Eris, goddess of strife, was the one guest not invited to the wedding — too much trouble, keep the chaos off the list. So she made a golden apple, wrote one word on it — KALLISTI, to the prettiest — and rolled it, quiet as you like, into the middle of the party. Three goddesses grabbed for it at once. The row picked a judge, the judge was bribed, the bribe was a married woman, and that is how you get the Trojan War. Ten years of ruin, out of one apple and one word, tossed in by the one they left outside.

Now here's why that three-thousand-year-old story is the most modern thing on this website. THEY'VE READ IT TOO.

The people at the top have one problem and only one: a crowd that stays together beats them every time. They can't win that fight. So they don't fight it. They do what Eris did — they roll an apple in. A wedge. A row engineered so it can never be settled. A culture war handed down like a gift to people who should be side by side, and then they step back and let you tear the place apart over it while they quietly carry the furniture out the back.

Every manufactured outrage is that apple. Every "both sides." Every scrap where they've got the skint fighting the skint, the worker fighting the migrant, your nan fighting your nephew — that's the golden apple, and it isn't Eris throwing it anymore. It's the house. The establishment learned the oldest trick in the book and turned the goddess of chaos into a middle-manager. Divide, and stroll off with the rent.

SO WE THROW A
DIFFERENT APPLE.

Discord's a tool. It cuts whichever way it's aimed. Theirs is aimed across — you at the person next to you. Ours is aimed up — the whole room's fury turned back at the top table that threw the first one. Same beautiful, uncontrollable chaos. We just roll it toward the people who deserve it.

Every song we make is an apple. And it's thrown up the hill.