I want you to imagine just for a second what
it actually takes to manufacture a truly global
pop moment in today's world. Oh, it's a massive
undertaking. Right. Like if you were sitting
in the war room of a major record label, what
would your strategy look like? Is it just about
having an undeniably catchy beat and, you know,
hoping for the best? Definitely not. Or is it
a multimillion dollar marketing machine working
tirelessly behind the scenes to force a song
into our collective consciousness? Or... And
this is the really fascinating part. Is there
something else at play? Something completely
unpredictable and organic that ultimately decides
whether a song becomes a flash in the pan or
a multi -year anthem? That's the real question.
Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today, we have a really
unique mission for you. We are looking at a single
source document. It's the Wikipedia page for
a 2023 track called One of Us by the American
singer -songwriter Ava Max. Honestly, it's a
fantastic exercise. Yeah. Because at first glance,
a Wikipedia page for a pop song might just look
like a dry list of release dates, a roster of
producers you've never met, and a bunch of chart
numbers from countries you've never visited.
Exactly. Just raw data. Right. But if you take
a step back and read between the lines, you start
to see the hidden machinery. This single page
reveals the entire anatomy of a modern hit. It
shows us how a song is built, the highly calculated
way it's deployed to the public, and how it can
leave a surprisingly specific, almost baffling
geographical footprint. Right. And we are going
to deconstruct this track piece by piece to see
that machinery in action. Okay, let's unpack
this by starting with the timeline. Let's do
it. Because the sheer speed of the song's initial
release tells us so much about the modern music
industry playbook. If we look at the dates provided
in the source, Ava Max officially announced One
of Us on January 10th, 2023. And she did this
via social media, just uploading a quick little
snippet of a music video. Then, literally two
days later, yes. Two days later, on January 12th,
the song was fully released digitally and on
streaming platforms through Atlantic Records.
Bam! out in the world just like that and it wasn't
even until january 27th that the official visualizer
dropped on youtube and for anyone who might not
be familiar with that term a visualizer is usually
just a looping graphic or a very simple animation
it acts as a placeholder to rack up youtube streams
before a high budget music video is ready which
is a very standard practice right and not coincidentally
january 27th was the exact same day the parent
album diamonds and dance falls was released that
highly compressed to day timeline is everything
you need to know about the modern attention economy.
Yeah. But if you look back at how things used
to be done, you had these traditional months
long radio campaigns. Oh, the buildup was huge.
Yeah. A label would send a physical single out
to radio programmers. They'd slowly build up
spins over weeks, tease a music video on television,
and then eventually, maybe two months later,
you could actually go buy the single. Today,
that strategy is completely inverted. The mechanism
now is a quick social media tease to gauge and
build immediate hype, followed by an almost instantaneous
drop. The reality is you have to capitalize on
that viral momentum before the audience gets
distracted by the next shiny object on their
feed. It feels incredibly intense. To me, it
really reminds me of someone hiding in your living
room, jumping out, shouting surprise, and then
immediately throwing the cake directly at your
face. That is a very visceral analogy, but it's
not wrong. There is absolutely zero time to process
the anticipation. You just get the whole thing
all at once. But looking closer at the release
history section, there is this bizarre outlier
that seems... seems to contradict that whole
need for speed approach. Ooh, the Italian radio
push. Yes. So the digital drop happens instantly
on January 12th for the whole world. But then
the song was sent to Italian contemporary hit
radio via Warner three entire months later. on
April 14th, 2023. And contemporary hit radio
is just the industry term for standard top 40
FM radio. So why the massive delay? If the goal
is immediate consumption, what is going on with
the three -month lag for Italian radio? You're
looking at the hybrid strategy in action. And
it's actually a brilliant piece of logistical
maneuvering. We tend to assume the whole world
gets music at the exact same second now. And
digitally, they do. But traditional radio operates
on a completely different timeline. Especially
internationally, right? Especially internationally.
Labels have to balance the instant global streaming
drop with delayed, highly targeted regional radio
pushes. Why Italy in April? Well, they were likely
looking at internal streaming data that indicated
the song was starting to naturally catch fire
in southern Europe. Oh, interesting. Or, perhaps
more strategically, they were prepping for the
European summer club season. By holding back
that traditional radio push until April, they
ensured the song was fresh on the airwaves right
as people were heading out for the summer. So
they're timing the physical environment. Exactly.
It's hyper -local micromanagement running entirely
parallel to a global free -for -all. So they're
essentially hedging their bets. They give the
internet what it demands instantly, but they
still play the long game with traditional media
where it makes geographical sense. Precisely.
It requires two entirely different marketing
brains operating simultaneously. Here's where
it gets really interesting. Because the way this
song was deployed is only half the story. The
other half is the actual DNA of the track itself.
If we look at the song's vital statistics, it
clocks in at a very brisk 2 minutes and 58 seconds.
Very standard for the streaming era. Yeah, and
the genre is firmly and definitively listed as
disco and dance. It's an upbeat, get -on -the
-floor track. However, if you read the critical
reception section of the source, the reviewers
specifically praised its ballad influences. Yes,
alongside her vocal performance and the lyricism.
Right, so we have a sub -three -minute disco
dance track that critics are openly referring
to. to as a ballad how does a track carry that
kind of weight when it's built for a club what's
fascinating here is that intentional contradiction
how do you fit the emotional weight of a ballad
and the rhythmic driving tempo of a disco track
into less than three minutes it sounds impossible
it does but this blending of high energy tempo
with heavy emotional ballad -like lyrical content
is practically a cornerstone of modern pop perfection
think of it as the Crying on the dance floor
phenomenon. Oh, I love that phrase, crying on
the dance floor. The tempo gets your body moving,
which makes the track universally accessible
and incredibly playlist friendly for streaming
algorithms. But the ballad -like vulnerability
in the lyrics is what actually connects with
the listener on a human level. It makes the song
stick in your head, in your heart, not just your
feet. That makes sense conceptually, but practically,
building something that complex and perfectly
engineered doesn't happen by accident. The source
lists the starting lineup required to build this
track, and it is a massive team. It takes a village.
Literally. It was written by five people. Amanda
Ava Kochi, which is Ava Max herself. Brett McLaughlin,
who goes by Leland, Caroline Allen, Henry Walter,
known as Circuit, and Matthew Burns. And then
it was produced by Circuit and Burns. So that's
five writers and two heavy -hitting producers,
all meticulously crafting every single second.
But doesn't that risk turning the song into a
Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen? How does a track
like One of Us avoid sounding like a chaotic
mess with that many people involved? It's a fair
question. But in modern pop music, having a large
team is less about a power struggle and more
about hyper -specialization. It's a highly collaborative,
iterative process, often born out of what the
industry calls writing camps. Writing camps,
right. In a team of five writers and two producers,
you rarely have everyone shouting over each other.
Instead, you might have one person whose soul
-obsessive focus is the baseline groove. Another
person might be an absolute master at crafting
the mathematical phrasing of the lyrical hook
so it perfectly fits the tempo. Someone else
figures out the emotional arc of the melody,
while the artist themselves ensures the narrative
feels authentic to their voice. It's a literal
architectural feat to pack all of that into under
three minutes without it sounding cluttered.
So it's more like an assembly line of specialists
rather than a garage band jamming it out. Exactly.
And the result is a track that functions on multiple
levels. I'd actually encourage you, the listener,
to do an experiment later today. Oh, I like homework.
Think about your own favorite upbeat, high -energy
pop songs. Put on some headphones and listen
closely to just the lyrics and the vocal delivery.
Ignore the bass and the drums. You might be surprised
to find how many of your absolute favorite party
anthems are actually secretly sad ballads in
disguise. Engineered by a team of specialists
to make you dance through the heartbreak. Precisely.
I am definitely going to do that. So we have
this perfectly engineered disco ballad assembled
by a team of specialists and pushed out with
a cutting edge hybrid release strategy. But where
does it actually land? This is where the Wikipedia
page starts to read like a slightly surreal geography
lesson. The global reach is wild. Let's look
at the scattered global chart performance because
it is all over the map. The source notes this
song hit number four on the Austria Airplay chart.
It went to number 13 on the U .S. Hot Dance Electronic
Billboard chart. Over in New Zealand, it hit
number 32 on their Hot Singles chart. Oh, the
South Korea one. Yes, it pops up at number 92
on the South Korea BGM Circle chart. And we should
clarify what that specific chart is because it's
fascinating. BGM stands for background music.
It tracks the songs that users in South Korea
are purchasing to use as background music for
their social media profiles and blogs. Wow. It's
a very distinct metric of cultural resonance
that goes beyond just passive radio listening.
That adds such a cool layer to it. People are
actually choosing this song to represent their
online identity in South Korea. And the global
reach doesn't stop there. The source also highlights
a massive targeted presence on the Monitor Latino
Angle charts. Right, which specifically track
the performance of English language music on
Latin American radio stations. Exactly. And one
of us hit number eight in Bolivia, number 14
in Uruguay, and number 16 in El Salvador. Those
data points are incredibly revealing because
they completely dismantle the old idea of how
a hit song travels. Decades ago, a song usually
broke out in one primary country, say the U .S.
or the U .K., and then slowly rolled across the
globe like a monolithic ways, country by country.
Like a slow infection. Exactly. Now, because
of streaming and a hyper -fragmented Internet
culture, you have an English -language disco
track dominating specific Anglo charts across
South America while simultaneously getting radio
play in Austria and being used as profile music
in South Korea. It's everywhere all at once.
It proves that modern pop music doesn't just
come... But looking at all this regional data,
there is one anomaly here that I found genuinely
puzzling. Of all the global markets, this song
didn't just chart in Hungary. It basically took
up permanent residence there. The Hungary numbers
are incredible. And I don't just mean it had
a good week. I mean, it became an institution.
Let's walk through these Hungarian numbers from
the source because they tell a wild story. In
2023, the year of the release, it hit number
eight on their dance top 40, number seven on
the radio's top 40, and number eight on the single
top 40. That is a solid, successful launch. Right.
And on the year -end charts for 2023, it was
a respectable number 67 on the dance chart and
number 16 on the radio chart. a very healthy
lifespan for a modern pop single usually that's
where the story ends the label moves on the algorithm
moves on right but that's not what happened if
we look at the 2024 year -end charts the song
actually climbed it went up a year after its
release it went up to number 32 on the year -end
dance chart and number 38 on the year -end radio
chart and by 2025 which keep in mind is two full
years after the song was initially released with
that two -day social media hype cycle It was
still charting on the year -end Hungarian Dance
Top 40 at number 43. That kind of longevity is
just staggering. In an era where, as we discussed
earlier, songs are mathematically designed to
capture attention for a few weeks to feed the
content machine. One of us. somehow became a
multi -year staple in hungarian dance clubs it
defied the gravity of the attention economy it
completely did and this highlights a really beautiful
truth about the mechanics of the music industry
the massive marketing budget the carefully coordinated
january release strategy the delayed italian
radio put all of that is just infrastructure
it starts the song's journey and pushes the boat
away from the dock but the cultural resonance
in a specific region. The fact that a track just
clicks perfectly with the vibe of the clubs in
Budapest year after year, that is what gives
the song immortality. You can engineer the launch,
but you cannot engineer that kind of long -term
love. The audience just decides. It's a great
reminder that despite all the data and algorithms,
the audience always gets the final say. But even
knowing that an audience might unexpectedly adopt
a song for three years, the label and the artists
still have to build a broader framework for these
songs to live in. They can't just drop singles
into the void. You need a plan. And that brings
us to where One of Us fits into Ava Max's broader
career arc. If we look at the timeline of her
studio albums in the source, she released Heaven
and Hell in 2020, then Diamonds and Dance Floors
in 2023, and her recent album Don't Click Play
in 2025. One of Us wasn't just a random song.
It was very specifically the fifth single from
Diamonds and Dance Floors. It was sandwiched
in a chronology right between a track called
Dancing's Done from late 2022 and a track called
Ghost later in 2023. But why push a fifth single?
By early 2023, the album was already out. Why
not just move on to the next project? Because
of a concept called era building. Era building.
Yes. When an artist at this level... releases
an album they aren't just releasing a collection
of 12 or 14 songs they are establishing an era
this includes a specific visual look a specific
sonic profile and a cohesive narrative it's an
entire world by the time you get to a fifth single
from one album the artist and the label are working
to squeeze every single drop of value out of
that album cycle and a massive part of that value
is touring ah so releasing a new single gives
them an excuse to keep the tour going exactly
Touring is where the actual financial backbone
of the industry lies today. By stretching an
album cycle to a fifth single, like One of Us,
the label justifies keeping the artist on the
road, adding another leg to a tour, or booking
another string of festival dates. That makes
total sense. You aren't just selling a song.
You're selling the aesthetic of the Diamonds
and Dance Floors era for an extra six months.
It keeps the artist in the cultural conversation,
satisfies the streaming algorithms that demand
constant new pushes, and gives the album multiple
chances to find different audiences. One of us
served as the perfect mid -era anchor to keep
that momentum going strong before they eventually
transitioned to the don't -click -play era in
2025. It really is like watching a masterclass
in modern pop architecture. We started with what
seemed, on paper, like a simple, upbeat, 2 minute
and 58 second track. But when you break down
this single Wikipedia page, you realize it's
actually a meticulously crafted disco ballad.
It really is. It required a team of five highly
specialized writers and two producers to perfect
the tension between the lyrics and the beat.
It required a hyper calculated two day social
media drop, carefully balanced with the delayed
targeted European radio strategy. It required
a global net that somehow capture audiences in
places as diverge as El Salvador, Austria and
South Korean social media profiles, ultimately
taking on a life entirely of its own to become
a multi -year indestructible dance anthem in
Hungary. A global puzzle. So what does this all
mean? If we connect this to the bigger picture.
It forces us to reconsider how we define success
in the music industry today. We place so much
emphasis on the first 48 hours of a release.
True. We obsess over the viral social media tease,
the immediate streaming numbers and that hyper
compressed hype cycle. But this source material
raises a really important question for you to
consider. If a song's ultimate, most enduring
success can quietly thrive in a specific country's
dance clubs for years after its initial release,
how much of a song's hit status is actually determined
by that highly engineered initial launch? And
how much of it is simply about the music organically
finding its perfect, unexpected home? The machine
can definitely make you listen to a song once,
but only the music itself can make you dance
to it two years later. The machine starts the
fire, but the audience decides how long it burns.
Thank you so much for joining us on this deep
dive. Hopefully you'll never look at a Wikipedia
page for a pop song the same way again. And seriously,
next time you're out somewhere and a massive
dance track comes on, take a second to focus
on the lyrics. Look for that ballad hiding inside.
You might just find one. Until next time, keep
exploring.