What if the hives are rent controlled?

The Metamorphosis of a Prime Intellect.

After you listen to a song, the secret police from the RIAA come and lock it up in a small, dank cell given minimal sustenance, until the next time they can send it to some seedy hotel, suburban home, or automobile, to turn a trick and make them some more money, like some sort of whoo-re for the ears.

Apparently: Them playing our local city square, doing a terrible performance, acting like prima donnas, and then after inviting people to come see them at the merch booth after the show, then never showing up.

Because it’s too hard to crumple a sheet of paper into a cube.