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Small Potatoes

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Sample-Snitching → One quiet morning in the early 2000s, I arrived at my label’s office and listened to the voice mail no sampling record producer wants to hear. The call was from a lawyer representing the estate of the leader of an obscure ’70s funk band. He knew that I used a 2-bar drum loop from this band on a song from my first album. It didn’t matter that this loop was fairly common, used prolifically in both mainstream hits and underground white labels. It also didn’t matter that I probably grabbed the loop off one of those erroneously named ‘royalty-free’ sample CDs that were common in the ’90s. The lawyer (and, presumably, his client) wanted his cut. 

Long story short, the fact the loop appeared in several mainstream hits probably worked in my favor — once the lawyer saw the requested final sales figures for my album, he realized I was small potatoes. I guess I wasn’t worth the effort, and I never heard from him again. But the most disturbing thing was how he found me. He was going through listings of songs that sampled his client on a sample-identifying website. 

I’m not sure which site the lawyer used at the time. Today’s most popular one, WhoSampled.com, launched several years after that frightening phone call. But the fear persists among producers. A new article in Pitchfork by Mosi Reeves details how representatives of legacy catalog use WhoSampled to source potential litigation, despite its intended purpose of pointing fans to old records:

It is a useful resource for rap listeners, despite its complicated role in sampling culture. Chris Read, the London-based company’s head of content, said that using the website as a fact-finding tool for potential lawsuits is a violation of its terms of service, and that the practice “stands in opposition to the reason WhoSampled was created, which is to provide a place for music fans to discover the origins of the music they love and celebrate sampling as an artform.” He acknowledged that the site does not distinguish between cleared and uncleared samples in its listings, because information about sample licensing is not always made publicly available. Producers can request takedowns of listings related to their work if there is information that “they would prefer was not published” on the site, he added.

The law is clear, so producers using uncleared samples — myself included — are unambiguously in the wrong. Many in the music industry’s creative roles have called for an overhaul of these laws to recognize sampling as an art form and create avenues for producers working outside the profitable mainstream. Some lawyers, like the one who contacted me and ended up letting the sample slide, would seem to agree. But then there’s the challenge of differentiating those who use samples artfully vs. those who use them to profit off the notoriety of earlier works. Yes, music rights are complicated (a phrase that’s in the running for the motto of this blog).

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A preview of Marc Méan’s forthcoming album Basteln → Friend of the blog Marc Méan has recorded a new album, titled Basteln. It’s out next week on Neologist Productions. I’m sure I’ll write more about it upon release as it’s terrific, maybe even better and lovelier than his previous effort, Collage. You can listen to the advance single (or, perhaps, it’s an excerpt as the album consists of two 20-minute tracks), recorded using “Cocoquantus, piano, voice & FX.” 

Marc lives in Zürich. The Swiss city has been on my mind as I’m near completing Kim Stanley Robinson’s fantastic near-future climate change novel The Ministry for the Future. Zürich is the setting for much of the novel, and the descriptions of the city are inviting. However, Zürich was already on my radar as the home base of the founders of my favorite art pranksters, the Dadaists. Here’s where Cabaret Voltaire got their name.

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Optional Essentials Vol. 1 → My friend Dr Olive — who once took me to the top of Mont St-Michel — recently launched a new label, 3 to the 3rd Music. The latest release is an ambitious two-part compilation cheekily titled Optional Essentials. The hype-text describes this collection as “the home-made home-listening soundtrack to one of the strangest years, written by music makers from 7 countries.” The sound is chill, overall, but audacious. There’s a diversity of instrumentation and mood-scapes, never a dull moment. The sequence is thoughtful, easily pulling the listener into its zone when played from beginning to end. And I have a connection — I contributed the song “Tarkovsky” under my Q-BAM moniker. I recorded this song ages ago, inspired by repeated visits to Moscow and my admiration of the Russian filmmaker named by the title. And I sampled Robbie Hardkiss saying, “Everything is cool.” Also on the compilation: amazing new tunes from my friends (and label-mates) Monta At Odds and Gemini Revolution.

Gingerbread Mixtape

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ASCAP, BMI Partner To Launch SONGVIEW Comprehensive Song Database → If you’re a music publisher, perennially at the top of your Xmas list is a central database for looking up song rights information. In other words, a search engine that’s PRO agnostic: input a song and find out the writers, the publishers, and the shares no matter the rights owner. But BMI’s search only shows songs with BMI representation, ASCAP shows only ASCAP, and so on. So, until you strike gold, you’re going from PRO-to-PRO to find writer and publisher details on a song. 

Here’s a start: today, BMI and ASCAP announced Songview, a search platform that shows results from both repertoires. It’s slicker than the companies’ previous search engines (it’s especially an upgrade for BMI) and seems to return more accurate results. This will make things easier, but I’d love SESAC and the others to come on board. And my face would assume a permanent joyful expression if one day Songview included details from international publishers and PROs. How cool would it be to look up a song and see if other publishers control it in different territories? Often it seems that half of a music licensee’s job is figuring out this complexity, investigating like a song-rights sleuth. Regardless, I’m encouraged by Songview. Fingers crossed that these are early days, and the participation of other PROs on the platform is on the horizon.

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Every holiday season, David and Jennifer send us (and other lucky friends) an assortment of hand-crafted gingerbread cookies. This year I got a mixtape. Goes great with coffee. (Be sure to check out David’s blog 1000 Cuts.)

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Holy Tongue – Holy Tongue → No one knows where dub goes. UK duo Holy Tongue are doing their damndest to track it down. Witness: Post-punk spliced with dub the way it was done, anachronistic but futuristic like if at the end of Primer the time machine room was revealed to be This Heat’s Cold Storage studio. Holy Tongue are Valentina Magaletti on drums and percussion and Al Wootton on guitars, synths, and the occasional siren. The performances are improvised, phase two of the magic apparently happening on the mixing desk where the Tubby/Sherwood spirit inspires all manner of echoing, hi-hat filtering, spring reverbing, and other ravishing embellishments. The result is as good and gritty as many early ‘80s On-U experiments. It’s refreshing in 2020 to hear something so raw yet technical, unsequenced but rhythmically tight. There’s no word whether Holy Tongue is a one-off or a continuing affair. I’m rooting for the latter (and live shows!). This tradition of exploratory studio hybrid-dub needs to live on and on and on, like a tape delay’s rising, infinite ghost tail.

Are We Running Out of Notes?

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In the mid-70s, a music scholar, maybe a professor, definitely someone we’d now call a ‘musicologist,’ wrote an alarming letter to Rolling Stone magazine. He stated that, by his estimation, within a few years the notes would run out. That is, musicians were about to exhaust all available music notes in every possible timing and context. He warned that soon there would be no more original songs. 

Beneath this letter was a response from John and Yoko. They were apparently enlisted by Rolling Stone to address this crisis. Their two-word reaction to song-pocalyspe: “Lighten up.“

I should point out that I can’t verify this happened. I saw the exchange printed somewhere many years ago, but I can’t find evidence online. Regardless, it’s no surprise that for decades music intellectuals have raised concerns about a limit on new songs. And that the songwriters have always reacted with a shrug.

The notes are only part of a song. Also critical: instrumentation, dynamics, performance texture, tempo, studio trickery — the list goes on. Those notes don’t seem as limited when we take these extra elements into consideration. But it’s still reasonable to imagine a few people coming up with similar melodies. And if some of those other elements align, then there might be a raised eyebrow or two. Is it plagiarism?

I’m not saying everyone is innocent of copying notes or lyrics or songs outright. But we’re led to believe it intentionally happens a lot less than it does. A dirty little secret is that songwriting isn’t all that difficult if you know what you’re doing. Having a ‘hit’ song is tough, but all of those elements I mentioned above — and some additional ones, like charisma and promotional budgets — contribute to making it a hit, too. When you think about all the potential downsides, it’s a lot easier to write a song than steal someone else’s.  

Minneapolis-based ‘record selector’ Mike 2600 has an amusing YouTube series called Songs That Sound The Same. Using two turntables (and I suspect some pitch manipulation), he goes beyond the ‘mash-up,’ drawing attention to songs that share an uncanny resemblance. This one‘s a lot of fun. As is this one and this one. 

A lot of Mike 2600’s comparisons rest on similarities in chord changes and sequences, a chord being a combination of usually three notes providing a bed for melody. Combinations of chords are a lot more limited than those of individual notes. There are a lot of similarities out there for Mike 2600 to choose from.

Mike 2600 could do one of these videos for “Stairway To Heaven” and Spirit’s “Taurus.” Maybe he has, but probably not — that resemblance is so well known it’s low-hanging fruit. Journalist Michael Skidmore thought he’d reach for that fruit when he filed a plagiarism suit on behalf of the late Spirit frontman Randy Wolfe. The two songs’ similarity elicited murmurings since the release of “Stairway To Heaven,” but the lawsuit didn’t appear until 2014. 

Yes, the iconic opening riff of “Stairway To Heaven” is bizarrely similar to “Taurus.” But so are a lot of things. The same descending chromatic chords, as noted in defense arguments, are found in the music of JS Bach and Henry Purcell, and also the song “Chim Chim Cher-ee” from Mary Poppins (which puts Led Zeppelin in an unlikely context). There are only so many chords used in so many ways.

Last week, judges agreed and cleared Led Zeppelin of wrong-doing. But the ruling added another twist — the court’s dismissal of ‘the inverse ratio rule.’ What’s that, and why is it interesting? Let’s dig in.

Understand that plagiarism doesn’t have to be intentional to warrant legal punishment. If it’s believed that you heard a song anytime and anywhere, then the plaintiff can argue it’s possible that plagiarism occurred, whether you meant to do it or not. The more famous a song is the easier it is to make this argument. George Harrison encountered this notion when “My Sweet Lord” was accused of copying The Chiffon’s “He’s So Fine.” The latter was a massive hit in 1963, at the same time The Beatles were making no secret of their admiration for American R&B. So the jury was convinced that Harrison, at the very least, unconsciously copied that song. 

This idea of access and sublimation came to its ridiculous conclusion in the recent case of Flame vs. Katy Perry. In my opinion, that case was already absurd, involving two somewhat similar and short melodic phrases representing modern pop’s zeitgeist. But Flame’s attorney argued that since his client’s song had 6 million online plays — spread out among platforms like YouTube and, yes, MySpace — it was undoubtedly, at some point, heard by the writers of Perry’s song. The jury ended up agreeing. 

Taken further, it seems the internet demolished the limitations of access. It’s now presumed that everything is available — how are 6 million streams on YouTube any different than an emerging artist appearing on an obscure but influential Spotify playlist? Arguably the potential for accidental thievery is the same. Almost all music is available by tapping the screen of a smartphone, so the idea of access is passé. The court in Led Zeppelin’s case recognized this change in our culture, and the ‘inverse ratio rule’ — which gave preference to the more widely distributed song — is toast.

There are other ways that technology alters our concepts of plagiarism. Let’s consider how companies like Splice are affecting musical ownership. Splice is a market-place for sounds, where recording artists can download loops and phrases to use in their own songs. After paying a subscription fee, the user is given these sounds as ‘royalty-free’ sonic building blocks. That means an artist can use these bits in a commercial recording without royalties or attribution to Splice, and claim the rights to the song as her own. No one owns Splice’s sounds — they can be used simultaneously in any number of songs. 

Of course, this model reached an inevitable outcome. A melodic loop from Splice was used in a song by — of all people — Justin Bieber. Within 24 hours of that song’s release, artist Asher Monroe accused Bieber of ripping off the instrumental hook from his song. But they both got the phrase from Splice. As did many other artists, including Korean hip-hop artist YUMDDA. According to The Verge, that leads to another 21st-century problem:

Because Monroe and YUMDDA’s songs have portions with the unaltered sample and nothing else, Shazam gets confused. The app sometimes identifies Monroe’s track as YUMDDA’s, and vice versa. But it has no trouble identifying Bieber’s song, likely because there are other percussive elements always layered on top of the sample.

And now here’s something else:

Damien Riehl — a lawyer, coder, and musician — and Noah Rubin pulled an impressive stunt. They wrote a program to generate every possible melodic combination of notes. The program then stored all 68.7 billion melodies to a hard drive. But rather than using up all the songs, as the Rolling Stone letter-writing musicologist feared, Damien and Noah put the contents of the hard drive in the public domain. All melodies are now free to use, they argued. From here forward, lawsuits for copyrighted note sequences are all frivolous. 

Of course, Damien and Noah’s effort is meant to make a statement and probably won’t change anything. The Led Zeppelin ruling will have more effect on songwriters (as will the appeal-in-progress on the Katy Perry suit). But it makes an interesting point. And it helps highlight the limited nature (and mathematics) of notes, and how subconscious plagiarism could become an outdated concept now that we’re subconsciously consuming everything. 

UPDATE: Soon after I wrote this post, Katy Perry and her co-writers won their appeal and the judge overturned the plagiarism ruling.

This post was adapted from Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care, a weekly newsletter loosely about music-making, music-listening, and how technology changes the culture around those things. Click here to check out the latest issue and subscribe.

How Songwriters Got Thrown Into a Minefield

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I’d like to highlight a couple of informative and disconcerting articles about the state of infringement litigation in the wake of the “Blurred Lines” decision. Both pieces are worth a full read.

In The New York Times, Jon Caramanica writes that It’s Got a Great Beat, and You Can File a Lawsuit to It:

Originality is a con: Pop music history is the history of near overlap. Ideas rarely emerge in complete isolation. In studios around the world, performers, producers and songwriters are all trying to innovate just one step beyond where music currently is, working from the same component parts. It shouldn’t be a surprise when some of what they come up with sounds similar — and also like what came before.

The idea that this might be actionable is the new twist. Every song benefits from what preceded it, whether it’s a melodic idea, a lyrical motif, a sung rhythm, a drum texture. A forensic analysis of any song would find all sorts of pre-existing DNA. […]

What’s left in its wake is a climate of fear. In some recent cases, you can sense pre-emptive gamesmanship, as when Taylor Swift gave a writing credit to Right Said Fred for a cadence on “Look What You Made Me Do” that recalled “I’m Too Sexy.” Or the rapid settlement Sam Smith reached with Tom Petty for perceived similarities between “Stay With Me” and “I Won’t Back Down.” Whether there was a direct borrowing didn’t seem to matter; the potential for the perception of theft was enough to instigate an arrangement.

A few years ago, I worked with a songwriter who unexpectedly received a writer’s credit on a previously unheard new song. No one contacted this songwriter beforehand — the credit just suddenly appeared on publishing statements. It turns out the ‘hook’ for the new song was similar to the chorus in a well-known composition the songwriter penned in the ’70s. My songwriter friend didn’t mind and probably wouldn’t have litigated, but was happy with the outcome — the new song ended up a worldwide , resulting in a nice payout.

I’m sure this decision — as is the case with most of these preemptive moves — was made by the label’s legal team. I imagine a group of on-staff musicologists pouring over every potential hit song looking for the vaguest of similarities. The lawyers are alerted of any resemblance and the original writers are proactively paid off with a credit and publishing share. I find this risky as it informs the original writer of the similarity. Even with the credit, I don’t think anything is stopping a writer from claiming copyright infringement, that it’s an unauthorized derivative work. A court might see the publicly acknowledged credit as admission. But of course, payment for essentially doing nothing is appreciated, so why bother with the hassle of going legal, right?

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In Rolling Stone, Amy X. Wang explains How Music Copyright Lawsuits Are Scaring Away New Hits:

While copyright laws used to protect only lyrics and melodies (a prime example is the Chiffons’ successful suit against George Harrison in 1976 for the strong compositional similarities between his “My Sweet Lord” and their “He’s So Fine”), the “Blurred Lines” case raised the stakes by suggesting that the far more abstract qualities of rhythm, tempo, and even the general feel of a song are also eligible for protection — and thus that a song can be sued for feeling like an earlier one. […] “They’re trying to own basic building blocks of music, the alphabet of music that should be available to everyone,” [Katy] Perry’s lawyer Christine Lepera warned in the case’s closing arguments. […]

The popularity of cheap music-production software, which offers the same features to every user, has added another layer of risk. “Music is now more similar than it is different, for the first time,” [prodcuer and songwriter Ross]Golan says. “People are using the same sample packs, the same plug-ins, because it’s efficient.”

Instrument plug-ins, to be intuitive and easy to use, tend to push users in creative directions. Certain built-in sounds rise to the top, as do sequences and arpeggiations included in the presets. Though these are sounds and one can’t necessarily be sued for a sound (though it has happened!), the inspiration provided by the built-in options potentially send producers to common destinations. A similar five-note motif using a shared patch or a melodic run from an embedded sequence pattern opens up an incentive to take action. Based on what we’ve seen, it’s uncertain a jury would understand the nuance.

And there are potential problems with services like Splice that offer samples and construction kits used by multiple producers. More than one song can easily feature the same melodic building block, and some sample pack offerings from Splice and other services even include lyrics. If a song based on a Splice melodic loop becomes a hit, what happens to the other songs using the same hook?

With copyright protectors like Content ID, it’s who-gets-there-first when it comes to commercially available sample packs. If there’s more than one song using a sample pack melody, the first applying for Content ID stakes the claim. Other songs using that melody might get flagged. This issue has happened in the past with Apple Loops, as producers discovered if they used specific melodic loops included with Logic Pro, the songs would get blocked by YouTube for infringing an earlier song using the same loop.

Even if a sample isn’t used in its blatant form, or is obscured or twisted in the mix, it likely provides the same inspiration as other producers hearing the same sample. It’s not unrealistic to think similar ideas, melodies, or compositional seeds will result from a shared inspirational foundation. Unless there’s future legal clarification — or the courts decide to rely on experts rather than juries in infringement cases1Manager Lucas Keller says in the Rolling Stone article: “In British court, they’d just ask a musicologist to decide. In American court, we bring in 10 random people.” — paying out ‘damages’ and carving out writing shares will be an expected ritual for composers of hit songs.

A Tale of Two Copyright Rulings

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This week saw a couple of big events in the world of music copyright. First off, resolution to the Kraftwerk “Metal On Metal” case in the EU courts, as mentioned previously. Here’s Complete Music Update:

The court said in a statement yesterday: “Phonogram producers have the exclusive right to authorise or prohibit reproduction in whole or in part of their phonograms. Consequently, the reproduction by a user of a sound sample, even if very short, taken from a phonogram must, in principle, be regarded as a reproduction ‘in part’ of that phonogram so that such a reproduction falls within the exclusive right granted to the phonogram producer”.

But what about the artistic freedom of the sampler that the German Constitutional Court was so concerned about? Well, the ECJ has put some constraints on its main ruling. […] In the words of the court: “Where a user, in exercising the freedom of the arts, takes a sound sample from a phonogram in order to embody it, in a modified form unrecognisable to the ear in another phonogram, that is not a ‘reproduction’”. That conclusion is necessary, the court then added, to properly balance the rights of an intellectual property owner with the rights of artistic freedom.

There’s been the myth of a time allowance on samples, that if one samples only two-seconds (or another arbitrary small amount) then, legally, everything is okay. This has never been true in the short history of sample litigation. The issue is identifiably and uniqueness. If, say, a jury can point to a phrase and agree that it’s an unauthorized appropriation of a master recording (a sample) then it’s likely deemed copyright infringement. The length doesn’t matter.

The confusion is probably due to the lack of precedent and definition in the US courts. There hasn’t been a high profile episode like the Kraftwerk complaint yet. So, while the ruling of the EU court doesn’t necessarily say anything new (and it doesn’t add any new limitations, despite what some clickbait headlines might lead one to believe) it is good to have the context fully explained by a legal body.

Then there’s the court’s additional opinion on the artist who artistically messes with a sample to the point of ambiguity. Of course, that artist is in the clear — thanks, EU court — but that’s not so much because it’s ‘artistic freedom.’ It’s that ideally, no one would identify the errant sample in the first place. In other words, sample away. Just be sure to muck that thing up beyond all recognition.

The other big copyright news concerns this Katy Perry vs. Flame outcome. Rolling Stone:

A jury unanimously ruled that Katy Perry’s 2013 hit single “Dark Horse” improperly copied Christian rapper Flame’s 2009 song “Joyful Noise.” The nine-member federal jury in a Los Angeles determined that Perry and her co-writers and producers will owe [$2.78 million in] damages for copyright infringement. […]

Perry, who was not present when the verdict was read, testified that she had never heard “Joyful Noise,” nor heard of Flame, before the lawsuit. Her co-writers testified similarly. Flame’s lawyers responded that the song was widely distributed, with millions of plays on YouTube and Spotify, and reminded the jury of Perry’s origins in the Christian music scene. His team argued that Perry and her team had ripped off the main beat and instrumental line of “Joyful Noise.”

One remarkable aspect is the quoting of YouTube and Spotify plays as evidence that obviously everyone’s heard the song. Umm … okay. Have Spotify plays been argued as evidence in court before?

My feelings, but dialed down a bit, echo those of YouTuber Adam Neely in this video (and kudos for pointing out the similarity of the phrase in question to a famous song by The Art of Noise, which I haven’t seen anyone else mention):

Watch on YouTube

Additionally, Flame’s Marcus Gray added in his original complaint that “Joyful Noise” has been “irreparably tarnished by its association with the witchcraft, paganism, black magic, and Illuminati imagery evoked by the same music in ‘Dark Horse.‘” Of course, there are some kooky internet ‘theories’ out there about Katy Perry and the Illuminati. But I don’t know why people fear the Illuminati so much … if this all-powerful organization couldn’t help Katy Perry win this case then I doubt they’re competent enough to secretly run the world.1Though a hidden overload’s incompetency could explain the current state of affairs.

Spotify Settles With Songwriters

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Spotify has reached a settlement with a group of songwriters who had sued for copyright infringement, eliminating an potential complication to the public offering that the streaming service is planning later this year.

Under the agreement which will need to be approved by the court, the streaming company will set up a fund worth $43.4 million to compensate songwriters and publishers whose compositions the service used without paying mechanical royalties.

Spotify has to pay record labels to use their recordings and publishers to use the underlying compositions; it pays mechanical royalties directly to publishers and public performance royalties to performing-rights groups like ASCAP, which distribute the money to their member publishers and songwriters. Streaming services don’t need to negotiate with publishers, since they can take advantage of a “statutory license” offered by the federal government.

But they need to find the right publishers to pay — a challenge in cases where recordings have entered Spotify’s system without proper metadata. Spotify has always made a point of holding money aside for publishers it couldn’t identify, but doing so doesn’t make it compliant with copyright law.

Beyond past and future compensation, the settlement agreement outlines a process by which Spotify and the class counsel “will work collaboratively to improve the gathering and collecting of information about composition owners to help ensure those owners are paid their royalties in the future,” according to the plaintiffs’ motion.


Previously, Previously, and Previously.



Update: Complete Music Update does a great job explaining this mess:

In some countries, the music publishing sector has traditionally licensed the performing and mechanical rights separately through different entities, meaning streaming firms need to ensure that – not only do they have deals in place for both recordings and songs – those deals cover both the performing and mechanical rights of any works streamed.

In the US this has proven challenging, because while there are collecting societies that licence performing rights, there is no one-stop society that represents mechanical rights. In other countries where the two elements of the copyright are licensed separately, there is a mechanical rights society that can provide a licence to cover any songs that are not subject to direct deals between the streaming firms and the big music publishers.

On one level this shouldn’t matter because there is a compulsory licence covering mechanicals in the US, which includes a set statutory rate to be paid, so streaming services don’t need to negotiate terms and they know from the outset what the mechanical costs will be. However, the compulsory licence obliges the streaming service to alert each and every rights owner that it intends to exploit their work or – where they can’t identify the owner – it should file paperwork with the US Copyright Office instead.

Few services did this, mainly because of the big music rights data problem, whereby there is no one stop publicly accessible database to tell you who controls which song copyrights, nor which song is contained in which recording. However, by failing to adhere to the formalities of the compulsory licence, whenever a streaming service streams a song in the US which is not covered by one of its direct publisher licences, it is technically committing copyright infringement.


Update 2:

Compare Spotify to Facebook. Facebook has no licenses. None. Zero. Zilch. They know they have no licenses and they don’t seem to be in much of a hurry to solve this problem. For all of Spotify’s problems, Facebook is not Spotify. Facebook is a royalty deadbeat.

What the Spotify cases should tell Facebook is that Facebook should not expect to get a pass for their bad behavior. Facebook should expect to write a very large check for the past and a very large check for the future.

Mechanical Royalty Rates Revisited

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America’s Copyright Royalty Board yesterday got around to thinking about what the country’s mechanical royalty rates should be for the next five years.

Mechanical royalties – paid to songwriters when recordings of their songs are copied and distributed – are covered by a compulsory license Stateside. Which means songwriters and music publishers are obliged to license third parties making and distributing those copies at a statutory rate, so that rate-setting processes like this one are rather important.

Traditionally the main customers of mechanical rights have been record companies, which need a license from the relevant songwriter or music publisher every time they press a CD.

In the US, unlike in Europe, it was the label which paid the mechanical royalties on downloads too, so that iTunes didn’t have to worry about making sure the owner of the song copyright was paid their share of any income.

However with streams, where both the mechanical and performing rights of the copyright are exploited, it is the digital platform that is the licensee and which therefore pays the mechanical royalties directly to the writer or publisher (or not as the case may be, as those songwriter lawsuits against various streaming services have demonstrated).

Discs and downloads also remain a decent part of the recorded music business for now of course, but – after a bit of a stand off – the US record industry reached a deal with the music publishers on mechanical royalty rates last year. Which means that the CRB hearing is very much focused on the rates paid by the streaming services, which are, after all, where all the growth is in recorded music these days.

The tech giants are expected to argue to reduce the amount they pay, while the National Music Publisher’s Association and the Nashville Songwriters Association International will lobby for an increase.

NMPA wants songwriters to be paid each time their song is played, or each time a user purchases a subscription. It also wants to share the profits from the sale of technology and subscriptions that include access to music.

The US government has been setting mechanical royalty rates for over 100 years, beginning in 1909 when Congress determined that the rights would be subject to a compulsory license. This means that anyone can record a songwriter’s work for a fixed rate without permission or approval. Congress used to set this rate, but has since delegated the task to the CRB judges. The current rates were set over ten years ago when digital streaming was just starting to take off.

Video: Saving “Happy Birthday”

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Here’s a short video documentary on the sinuous story of that song everybody knows and sings and how overnight it went from being a Warner/Chappell cash cow to the public domain. The affair offers some insight into the often complicated worlds of music publishing and rights management.

For years, global music publisher Warner/Chappell claimed copyright of the “Happy Birthday” song, demanding payment for any public performance of it. Jenn Nelson tells the story of her four-year campaign to prove that the company did not in fact own the rights to the world-famous song, whose tune was composed by two sisters in Kentucky in 1893.



Previously: HERE and HERE and HERE,

Untangling Streaming’s Copyright Conundrum

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For publishers, purchases result in mechanical royalties that are paid by record labels, which must match their recordings to the associated songwriters and pay the publishers accordingly. In contrast, streaming royalties are paid by the streaming service, shifting the administrative burden to companies like Spotify. Both purchases and on-demand streams require mechanical licenses to be obtained from publishers. This is where Spotify appears to have problems — it does not have publishing licenses for all the songs it streams.

A key problem is the compulsory license used by subscription services. A subscription service doesn’t need to secure mechanical licenses from publishers in advance of adding their musical works to its catalog. It can send what’s called a notice of intent and simply pay the appropriate royalties. But it’s not quite that easy in practice.

Because record labels are not required to provide publishing information associated with their sound recordings, services don’t always know which publishers they’re supposed to contact and pay. The end result is an incomplete record of songwriting credits and publishers for tens of millions of tracks.

Major music companies, which have equity in Spotify, want the streaming space to grow and believe imposing damages “could trigger mutually assured destruction,” one industry participant told Billboard. That could explain why some publishers are trying to reach a resolution with Spotify through the NMPA that would deliver back royalties in return for foregoing legal action.

Here’s the thing about copyright law: historically, as new technologies come along, copyright has a lot of trouble dealing with them. And, typically, the pattern is that the industry freaks out and tries to stop the new technology, but eventually someone duct tapes on a new bit of copyright law to cover it. Unfortunately, this means that there are all these weird periphery sections of copyright law that are supposed to apply to specific circumstances, which then get made obsolete by later technological situations, and it leads to lots of confusion and anger… and lawsuits.

There is also a complex bit of copyright law, known as Section 115, which gives the specifics on compulsory licensing of mechanical licenses in certain circumstances, if certain rules are followed. But here’s the crazy thing: it’s 2016 now, streaming services have been around for years, and still no one’s entirely sure if Section 115 compulsories actually apply to them. It’s never actually been tested and many services (including Spotify) assume they do, but a potentially big question is whether or not they really do.

Spotify can (and likely will) argue that it complied with the rules required in Section 115(b) for a “notice of intention” in order to get the compulsory mechanical license. Basically, Spotify would argue that it did what is necessary to get a compulsory mechanical license when it was unsure of who held the publishing/songwriting rights on a song. If it actually did do this, {David} Lowery’s case may be dead in the water — though I’m guessing Lowery’s lawyers will argue that it failed in some aspect of properly using Section 115 — or, as mentioned above, that Section 115 doesn’t actually apply to streaming services. If Spotify did not actually follow Section 115’s rules, then Lowery’s case suddenly is a lot stronger. Similarly, if a court suddenly determines that Section 115 doesn’t apply… well, then a lot of streaming services are in serious trouble.

Make no mistake, people … we – the music industry – are at fault here. Our data is fucked and in some cases non-existent. We all know it.

Some labels / distributors don’t upload the relevant meta or do and it’s corrupt and thus this situation arises. We need a global rights database … we’ve needed one for years. It’s time for this to be actioned properly with full support from every corner of the business. Until now much of the industry has been a bunch of lazy bastards cutting corners or uploading bad data at the expense of our life blood – the artists. That is unacceptable. If the meta was there Spotify would pay.

And despite having blanket licenses in place we are letting the services we deliver to take the blame for our industry-wide tardy incompetence. It actually saddens me that of all the digital service providers {David Lowrey} could have chosen to go after he’s going after one that actually recognizes this fact and are actively trying to build one. If Spotify are found to be at fault here every DSP will be guilty of this without exception. But I believe the fundamental fault here lies with us, the industry. Not the service … and we have a collective responsibility to sort this out.

Spotify Hit With $150 Million Class Action Over Unpaid Royalties

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Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker frontman David Lowery, retaining the law firm of Michelman & Robinson, LLP, has filed a class action lawsuit seeking at least $150 million in damages against Spotify, alleging it knowingly, willingly, and unlawfully reproduces and distributes copyrighted compositions without obtaining mechanical licenses.

The lawsuit comes amidst ongoing settlement negotiations between Spotify and the National Music Publishers Assn. over the alleged use of allowing users to play music that hasn’t been properly licensed, and also without making mechanical royalty payments to music publishers and songwriters. According to sources, Spotify has created a $17 million to $25 million reserve fund to pay royalties for pending and unmatched song use.

The complaint states that Spotify has “publicly” admitted its failure to obtain licenses and created a reserve fund of millions of dollars for royalty payments which have been “wrongfully withheld from artists.” The complaint further notes that statutory penalties allow for judgments between $750-30,000 for each infringed work, and up to $150,000 per song for willful infringement.


I admit I’m not the biggest David Lowrey fan in this sphere, but any eyeglass pointed at artist royalty in these early days of streaming is important as it may help interpret and set future policy. If Spotify is knowingly withholding royalty that can be remitted then most certainly they should pay up. However, I’ve heard of reserve funds being held by other services until rightsholders can be identified, most notably by SoundExchange (though they aren’t actually transmiting the compositions themselves), so the practice may not be as outlandish as the suit implies. One can also assume that if Spotify is doing this with regards to mechanical licensing then Apple Music, Tidal, etc. are probably doing the same … ?

Update:

Spotify is currently in the middle of a settlement with the National Music Publishers Association, after being sued for failing to accurately keep track of royalty payments. In a blog post last week Spotify admitted that it had a problem managing royalties, and that it would work with the NMPA to build a “comprehensive publishing administration system” to ensure artists and publishers are properly compensated.

If the NMPA opts into the settlement, which allows publishers to request royalty payments in exchange for dropping legal claims over licensing fees, it will likely weaken Lowery’s case.