So a signs into her YouTube account for the first time in seventeen years and compiles over 900 playlists, including the of progressive math-rock band 90 Day Men, an album from hyperpop/chiptune darling and portions of the original soundtrack from . There’s no punchline to that one. Let me explain.
Despite an entirely separate paid product — YouTube Music — vanilla YouTube’s sometimes spotty enforcement of copyright has made it a goldmine for music, especially the kind that’s niche, and possibly unavailable on legal streamers. Dedicated channels for screamo, doom metal or acid jazz, for instance, are regularly uploading rare releases, and searching for nearly any artist and “full album” will typically return the desired result no matter how obscure. In some cases, albums are uploaded as a single, lengthy video with timestamps indicating where one track ends and the next begins; in others, individual tracks are uploaded and compiled as playlists.
In recent months, however, countless tainted playlists have cropped up in YouTube search results. Engadget compiled a sample of 100 channels (there are undoubtedly many, many more) engaged in what we’ll refer to as playlist stuffing. These had between 30 and 1,987 playlists each — 58,191 in total. The overwhelming majority of these stuffed playlists contain an irrelevant, nearly hour-long video simply titled “More.”
The robotic narration of “More” begins: “Cryptocurrency investing, when approached with a long-term perspective, can be a powerful way to build wealth.” You’d be forgiven for assuming its aim is to direct unwitting listeners to a shitcoin pump-and-dump. But over the next 57 minutes and 55 seconds, it meanders incoherently between a variety of topics like affiliate marketing, making a website and search engine optimization. ( the entire transcript if you find yourself pathologically curious.) What’s odd is there’s no link to any scam page, no specific business the video directs a listener to patronize. Its description simply reads “Other stuff I’ve recorded and edited that I hadn’t released until now, a special for my biggest fans with footage never seen before!”
For all its supposed advice on making easy money online, its best example isn’t anything said in the video, it’s that “More” has amassed nearly 7.5 million views at the time of this writing — and it’s monetized.
It’s far from the only video of its kind. Many longer albums, like Mal Blum’s , Titus Andronicus’s and Slugdge’s are appear as stuffed playlists with “More,” “” and “.” Both are similar marketing slop; they have 3.7 and 3.5 million views, respectively.
Unscrupulous artists also seem to engage, on a smaller scale, in a less obtuse sort of playlist stuffing. The channel Ultra Sounds has garnered 4.1 million views on its song “The Pause,” after inserting it into — among other places — the Nine Inch Nails album . Anastasia Coope’s and , an album by shoegaze pioneers Drop Nineteens, are not made better for the inclusion of Murat Başkaya, an apparent Turkish rapper. Electronic dance group The Daring Ones have added a few hundred thousand views to several of their tracks by stuffing them into a variety of playlists, including one of last month’s new . Engadget attempted to contact these musicians on their content strategy but has not heard back.
“More” takes advantage of a very simple UI quirk. Besides there being no easy way to tell how many playlists a YouTube account has made (it loads them 30 at a time on scroll), search results show only the first two tracks of a given playlist. “More” is almost invariably inserted as track three. Unwitting listeners who click and tab away are greeted with irrelevant marketing jargon around seven minutes later — a scenario reflected in the often bewildered comments beneath the video.
Playlist stuffing would seem to contravene YouTube’s policies on and , which proscribe “playlists with titles or descriptions that mislead viewers into thinking they’re about to view videos different than what the playlist contains.” A glance at the channel to which “More” was uploaded provides a hint that something more insidious is at play than just playlist stuffing for ad revenue.
“More” is not the only video on the channel Hangmeas. The channel description states “I produce my own custom music videos with footage I record around East Asia where me and the locals sing and dance to traditional music from their cultures,” and sure enough its other two uploads are songs from Cambodian musicians — uploaded 18 years ago. The army of channels posting stuffed playlists containing “More” are all similarly ancient. One, , was created on December 26, 2005, only a few months after YouTube itself first launched. It now hosts over 900 playlists. The vast majority of channels engaged in this activity were created in 2006, and the youngest was claimed in February of 2009. In all likelihood, these accounts were abandoned long ago and have since been compromised, either by whoever is behind “More” or by a third party which sold access to these accounts to them.
Just like Hangmeas, several of these possibly compromised accounts have their channel descriptions, links — like the Myspace account for the aforementioned dominatrix — and old uploads intact. Viewing them in aggregate triggers a strange kind of melancholy, like finding the photo album of someone else’s family in a thrift store. Here’s two friends down a stretch of farmland; here’s a girl ; here’s 11 minutes off an ; here’s two girls in a department store; here’s Muse playing “Time Is Running Out” in Paris, 2006, rendered . This one’s just called “.” Its description reads “I’m cool.”
Unfortunately none of these channels had extant contact information. It’s impossible to know how the subjects of these videos feel about their old digital selves being leveraged for playlist stuffing. We can’t even know how many of these people are still alive.
Somehow, a raft of accounts old enough to vote logged back in, probably from very different parts of the world than where they originated, and churned out playlists at a rate no human being could possibly hope to achieve. YouTube, it seems, did not find this suspicious. We reached out to YouTube for comment and did not receive comment by time of publication.
Yes, amateurish, nearly two decade-old footage harkens to a simpler time, when being able to upload a video that the whole world could see — though much more likely it would be viewed by a couple of your friends, and then one reporter 18 years later — was still exciting. But the history of the internet seems to be contained here: The simple joy of connection, neglected on a megacorp’s servers, slowly co-opted by anyone trying to make a quick and dishonest buck.
Author’s note: I’ve included a list of the potentially compromised accounts ; if you happen to be the owner of one of them, I’d love to hear from you.
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