What 'Building the Band' teaches us about talent, culture, and the dream of America
The show uses music and storytelling to build a vision of the world we could have if we centered connection over competition.
By Michael Franklin
**Spoilers ahead for Building the Band on Netflix**
In a time when everything feels divided—politically, culturally, generationally—a new show quietly arrived on Netflix that offered something rare: unity through talent, vulnerability, and story. “Building the Band” just completed its premiere season. It could easily have been dismissed as just another reality competition. But to do so would miss the deeper truth: This show uses music and storytelling to build something bigger than a band. It builds a vision of the world we could have if we centered connection over competition.
“Building the Band” introduces the audience to a group of 50 singers who are seeking to create bands, but the catch is that they will form these bands without ever seeing one another. Bands can include as few as three members and as many as five. There is only space for six bands to make it to the formal competition, so competitors must find synergy with others before it’s too late. The competition starts with auditions in which artists perform for the entire group without being able to see one another. Producers coordinate conversations between performers who have liked one another, and they determine whether they want to build a band together.
Some contestants came with a clear vision: they wanted to form a boy band, a girl group, or something stylistically specific. Others focused less on image and more on how the voices moved them.
Unlike “American Idol,” which spotlights individual vocalists competing for solo stardom, or “The Voice,” which features blind auditions followed by celebrity coaching, “Building the Band” is built on the radical idea that collaboration and connection are the real challenge. These artists aren’t just judged on vocal runs or stage presence—they’re judged on their ability to create harmony, chemistry, and cohesion from the ground up. That structural shift reframes success. It’s not about outshining others but about building something greater together. And that’s why the show feels so resonant right now—it reclaims the American Dream from individual exceptionalism and reimagines it as collective brilliance. That shift in priorities mirrors the kind of trust and vulnerability America desperately needs to build.
Host AJ McLean of Backstreet Boys fame works alongside band mentor Nicole Scherzinger to provide counsel to the competing bands. Guest judges Kelly Rowland and the late Liam Payne offer feedback throughout the process and, with Scherzinger, determine which bands are eliminated.
“Building the Band” served as an unexpected tribute to Payne’s passion for music and support of young artists. Payne died in October. On the show, he showed up with humility, heart, and humor, encouraging the next generation while quietly building a legacy of care. The final montage of Payne performing with the crowd was beautiful yet bittersweet. His legacy is the idea that greatness isn’t just about talent. It’s about how you uplift others along the way. That, too, is part of the dream.
I grew up watching “American Idol” with my family gathered around the TV, arguing over performances and feeling emotionally invested in people we’d never met. “Building the Band” is an evolution of the genre. “American Idol” set the tone for what competitive singing could look like on television. It created a blueprint for showcasing raw talent while weaving in personal storylines that made audiences care.
Shows like “The Voice” deserve credit for introducing the blind audition format to mainstream television—a move that prioritized talent over looks and helped shift the conversation around how we evaluate performance. But “Building the Band” is bolder. These artists are forming entire bands without ever laying eyes on each other. No image, no assumptions, no filters. Just talent. It’s a small structural decision with big implications. In a society obsessed with appearance and driven by unconscious and conscious bias, the show’s format flips the script, reminding us of what’s possible when we lead with genuine curiosity instead of judgment. “Building the Band” doesn’t just innovate the format—it challenges the core dynamics of competition itself. It dares to ask: What if you built a show around relationships, not rivalry? It crafts a useful guide for choosing leaders, building teams, and considering what we value in each other.
And what we got in return was magic.
The cast of “Building the Band” embodied a vision of what America could be. Talented, diverse, and representative of communities often excluded from mainstream stages. The show didn’t tokenize its diversity. It centered it. And it did so in a way that felt authentic, earned, and deeply moving.
Nowhere was that clearer than in SZN4, the runner-up band that captured hearts across the board. They weren’t just great performers, they were real. They made you feel something. They reminded you of someone you know. Or someone you are.
Donzell Taggart led with sincerity and soul, boldly embracing his feelings and experiences while being transparent and vulnerable. Cameron Goode consistently showed up as a quiet powerhouse, channeling self-love and emotional strength into every note. Aaliyah Rose Larsen, whose personal journey included caring for her mother and supporting her family through health challenges, stepped into the spotlight with grace and star-level presence. Katie Roeder, a model and fierce vocalist, openly reflected on the power of seeing someone like her on stage—and why her presence matters for those still waiting to see themselves represented.
Individually, each carried something powerful. Together, they became something transcendent. Their stories, voices, and emotional honesty created a bond that elevated everything they touched. In a world that so often isolates us, watching them find harmony, both literally and figuratively, was a reminder of what’s possible when people show up fully and without pretense. Music, when rooted in truth, becomes one of the most powerful mediums we have to deliver a message, because it doesn’t just speak to the mind, it moves the heart.
Their performance of “Human” was a defining moment—the kind that lingers long after the final note. But what made it truly unforgettable was the process. How each member shared as they practiced the performance, turning the song into something far more powerful than a cover. The show’s willingness to invite the audience into the artists’ emotional preparation elevated the performance from great to unforgettable. It was a masterclass in what can happen when you understand the “why” behind a message and then deliver it with every fiber of your being. That’s what the greatest communicators and storytellers strive for—and they achieved it simply by being themselves.
3Quency, the band that ultimately won the season, had an unmistakable it factor. With every performance, their style, presence, and production sharpened, all culminating in a standout moment on finale night. Their rendition of “Have Mercy” was an eruption of energy, precision, and undeniable charisma. But it wasn’t just style. It was growth. You could see the band evolve week to week, defining their sound, syncing as a unit, and learning how to command the stage like seasoned pros. The victory from Nori Royale, Brianna Mazzola, and Wennely Quezada was well-deserved and electrifying to watch. Soulidified/Iconyx, a pleasant reimagination of a Gen Z boy band, was collaborative, expressive, and appeared emotionally present with one another, earning them third place.
It’s easy to underestimate reality TV as a source of lessons on how to tell stories effectively. However, “Building the Band” reminded us that cultural storytelling isn’t just about content; it’s about connection. And when the right story is told at the right time, even a competition can become a chorus for change. It’s the kind of show that reflects Gen Z audiences, reconnects older generations, and reminds everyone that excellence doesn’t have to come at the expense of empathy. It bridges gaps—cultural, generational, and emotional—through shared feeling and collective joy. In a genre that’s often formulaic, this show found something profound by daring to ask, what if we built connection first—and everything else second?
Michael Franklin is the Founder and Chief Thought Leadership Officer of Words Normalize Behavior, a speechwriting, executive communications, and coalition-building agency.
The possibility for connectivity, collaboration, and caring seems to diminish and eventually cease as one ages in our culture. No surprise, since we discount the youth as too inexperienced to know, and the elderly as too slow and behind the curve to know, so we are stuck in the middle. Whose fears, resentments, and discontent move them into greater isolation, protectionism, and avoidance. That's where the impediments reside for greater connectivity, collaboration, and caring. In my experience, middle-aged individuals have lost their future, whereas young singers have their future ahead of them. You want to generate connectivity and collaboration by bringing people together of all ages who share a future that they all feel is genuinely possible.
Yes, We need a world built on connection over competition. I believe this is exactly what we're missing in most of our educational institutions and others. I was ecstatic to read this and how music and storytelling can facilitate building that kind of world centered on connection. It's the missing piece for "peace" in our human evolution. Btw, I've seen and also personally experienced that "connection" created amongst all different kinds of people develop through dance as well. It's truly a joyful, transcendent experience of unity that is indescribable. I am going to get a subscription to Netflix in order to see this. Thank you so much for writing this post Michael! I loved your piece.