I would like to start this article off by thanking Beyoncé and every other artist who has been accused of devil worship or being part of some occult group of elites whose main intent is to rule the world through mind control. For as long as music has been around, listeners have loved to imagine the person behind the songs as part of a satanic cabal, trying to snatch your soul for the sake of retaining relevancy. In the 1950s, with the rise of rock ‘n’ roll, performers like Little Richard, Elvis Presley, and Chuck Berry were victims of this moral panic, accused of “corrupting” young people with their provocative lyrics on race and sexuality. This “Satanic Panic” would resurface in the 1980s with heavy metal. This time, the perpetrators were Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath—even Michael Jackson was the subject of rumor and fetishized speculation, accused of selling his soul for fame.
Over time, we’ve come to laugh at ourselves for ever seriously seeing legends like Elvis or the Prince of Darkness as devil worshipers. We consider ourselves “above” throwing successful artists under the bus. However, the witch hunt is alive and well, just repackaged for our time. Instead of whispers among parents in the neighborhood, everyone can now take part in this witch hunt, loudly accusing artists online. The Michael Jackson urban myth may have faded, but you’ll still find some in The Weeknd’s comments section, begging him to “find Jesus,” despite the explicit spiritual nature of his recent releases. After all this time, why do we keep running back to the comforting fiction that singers are aligned with the shadows?
The victims of satanic panic, both past and present, share a common thread: They are subversive, provocative, or just unsettling in their time. Little Richard was a Black man in the United States before the Civil Rights Era, bringing a Black–pioneered music genre to the forefront of entertainment while performing in ways considered “effeminate” by mainstream audiences. But what made him most threatening wasn’t his music—it was his identity and refusal to conform. He was seen as transgressive, so much so that white–owned radio stations refused to play his hit song “Tutti Frutti” despite airing covers sung by white artists. The case is similar with Lil Nas X, currently, where the majority of the outrage surrounding his music has nothing to do with the songs themselves, most of which are quite polished and safe for radio. Instead, the issue is with who he is. His number one hit, “Old Town Road,” was pulled from country charts and radio, claiming its trap elements made the song not “country enough,” while Billboard and radio stations would later come to allow Morgan Wallen, a white country–trap singer, to chart on the Country Hot 100 and receive air time regardless.
Satanic accusations don’t pop out of nowhere—it makes sense how major social and political upheavals also influence the volume of Satanism allegations. How could the paranoia of McCarthyism in the ’50s—when Americans were encouraged to spy on their neighbors and suspect hidden motives everywhere—not spill over into music, a visible cultural stage? Logically, many people projected their insecurities onto prominent figures, manifesting as accusations of demonic corruption. In the ’80s, people were already on edge about the occult, thanks to over 12,000 unsubstantiated cases of satanic ritual abuse coming up around this time. Heavy metal rockers just so happened to be easy scapegoats, because their darker, heavier music was an easy symbol for cultural fear.
It’s really easy, even comforting, to deflect our own fears and insecurities about the changing state of the world onto people we don’t know—especially celebrities. That instinct hasn’t gone away. We continue to resurrect satanic panic when tensions rise. Following the arrest of Sean “Diddy” Combs, online edits of J. Cole’s “She Knows” surfaced, implying that Beyoncé is a devil worshipper given the collapse and deaths of other high–profile figures associated with his alleged crimes. Or maybe she’s simply a successful Black woman in the music industry, and we’re not sure how to process our discomfort with a powerful producer allegedly tied to sex trafficking. Lil Nas X isn’t a Satanist—he’s just a gay, Black man in rap, a genre long steeped in hypermasculinity and homophobia. Doja Cat isn’t a part of a cabal; she’s a biracial woman choosing self–expression in an increasingly conservative climate. It is becoming more and more evident that “devil worshipper” is just a label attributed to successful artists who unsettle us during bad times. But this accusation isn’t without its pushback.
While society may try to push artists out with sinister allegations, many just choose to address it in their artistry instead. Beyoncé, who has fought such accusations her entire career, made her stance in her hit single “Formation,” singing, “Y’all haters corny with that / Illuminati mess,” and “You know you that bitch / When you ’cause all this conversation.” Doja Cat put out a darker, edgier concept album, Scarlet, around the time it was alleged she had sold her soul, appearing in her “Demons” music video dressed as, well, a demon. In her lead single “Paint The Town Red,” she likens her loyalty to creative vision over fame and likability as a kind of soul–sell, bragging she’s so “bad,” “the devil,” and a “demon lord.”
The Weeknd similarly leans into satanic allegations, using dark imagery in live shows, music videos, and lyrics. He folds these accusations into his broader creative vision, which often revolves around resisting—or giving in to—temptation. The ultimate example, though, is Lil Nas X. As a Black, gay man, he uses the outrage and moral panic surrounding his identity to draw attention to his music, pole dancing on the devil in his hit “MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)” music video. All of these artists have been able to rise above these negative conversations and channel them into their art. Some have gone further, delivering direct commentary about the controversies that surround them and their place in society.
As absurd and sometimes downright offensive Satan–worship allegations can be, it’s a common symptom of our inability to channel societal confusion into something more constructive. We take out our frustration on anyone who refuses to fall into line, especially if those in marginalized communities, whose identity—already scrutinized—might make them an even easier target. Although our energy should be redirected elsewhere, these accusations have been transformed into integral parts of many artists’ discography and image, which, in a way, is used to ease our discomfort. Some may say it’s heaven–sent—or maybe fallen.
