of positive elitism. But it seems the smell of money (or is it just a lack of hygiene?) has finally overpowered the stench of a rotting conscience. The latest news coming out of the German camp provokes more than just confusion—it induces straight-up nausea.
Martin Koller, the eternal captain of this sinking ship, has sung us songs about artistic freedom for years. “We are against censorship,” “we stand against cancel culture,” “music is apolitical”—we know the drill. It’s a beautiful smokescreen, behind which it turns out to be very convenient to hide a total lack of a spine. And now we see where this brainless tolerance leads: the label has turned into a laundromat for the reputations of literal cannibals.
Just look at their fresh announcements. The Arkhangelsk-based band Moon Far Away. At first glance: Neofolk, tradition, the “Russian soul.” But that soul, apparently, was sold long ago—and not to the Devil, but to a military recruiter. These guys aren’t just “apolitical.” They featured on the compilation Donbass: The Dead Won’t Forget (released by a pro-war Z-label), the proceeds of which go directly to supporting the occupiers. Meaning, when you buy a Moon Far Away vinyl from Martin Koller, you are effectively chipping in for ammo for the Russian army. How’s that for European pacifism?
Or take the Italians, Spiritual Front. Simone Salvatori, the premier “suicidal pop star,” stopped hiding his sympathies ages ago. The man openly admires Putin, reposts Z-propaganda, and acts like the Kremlin’s typical “useful idiot” on the European stage. And what does Prophecy do? Tear up the contract? Issue a statement? No. They keep pressing their records, pretending that supporting genocide in the center of Europe is just an “alternative point of view.”
This isn’t freedom of speech anymore, Herr Koller. This is complicity.
But the most uncomfortable, burning question right now isn’t for Koller (he’s a lost cause; money doesn’t stink, even when it’s covered in blood). It’s for the other artists on the label.
Prophecy’s roster holds dozens of bands. Among them are those who have openly supported Ukraine, raised humanitarian aid, and spoken out against the war. How does it feel, guys, to sit in the same catalog as people who cheer for the bombing of Ukrainian cities? Are you cool with your band’s name sitting next to the logo of a label that profits from those who literally wish death upon you or your friends?
The moment of truth is here. Silence in this situation is a sign of consent. The option to “sweep it under the rug” and pretend you’re just musicians who didn’t notice anything doesn’t work anymore. This is a stain that no amount of sold-out shows or limited edition pressings can wash away. Either you enter into open conflict with management and demand they cut the Z-trash from the roster, or you admit that your contract matters more to you than your conscience.
Prophecy Productions has made its choice—they’ve opened the doors to 21st-century fascism. Now it’s the musicians’ turn: stay in this tainted house, or save your face.
References for those who still think “it’s not that black and white”:
- Simone Salvatori and his love for Putin: Side-Line Magazine
- Moon Far Away on the Z-compilation: Discogs
Finn McFrame, celebrated satirical mastermind and self-proclaimed “Emperor of Irony,” started his illustrious career as a cinematographer, where his expertise in capturing every single frame of a squirrel stealing a baguette earned him accolades at obscure film festivals.
Born in the glamorous town of Boring, Oregon, Finn grew up with dreams of being a Hollywood director until he realized that satire, not cinema, was his true calling—or at least the one that let him sleep until noon.
Finn McFrame: changing the world, one satirical lens flare at a time.
