From Chaos to Cult Obsession: Why Relentless Conviction Builds Unstoppable Brands

It was 2006. My old band Burn In Silence was on a huge metal and hardcore festival in Virginia, playing in front of 1,200 to 1,500 kids. The room was massive—tons of eyes on us—and we were stoked to throw down and try to gain some new interest that might convert into a T-shirt sale because we damn sure didn’t have a pot to piss in back then. This show felt like a massive moment for us to shine.

Well… for the next 25 minutes, it felt like a funeral. And not the awesome kind of gothic funeral I would have expected and enjoyed, but just pure, unrelenting misery. Bummed-out faces everywhere, dead quiet between songs. The crowd was so quiet you’d think the rapture had come and left us behind.

We even told our singer, "Don't say a damn word in between songs." Just keep the feedback rolling and grind through the set as fast as possible. We needed to get the hell out of there before the crowd started to turn on us like George in The Wedding Singer: “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”

But then... something happened. Something truly magnificent. Something that still gives me butterflies, even though I’m a psycho with a soft side.

The last song of our set was Angel Maker from our debut album. (If you're interested in watching a music video of me hyperventilating in a desert in California from heat exhaustion, don’t click here.) The final 60 seconds is a chaotic masterpiece—violent dissonant chords twisting under guttural screams, everything building toward one devastating breakdown. It’s the kind of moment that makes me still get a little loose in the pants. Pure destruction with a smile.

I glanced out into the crowd. At first, their faces had a hint of curiosity. Then came that click. A collective shift from disinterest to, “Let’s turn this place into a crime scene.”

One of the dudes touring with us shouted, “Holy F$%K! IT LOOKS LIKE A SCENE FROM BRAVEHEART!” The entire room detonated. Fists in the air, bodies colliding, heads snapping like we’d summoned a riot.

I damn near broke my neck from headbanging so hard. It was as close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had. (Well, except for that one time someone tried to convince me to join a church where they talked in tongues. That was even a little too far out there for my absurdly impressionable mind.)

For 25 minutes, they hated us. But in that last 60 seconds, they drank the sensory Kool-Aid—and realized, maybe… just maybe, we didn’t suck as bad as they once thought.

Conviction in the Face of Silence

I’ve always been a man of conviction when it comes to artistic expression. If I'm not going bananas over what I'm putting out, I'm not putting it out. Period. Every aspect—from the sonic assault to the art direction to the marketing tactics—had to be on our terms.

But here’s the hard truth: The world doesn’t hand you approval or applause. In fact, they don’t owe you shit! Success isn’t immediate. Most people won’t care about what you’re doing until you prove they should.

Internal Doubts: Breaking Point on the Road

I had many moments on tour where I was at a breaking point. Back in 2006, "mental health" wasn't really a thing that was discussed openly or thrown around at warp speeds like it is these days. But I had a complete nervous breakdown and had to come off the road, ending a tour early. It was terrible. I was miserable but had hit an internal wall that I just couldn’t get past.

The grind was relentless—dead shows, financial strain, and carrying the weight of making things work. It consumed me. I reached a point where I physically and mentally couldn’t go any further. I had to walk away.

External Pressure: The Weight on My Shoulders

I carried a lot on my shoulders and probably always will. But at that time in my life, I didn’t know how to handle the level of responsibility I had taken on. I thought I did, but it slowly ate away at me.

I was the one booking shows, handling logistics, leading creative decisions, and being the guy who had to get us into opportunities that others couldn’t. I wasn’t just the guy on stage—I was the guy holding it all together.

That weight drove me to the point where I couldn’t continue. It was the weight that took me off the road.

The Lesson: Never Losing My Creative Direction Again

Even though I was swallowed by so much, I allowed it to consume me. I lost my way. My creative vision was completely blurred by burnout and added pressure that was unsustainable. I just couldn’t see the path forward anymore.

But here’s what I took from it: That was the first—and last—time I ever let someone or something push me off my creative endeavors. From that moment on, I vowed never to give that power away again.

Creative conviction means staying the course, even when everything around you is screaming to quit, pack it up, and find a safe cloud of marshmallows to lay on. You keep your eyes on what you want and trudge through the swamps to get to where you're trying to go.

You follow a map that doesn’t really exist, for a thing that’s not guaranteed. And you do it because the thought of stopping might as well be your first step toward a destiny filled with regrets.

Business Parallel: Building With Conviction

The same lesson applies to building brands like Purrple Alien and Frankenfuel. When we launched those brands, nobody cared who we were. People had all kinds of opinions on how we should look, market, and position ourselves. Everyone wanted to offer their "expert advice," like a promoter promising you'll get paid after the gig (spoiler alert: you never do).

But just like on stage, I knew that if I wasn’t fully obsessed with what we were putting out, nobody else would be either.

We didn’t launch Purrple Alien to be some half-assed clone of other hemp brands. We weren’t about to slap a generic label on the product, follow a cookie-cutter social strategy, and call it a day. We built this brand with a vision—a wild, outlandish, cosmic vision designed for people who were sick of the same old noise, the same boring designs, and products that taste like crap and don’t deliver.

The same went for our unholy elixir, otherwise known as Frankenfuel. An energy drink built for the individuals pushing their creative endeavors at all hours of the witching nights. We didn’t make Frankenfuel to compete with polished, overly hyped beverage brands in our space. We built it to be a literal exorcism in store aisles and refrigerators across the globe—to give people something to laugh about, that tastes amazing, and adds a new depth to their twisted minds. (Insert evil laugh here.)

Both brands were born from that same creative conviction. If I wasn’t fully amped about the products, why the hell would anyone else be? And you can’t fake that. Consumers—just like crowds at a show—can smell bullshit from a mile away.

Results Come From Relentless Conviction

The people who resonate with Purrple Alien and Frankenfuel didn’t show up because we played it safe. They showed up because they felt something real—a conviction that we put into every product, every piece of marketing, and every chaotic move we make.

The world doesn’t owe you a damn thing. But if you commit to your creative direction without compromise, people will notice. It will take time, but you’ll build something no one can ignore—because if you’re good enough, it’ll be undeniable.

The Challenge: Can You Stay the Course?

So here’s the question: Are you ready to stick with your creative vision even when nobody gives a shit?

When the room is silent, and it feels like every door is shutting in your face, will you keep showing up?

Will you hold that vision close and keep moving forward, even if the results are slow and the crowd is hostile?

Because those who do—who keep treading onward and performing even when chaos explodes around them—will find that conviction becomes a superpower.

It’s not the crowd’s job to care. It’s your job to make them.

Closing Reflection: The True Test of Conviction

We’re not here to fit in—we’re here to make the ordinary uncomfortable with our ambitious tendencies that would make coffee nervous.

Let them call it obsession. Let them call it insanity.

Allow them to cling to their comfortable existence while we shatter the ceiling of predictability.

This isn’t just reality—it’s inevitable.

The only question is: Will you keep showing up?

Mike Casavant

#BrandBuilding #CultBranding #EntrepreneurMindset