My Love Affair With Spotify Is Over

There was a time when Friday meant Release Radar.

I’d open Spotify and there it was: a little digital treasure chest of new music.

Sometimes it was brilliant. Sometimes it was shit. Sometimes it was something I’d never heard of from a band I’d never heard of and suddenly I’d spent the next three weeks listening to their back catalogue.

That was the magic.

Spotify didn’t just give me music. It gave me the possibility of discovering something.

I’m not sure when that disappeared. But my love affair with Spotify is over.

Spotify won.

That’s the funny part.

It has mass acceptance. It’s become infrastructure. Music streaming isn’t some revolutionary new technology anymore. It’s plumbing.

And once something becomes plumbing, you stop asking whether it’s magical. You just turn the tap on. And the water is there.

Which raises an uncomfortable question: What happens when the thing you once loved becomes merely good enough?

Spotify keeps raising prices. The product keeps evolving. There are more features, more data, more playlists, more recommendations, more algorithms and more ways to consume music than ever before.

And yet I’m increasingly convinced that the actual experience of discovering music has become worse. That’s quite an achievement.

We’ve gone from having too little music to having virtually all of it.

And somehow I’m listening to the same records I bought thirty years ago.

The Discover playlist used to be good. Like, really good.

Eight years ago it could occasionally make me stop what I was doing.

“What the fuck is this?”

That’s the best feeling a music service can give you.

Now?

Not so much.

The recommendations increasingly feel like they’ve been generated by somebody who looked at my listening history and decided that the safest possible interpretation of it was the best one.

I listen to Thin Lizzy. Here’s some Thin Lizzy. I listen to Whitesnake. Here’s Whitesnake. I listen to Iron Maiden. Here’s Iron Maiden.

I’ve saved these songs.

So apparently Spotify thinks I want to hear them again tomorrow.

And the day after that. And perhaps in a different playlist on Thursday.

Saving a song does not mean I want to hear it every fucking day. It means I like the song. There is a difference.

The Daily Mixes are probably the perfect example. They’re not really discovery. They’re comfort food. They’re Spotify saying:

“We’ve studied your behaviour and concluded that you’d probably like the things you already like.”

Well, thanks. I knew that. That’s why I saved them.

The whole reason I use a streaming service is because I don’t want to have to manually construct my listening experience every day.

I want to be surprised. I want the obscure album. The forgotten B-side. The guitarist I somehow missed. The band from 1987 that released one great album and disappeared. The song that isn’t popular enough to have been algorithmically blessed.

I want the rabbit hole. And the rabbit hole is where Spotify increasingly feels lost.

Then there’s Release Radar.

This one hurts because Release Radar was once my favourite thing Spotify did.

Every Friday I’d go looking for new music. And now I get:

A new XYZ release from a Hindu Yogi. A new Loverboy release from a young rapper. A new Sykes release from someone who definitely isn’t John Sykes. A new Ratt release that isn’t from Ratt.

Somewhere between the artist, distributor, metadata database, record label and algorithm, something has gone spectacularly fucking wrong.

And I understand how this happens. There are thousands of artists. There are multiple artists with the same names.

There are distributors.

Labels.

Rights holders.

Metadata.

Automated ingestion.

Millions of releases.

It’s complicated.

But that’s the problem.

The system is complicated enough to explain the mistake and still not good enough to prevent it.

And every Friday, instead of opening a treasure chest, I’m checking whether Spotify has accidentally delivered somebody else’s mail.

And the music itself can disappear.

There’s another bizarre problem with the streaming age. We were promised access to everything. And for the most part, we got it.

But streaming isn’t ownership. It’s access. The music is sitting there until somebody decides it shouldn’t be.

Licensing changes. Rights change hands. Distributors disappear. Labels change. Artists change their minds. Regional agreements expire.

Albums appear. Albums disappear. Albums come back. Then disappear again.

Maybe some of the master tapes don’t even exist anymore. Maybe they burned down in one of those mysterious fires that seem to have consumed half the history of recorded music.

But here’s the strange thing: We were told digital music would solve scarcity.

Instead, we’ve created a different kind of scarcity.

The music isn’t necessarily hard to find. It’s hard to know whether it’ll still be there tomorrow.

The cloud looks permanent.

It isn’t.

Here’s where I really started to understand the problem. Ask Spotify for something simple:

“Best emotive guitar solos.”

Go on.

Do it.

You don’t get emotion. You get metadata. You get lists compiled by magazines.

Lists compiled by websites. Lists compiled from other lists. Wikipedia. “The 50 Greatest Guitar Solos Of All Time.”

And there’s the problem.

Spotify knows what an emotive guitar solo is supposed to look like in data. It doesn’t necessarily know what makes one matter.

Because how do you quantify Michael Schenker playing “Try Me”?

How do you quantify David Gilmour playing “Comfortably Numb”?

How do you explain Zakk Wylde on “Angel of Mercy”?

Mick Mars on “Home Sweet Home”?

C.C. DeVille on “Life Goes On”?

John Sykes on “Straight For The Heart”?

Warren DeMartini on “Giving Yourself Away”?

George Lynch on “Alone Again”?

John Petrucci on “Learning To Live”?

Al Pitrelli on “Blue For You”?

Gary Moore on “Empty Rooms”?

Eddie Ojeda on “The Price”?

Vivian Campbell on whatever particular piece of magic he happened to be responsible for that week during his stint with Dio.

Yngwie Malmsteen doing what Yngwie does.

Vinnie Vincent on “I Still Love You.”

Steve Rothery on “Easter.”

Bruce Kulick on “Tears Are Falling.”

Bob Kulick on “The Idol.”

Randy Piper on “Sleeping in the Fire.”

Richie Sambora on “Dry County.”

Dave Meniketti on almost fucking anything.

Adrian Smith on “Stranger in a Strange Land.”

James Hetfield on “Nothing Else Matters.”

Kirk Hammett on the outro to “Bleeding Me.”

Randy Rhoads on “Goodbye To Romance”. There are many others that I can’t think of right now.

These aren’t simply guitar solos. They’re moments. They’re performances. They’re context. They’re tone. They’re restraint. They’re excess. They’re the note that arrives half a second later than you expect.

They’re the bend that hangs in the air. They’re the player knowing when not to play. They’re everything that happens between the notes. Try putting that into a database.

And this is where I don’t buy the lazy argument that Spotify’s engineers are idiots.

They’re not.

They’re probably fucking brilliant.

They’ve built an extraordinary machine. Spotify knows what I’ve listened to. It knows what I’ve skipped. It knows what I’ve saved. It knows what people who listen to the bands I listen to also listen to.

It knows tempo. Genre. Popularity. Release dates. Listening patterns.

It can probably predict with frightening accuracy that if you listen to Judas Priest at 10:47pm on a Wednesday, there’s a statistically meaningful chance you’ll listen to Iron Maiden next.

It’s incredible.

And yet I ask it for an emotive guitar solo and it gives me an SEO list.

That’s the paradox.

The machine understands the data surrounding music extraordinarily well.

I’m not convinced it understands music.

This is where Spotify’s problem becomes everybody’s problem.

We’re increasingly trying to turn taste into data. But taste isn’t simply a collection of preferences.

Taste is memory. Context. Association. Experience. History.

You don’t just like David Gilmour.

Maybe you heard “Comfortably Numb” when you were fifteen.

Maybe you heard it when you were thirty-five.

Maybe the guitar solo reminds you of someone who isn’t in your life anymore.

Maybe you heard Gary Moore’s “Empty Rooms” at exactly the wrong moment in your life and now the opening notes carry twenty years of emotional baggage.

Spotify doesn’t know that.

And it can’t.

Because the emotional meaning of music isn’t contained inside the audio file.

It’s contained inside you.

That’s why two people can listen to the same song and hear completely different things.

And that’s why the idea that an algorithm can eventually know your taste better than you do is worth questioning.

Maybe it can predict your behaviour.

That’s not the same thing.

We lost the obsessive music nerd.

There used to be people who knew music. The guy in the record shop who’d hear you mention Van Halen and say: “You need to hear this.”

The radio DJ who’d play something you’d never heard. The bloke at school who had an album nobody else had. The friend who’d make you a mixtape.

The magazine writer who’d disappear down some obscure musical rabbit hole and drag you along with them.

They were often wrong.

And that’s what made them useful.

Algorithms want evidence.

Humans have hunches.

Humans make mistakes.

Humans have obsessions.

And sometimes an obsession is exactly what you need.

Spotify has become safe. It got too good at being Spotify.

It knows what I like. It knows what people like me like. It knows what songs are popular. It knows what songs are associated with other songs.

It knows what gets skipped. It knows what gets saved. It knows everything except the one thing I’m actually asking: Surprise me.

Not randomly. Not stupidly.

Not with another artist whose name happens to match the artist I’m looking for.

Surprise me intelligently.

Take a risk. Connect two things that don’t obviously belong together.

Tell me why. That’s what a great music obsessive does.

And then there’s YouTube, sitting there with an enormous music catalogue as well.

And YouTube has something Spotify doesn’t have in quite the same way: the internet’s collective memory.

Live performances. Interviews. Bootlegs. Old television appearances. Fan uploads. Rare tracks. Alternate mixes. Gear breakdowns. Concert footage. Someone filming a guitarist playing one obscure solo in 1989.

The ecosystem is chaotic. But chaos has advantages.

Spotify is beautifully organised. YouTube is a fucking junk drawer.

And sometimes the junk drawer is exactly where you find the thing you were looking for.

So what am I actually paying Spotify for?

That’s the question I keep coming back to. Because Spotify isn’t bad. That’s almost the problem. It’s convenient. It works.

The catalogue is enormous. The interface is good. The sound is good. The integration is good. It’s easy. (In saying all of this, I’m currently devouring the Bernie Torme history).

And that’s exactly why I’m frustrated.

I’m paying for convenience and getting increasingly less discovery.

The service is becoming more expensive while the thing I personally valued most about it seems to be deteriorating. Maybe that’s not a universal experience.

Maybe millions of people couldn’t care less about Release Radar.

Maybe most people just want to press play and hear songs they already like.

That’s perfectly rational. But I’m not most people.

And I don’t want Spotify to know me so well that it stops introducing me to things I don’t know.

We’ve never had more music. Millions of albums. Decades of recorded history.

Every obscure corner of rock, metal, jazz, blues, punk, pop, electronic music and everything else sitting inside a phone.

Humanity has created an almost unimaginable archive of sound.

And yet the technological solution to infinite choice seems increasingly to be: Here’s the stuff you’ve already heard.

That’s not discovery. That’s a loop. An echo chamber.

And the larger the database becomes, the more important curation becomes.

Not less.

Because abundance creates its own scarcity.

There is too much music. There are too many releases. Too many artists. Too many playlists. Too much content.

The scarce resource isn’t music anymore.

It’s attention.

And the service that wins isn’t necessarily the one with the most music.

It’s the one that can make me care about something I didn’t know I cared about.

I don’t want better algorithms.

Maybe that’s the wrong conclusion. Maybe I don’t need another algorithm. Maybe I need better curators.

Or weird curators. Or human curators assisted by algorithms.

Let the machines do what they’re brilliant at. Find patterns. Search billions of tracks. Surface connections.

Handle the impossible scale of the catalogue.

But let humans inject the thing machines are still terrible at: taste.

Give me the obsessive metal nerd.

Give me the person who knows every forgotten 1980s hard-rock record.

Give me the person who can tell you which pressing of an album sounds better and why.

Give me someone who has spent thirty years listening to guitar players. Someone who knows why that solo matters.

Maybe the problem is that Spotify stopped feeling like a record shop.

That might be what I’m really missing. The record shop wasn’t efficient. It wasn’t personalized.

It didn’t know my listening history.

It couldn’t calculate my predicted enjoyment of an album.

It didn’t have machine learning.

It had a bloke behind the counter who had listened to 10,000 records and had strong opinions.

And sometimes he’d hand you something and say:

“You’ll hate this.”

Then you’d buy it anyway.

And thirty years later you’d still be listening to it.

That’s discovery.

That’s the thing Spotify used to make me feel.

And somewhere along the way, the algorithm got better and the experience got worse.

So no, Spotify isn’t dead.

Far from it. It’s enormous. It’s successful. It’s going to be around for a very long time.

But my love affair with it is over.

Because Spotify has access to more music than any human being in history.

And somehow, I’m finding myself listening to the same records I bought thirty years ago.

Maybe the problem isn’t that Spotify doesn’t have enough music.

Maybe it has too much.

Maybe the problem is that somewhere inside that enormous machine, nobody knows what makes one fucking note matter.

The Album You Bought Doesn’t Exist

We’ve spent forty years arguing about whether vinyl sounds better than digital.

Wrong argument.

The real question in 2026 is this:

What if your vinyl isn’t even the same album?

That’s exactly what’s happening.

Fans pre-order expensive deluxe editions because they’re told they’re buying the definitive version. The collector’s piece. The premium experience. The one worthy of sitting proudly on the shelf.

Then release day comes. Spotify gets one album. The record spinning on your turntable gets another.

A missing bridge. A different ending. An unfinished mix. An absent guest appearance.

Sometimes an entire song disappears.

For years, vinyl collectors chased first pressings because they believed they sounded better.

Now they’re buying something stranger. They’re buying history.

Every generation has a technological shift that quietly rewrites the rules.

Multitrack recording. The compact disc. MP3s. Streaming. Now it’s vinyl manufacturing.

Not because vinyl suddenly became the dominant format again. Streaming still owns that title. Vinyl is simply the slowest part of a very fast industry.

A record pressing plant doesn’t care that inspiration struck last Tuesday. It wants the finished masters six to eight weeks ago. Meanwhile Spotify is happy to wait until almost the last minute.

That gap has become a creative playground. Artists keep writing. Producers keep tweaking. Guests finally send their vocals.

Someone decides the chorus needs another layer. The ending isn’t working. The bass needs rewriting. The label hears another potential single. By the time the album appears online, it’s evolved.

The vinyl hasn’t.

For the first time in popular music, the physical record is no longer necessarily the finished product.

It’s yesterday’s version. Sort of.

I remember reading an interview with producer Tom Werman explaining how he often created different mixes for radio, television and vinyl.

At first glance, today’s situation feels familiar.

It isn’t.

Werman wasn’t delivering unfinished work. He was tailoring completed songs for different audiences.

Radio demanded impact. Television demanded clarity. Vinyl demanded technical precision. The performance never changed. The destination did.

Today’s vinyl differences exist for a completely different reason.

The destination stayed the same. The journey simply wasn’t finished.

That’s a profound shift.

People love repeating the myth that vinyl can’t handle bass.

Not true. It can. Just not carelessly.

A vinyl record isn’t a computer file. It’s physics carved into plastic.

Every kick drum literally moves a cutting stylus. Every bass guitar creates a groove.

Push those movements too far and you run out of room, or worse, the playback stylus struggles to track the groove.

So mastering engineers become architects. They collapse deep bass into mono. Remove inaudible rumble. Control extreme low frequencies. Adjust dynamics.

Then they apply the RIAA equalisation curve, reducing bass and boosting treble during cutting so your phono preamp can reverse the process during playback.

Nothing is lost.

Everything is engineered.

It’s one of the greatest pieces of analogue problem-solving ever invented.

None of this should surprise hard rock and metal fans. We’ve been collecting different versions our entire lives.

Original UK pressings. Japanese pressings. US pressings. Remasters. Radio edits. 12-inch mixes.

Tom Werman. Mutt Lange. Bob Clearmountain.

These producers understood something that’s becoming relevant again.

Every format has its own language.

A Metallica vinyl pressing doesn’t necessarily sound like its CD counterpart.

Iron Maiden fans debate original EMI cuts versus modern remasters.

Megadeth albums exist in multiple sonic identities.

Def Leppard practically turned alternate mixes into an art form.

But those records shared one important characteristic.

They were finished.

Today’s vinyl sometimes isn’t. That’s new. Here’s the irony.

The very thing frustrating fans today may become the reason collectors treasure these records tomorrow.

Not because they’re rare. Because they’re honest. They preserve the album before the final decisions.

Before the last-minute vocal. Before the rewritten lyric. Before the producer changed his mind.

They’re snapshots of creativity still in motion. Neither is wrong. One simply tells you more about the journey.

For years we’ve treated vinyl as nostalgia.

A warmer sound. A bigger sleeve. A ritual.

Maybe that’s no longer what we’re buying. Maybe vinyl has accidentally become something far more valuable.

A timestamp. An alternate timeline.

Proof that great records aren’t born in a single moment. They’re discovered through revision.

Streaming gives us the destination.

Vinyl increasingly preserves the road that led there.

That’s fascinating. But only if artists tell us.

Collectors don’t mind buying an alternate version. In fact, many would happily pay for it.

What they object to is believing they’re buying the finished novel, only to discover they’ve been sold the author’s penultimate draft.

There’s nothing wrong with alternate versions. Rock music has celebrated them for decades.

There’s everything wrong with pretending they’re the same thing.

Because sometimes the album on your shelf isn’t simply mastered differently.

It’s a different story altogether.

The Labels Want Songwriters’ Rights, Just Not Songwriters Themselves

The article.

Chaos for Who?

The music industry loves to talk about artists.

It loves to celebrate artists.

It loves to hand out awards, sponsor songwriter camps, run social media campaigns about creativity, and tell the world that music starts with the creator.

Until the creator asks for something back. Then suddenly the language changes.

Now it’s not about art. It’s not about fairness. It’s not about creators. It’s about “chaos.”

The major labels and BMG have petitioned the United States Supreme Court to overturn a ruling that would allow songwriter Cyril Vetter to reclaim worldwide rights to a song he wrote more than sixty years ago.

And their argument is fascinating. Not because it’s convincing. Because it exposes exactly how the industry thinks.

The labels claim that if songwriters can reclaim worldwide copyrights under U.S. termination law, it will create uncertainty, confusion and disruption throughout the music business.

Chaos.

That’s the word.

Chaos.

Funny how the same industry that spent decades telling creators to sign away global rights in perpetuity is suddenly worried about fairness and stability.

The same companies that built billion-dollar catalog empires from contracts signed generations ago now want us to believe they are protecting the music ecosystem.

Protecting whom?

Certainly not the songwriter. The songwriter is the one who created the asset. The songwriter is the one who took the risk. The songwriter is the one whose work still generates value decades later.

Yet when a court finally interprets the law in a way that potentially benefits creators, the industry’s first instinct isn’t celebration.

It’s litigation.

The hypocrisy becomes even more obvious when you look at history.

Labels routinely tell artists that contracts are sacred. Deals are deals. You signed it. Live with it.

Except when the labels don’t like the outcome.

Then contracts, precedents and long-standing interpretations suddenly become flexible.

Then the legal teams arrive. Then the lobbying starts. Then the scare campaign begins.

We’re told the sky will fall. We’re told investment will disappear. We’re told the business will collapse.

We’ve seen this movie before.

Every technological shift was supposedly going to destroy music.

Home taping. CD burning. MP3s. Streaming. TikTok. Now songwriter rights.

The industry’s prediction record on catastrophe is so bad that “chaos” should probably be treated as a marketing term rather than a legal argument.

Because let’s be honest.

If a songwriter reclaiming rights after half a century creates disruption, maybe the disruption isn’t the problem.

Maybe the underlying business model is.

The labels argue that billions of dollars and countless agreements were built around the assumption that foreign rights remain permanently with publishers.

That may be true.

But an industry building its future around assumptions doesn’t magically transform those assumptions into justice.

There was a time when artists couldn’t own masters.

There was a time when musicians signed contracts they barely understood.

There was a time when labels controlled manufacturing, distribution, promotion and access to audiences.

That world is disappearing.

And perhaps what we’re seeing in Vetter v. Resnik isn’t chaos. Perhaps we’re seeing correction.

The most revealing part of this case isn’t the legal argument. It’s the language.

The labels describe the songwriter’s position as a fringe theory. Yet a federal appeals court agreed with it.

Creator groups support it. And the logic is straightforward.

If termination rights exist to give creators a second chance at ownership, why should that second chance stop at a national border?

Why should a songwriter get half the apple?

The answer seems obvious.

Because half the apple is still enough for the labels to keep the other half.

That’s what this fight is really about.

Control.

Not creativity. Not fairness. Not artists.

Control.

The irony is that the music business constantly tells young creators that ownership matters.

Keep your rights. Build your catalog. Think long term. Become an entrepreneur.

Until those same principles start applying to creators whose songs were written decades ago.

Then ownership suddenly becomes dangerous. Then ownership becomes disruptive. Then ownership becomes chaos.

The labels want everyone to believe they’re defending stability.

What they’re actually defending is a system that has benefited them enormously for generations.

A system where rights flow one way. A system where creators are encouraged to surrender ownership but discouraged from reclaiming it. A system where fairness is celebrated in speeches but challenged in court.

If the Supreme Court ultimately hears the case, the decision will affect far more than one song.

It will answer a much bigger question. Who does copyright actually exist to serve?

The corporations that acquired it.

Or the people who created it.

Because if reclaiming your own work after sixty years is considered chaos, perhaps the real chaos was the arrangement that existed before.

Fender Wants Your Guitar Back

Fender has lost its mind.

It thinks it can copyright a shape, and call that “heritage.”

That’s corporate greed, pretending it’s preserving culture.

The Stratocaster body shape is not sacred scripture. It’s a guitar shape that entered the bloodstream of modern music decades ago. Pretending to own the shape now is like claiming ownership of the power chord, the double cutaway, or rock and roll itself.

And somehow this whole mess started with Fender suing an AliExpress seller in Germany.

The seller never showed up.

Fender won by default.

Then, suddenly, that default judgment became the foundation for a wider campaign. Cease-and-desist letters started flying. Builders, retailers and manufacturers of their own guitars using the Stratocaster body shape, found themselves being told that Fender now had legal proof that it owned the Stratocaster body shape.

Not a patent. Not a trademark. A copyright.

And that’s where things start getting ridiculous.

Because this wasn’t simply about stopping counterfeit guitars with fake Fender logos on the headstock. Most musicians understand that. Most builders understand that.

The company reportedly demanded that builders and retailers destroy their existing inventory.

Destroy it. Millions of dollars in manufacturing and research/development.

And then things got even uglier.

Fender allegedly wanted stores and manufacturers to hand over the names and addresses of customers who had already bought guitars with Strat body shapes.

The request?

Have those customers return their guitars so they too could be destroyed.

Read that again.

A billion-dollar corporation wasn’t just trying to stop future sales. It wanted guitars already sitting in people’s homes.

That’s the moment this stopped looking like brand protection and started looking like corporate intimidation.

And nobody likes a bully. Make no mistake, that’s exactly how this looks.

Then comes the inevitable question.

Why now?

The Stratocaster body shape debuted in 1954.

Seventy-plus years later we’re suddenly being told the shape is protected in a way that thousands of builders and guitar tinkerers somehow missed?

Think of EVH tinkering with a Stratocaster body, to come up with his sound and the Frankenstein look. George Lynch playing Charvel and then ESP’s that use the Stratocaster body shape. Hell, Lynch even makes Custom guitars right now utilizing the Strat body shape. Add to that list Kirk Hammett and his ESP guitars and every other guitarist that played a guitar with a Strat body that wasn’t Fender. All of the guitars are illegal according to Fender.

And let’s be honest about who’s making these decisions.

Fender’s CEO, Edward “Bud” Cole, is a Fender lifer. He knows the history. He knows the market. He knows exactly what the Stratocaster means to players.

Which means this isn’t confusion.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth.

Fender is no longer automatically the best guitar in the room. There was a time when the logo alone was enough.

Not anymore.

Today there are boutique builders producing instruments with better fretwork, better neck profiles, tighter quality control and greater consistency than many production-line Fenders.

We feel it immediately as soon as we pick up a guitar and within ten seconds we know.

No legal brief changes that. No cease-and-desist letter changes that.

The PR damage may be even worse.

Because Fender looks like the guy who arrives at the party after midnight, grabs the microphone and starts yelling at everyone.

Nobody likes that guy. Nobody respects that guy. And nobody forgets that guy.

The guitar industry has already lived through this movie. Gibson went after PRS over the single-cut body shape.

The courts ultimately rejected the idea that one company could permanently monopolize a broadly recognized guitar design.

That should have been the lesson.

Instead Fender looked at history and apparently concluded:

Let’s try it ourselves. Only louder.

And the saddest part?

Fender should know better. Its reputation wasn’t built by lawsuits or cease-and-desist letters or by demanding customer lists or threatening independent builders.

It was built by making great guitars.

This entire campaign feels disconnected from players and completely connected to spreadsheets.

That’s how great brands start to decay. Not because competitors catch them. Because they convince themselves that people love the logo more than the product. They don’t.

That’s why this whole thing lands so badly.

It’s petty.

It’s defensive.

It’s short-sighted.

And most importantly, it’s unnecessary.

If Fender wants respect, make better guitars. If Fender wants loyalty, earn it. If Fender wants to remain the standard, stop acting like the standard needs a lawyer.

Because the truth is already out there.

The shape is not the product. The player is.

And if Fender has forgotten that, the damage it’s doing to its own brand may last a lot longer than any body-shape ruling ever will.

Music, My Stories, Piracy, Stupidity, Treating Fans Like Shit

When Governments Screw With Music (And Everything Else)

Raise the price of cigarettes and people don’t quit smoking. They buy their smokes from the guy in the back alley with a duffel bag full of Marlboros. That’s the reality in Australia right now. The tax man thought he was going to nudge people into clean lungs and longer lives. Instead, he just created a booming black market.

And it’s not new. America tried it with booze. Prohibition was supposed to turn sinners into saints, but it made millionaires out of gangsters. The War on Drugs? Same story. You criminalize a behavior, you don’t kill demand, you hand it over to the underground.

Music lived this too.

Remember blank CD levies? The government thought, “Well, everybody’s copying music, so let’s tax the media.” You couldn’t even buy a spindle of discs for backing up photos without paying a piracy tax. Did that stop Napster? No. It just made fans hate the industry more. It turned the record labels into the bad guys and turned piracy into a cultural rite of passage. You weren’t just burning a CD, you were sticking it to The Man.

And those anti-piracy lawsuits? Suing twelve-year-olds for downloading Metallica? It didn’t scare people straight. It normalized piracy. It made Kazaa, LimeWire, and torrents explode because everyone suddenly knew where to find free music. If the government and the industry hadn’t been so hell-bent on control, maybe Spotify would’ve shown up ten years earlier.

Same deal with tickets. Governments ban scalping to “protect fans.” What happens? Scalpers just go underground. Paperless tickets, ID-only entry, sounded good on paper. In practice? Fans locked out of shows they paid for. Friends couldn’t swap tickets. And the black market didn’t disappear, it just got meaner, riskier, full of counterfeits. Meanwhile, Ticketmaster legalized scalping with “dynamic pricing.” The very thing the government said was illegal in the parking lot became policy inside the system.

That’s the lesson nobody in power ever learns: you can’t legislate away desire. You can distort prices, you can ban behavior, you can tax the hell out of things people want, but all you do is create shadow economies. You don’t stop smoking, drinking, downloading, or reselling. You just push it somewhere else.

The record industry thought it could dictate how people listen. Governments thought they could dictate how people live. And every time they try, the unintended consequences swamp the original plan.

Because people are wired to find a way. If the front door’s locked, they’ll kick open the side window. If you make the official channel impossible, they’ll build their own.

That’s the throughline, from cigarettes to booze to black market tickets. Governments and corporations think they’re playing chess. But the public is playing guerrilla warfare. And guerrillas always find a way.

A to Z of Making It, Music, My Stories

Where Should An Artist Be?

Megadeth’s “Dystopia” has 1,529,342 streams on Spotify. On YouTube, the audio clip has 1 million views and the video clip has 722K.

“Symphony Of Destruction” has 14,728,297 streams on Spotify. On YouTube there are a few fan created uploads that have around 4 million views, proving, once again, that fan uploads are good for the artist. They get paid from these videos as well. And the cumulative number on YouTube is close to the streams on Spotify, but it’s fragmented and quality varies.

“Hate By Design” from Killswitch Engage has 1,375,919 streams on Spotify. On YouTube 1,386,177 views.

Meanwhile, “My Curse” uploaded back in November 2006 has 14,730,324 views on YouTube and on Spotify it has 21,940,706 streams. Remember that Spotify launched in the US in July 2011 and it was first launched in September 2008. So on a service that has been operating for a shorter period and even shorter in the main US music market, it has racked up more streams.

This is telling me that once the promotion marketing run of a new song for Killswitch is over, the fans of the band gravitate to Spotify to consume their catalogue.

Now let’s go to Dream Theater’s “The Gift Of Music”. It’s got 938,792 streams on Spotify. On YouTube, the Official Video clip has 595,906 views and the Official Audio clip has 1,249,834 views.

However, an older song like “Pull Me Under” has 5,543,276 streams on Spotify and on YouTube, the official video has 4,193,933 views, the “Live At Luna Park” has 2,449,343 views and a fan upload has 1,591,017 views.

Dream Theater is a band with a small but highly profitable hard-core fan base that purchase the music of the band in CD, Vinyl or MP3 format. So the streaming stats of Dream Theater would always be lower than others because of that ownership perspective.

Bullet For My Valentine new single, “You Want A Battle” has 8,698,284 streams on Spotify and an older song like “Your Betrayel” has 21,322,709 streams on Spotify.

Meanwhile on YouTube, “You Want A Battle” has 4,166,841 views on the VEVO video clip and 1,009,159 views on the VEVO audio clip. “Your Betrayal” on the other hand has 30,619,555 views on the VEVO video clip.

Trivium’s new single “Until The World Goes Cold” has 5,249,262 streams on Spotify and the title track of the album has 3,055,965 streams. Meanwhile on YouTube, “Until The World Goes Cold” has 4,311,064 views on the VEVO video clip and “Silence In The Snow: has 3,533,303 views on the VEVO video clip.

Five Finger Death Punch’s new single “Wash It All Away” has 8,796,100 streams on Spotify. The lead off single from the new album “Jekyll and Hyde” has 19,147,912 streams and an older song like “Far From Home” has 24,575,975 streams.

Meanwhile on YouTube, “Wash It All Away” has 10,711,212 views on the VEVO video, “Jekyll and Hyde” has 17,718,384 views on the VEVO video and “Far From Home” doesn’t even rate a mention apart from some fan uploaded clips.

It just goes to show the artist and their label how the fans can take a song and make it as big as a single. All by listening.

One track that is killing it on YouTube is the clip to “The Wrong Side Of Heaven” which has 66,552,910 views.

Shinedown’s “Cut The Cord” has 9,251,338 streams on Spotify and their big hit “Second Chance” has 32,160,803 streams. Meanwhile on YouTube, “Second Chance” has 12,967,621 views on the video clip and “Cut The Cord” has 13,346,588 views.

So…

For an artist, you have no idea how your fans like to listen to music. You might want them to purchase a CD, but the truth is, each fan is different and you need to cater for it. The beauty of Spotify and YouTube is that songs that are not singles become as big as singles based on the listening patterns of the fans. Artists should take note of what the fans like.

And metal and rock fans are still loyal enough to purchase music when they like it but the days of purchasing blindly are over. I’ve streamed the new Killswitch Engage album to death. Eventually I will purchase it to add to my collection. but there is a higher chance that I would purchase a concert ticket first before I purchase the album. That’s just the way it is.

A to Z of Making It, Copyright, Music, My Stories, Piracy, Stupidity

Freedom With Streaming

I love freedom.

The freedom to live where I want, do want I want and when I want to.

I also love music and I also love to hear music wherever I go and when I want to. Today, there are a lots of ways to hear music.

to buy a digital mp3
to stream for free
to buy a CD
to pay for a streaming subscription
to illegally download it via P2P

Pre-Napster, the only way to hear the song you liked was to purchase the album or single it came on. Alternative methods involved waiting for the radio to play it and you dub it to cassette or you dub someone else’s original copy onto cassette or CD.

The big difference between then and now is availability. Did you know that Slash also used BitTorrent to release “Live At The Roxy”.

His reasons for it are real simple.

To allow people to access his music from any outlet they desire. He goes to Spotify to consume music and like many others, he still likes to have a physical copy in his hand.

I enjoy my music and I enjoy it a lot, however in the Eighties and early Nineties, I couldn’t enjoy it as much because I simply didn’t have enough money. Thank god that second-hand record shops became big business by the early nineties and it allowed me to purchase a lot of Seventies and Eighties LP’s that I couldn’t afford to purchase before.

Even though the clueless mainstream press always toes the RIAA and Record Label viewpoint that music is in dire straits, I say the opposite.

Look at how much money the labels are making from the various streaming companies who are paying a lot of money to license the labels catalogue. Here is a list of the top eight streaming companies out there;

Spotify
YouTube
Google Play
Apple Music
Pandora
Rdio
Deezer
JB HiFi (in Australia)

Each of the above companies paid the record labels a high license fee in order to have music on their service. They then pay the record labels (who are the major copyright holders) 70% of their profits for songs streamed. When you take into account that streaming services made over $1 billion in the US last year, 70% of that went to record labels. From the other 30%, the record labels took another cut via their licensing fee system.

Apart from streaming bringing in billions of dollars and putting a massive hole in piracy, it has also changed the way people view sales of music, the charts and every other metric associated with music.

The Top 40 once upon a time was a benchmark for what was popular. The metric used to judge popularity was sales. The view was that if an album or a song got into the Top 40, the artist would go on to become a household name. In 2012, the charts started to include digital sales and streaming. Streaming listens enable songs from the past to re-enter the charts, even though the band or artist who wrote it are retired or have departed this Earth.

Quincy Jones said recently that there is no music industry.

Maybe he meant to say that the record labels are making a lot of money from other avenues, however they are just not passing on those monies back to the artists and the songwriters. Maybe he meant to say that the recording industry does not have a monopoly on music anymore. In the end, the music industry as a whole is very much alive and well.

Quincy Jones also said that artists “can’t get an album out because nobody buys an album anymore.”

Umm, Quincy, or Gene or Paul or Yngwie, no one wanted to buy an album at all. All we wanted to do was to listen to music. Maybe he meant to say that people only want the best, so the concept of an album with a few good songs and a lot of filler is not working in 2015. Maybe he meant to say that instead of a handful of gated releases each week, in 2015, we have thousands upon thousands of albums released.

Quincy Jones said newer online distribution model’s don’t mean anything.

Maybe he meant to say that the newer online distribution models have taken away the record labels gatekeepers. With no filter in check, people are overwhelmed with noise. It’s a good thing and only the best will end up rising to the top. The fact that streaming services bring in over a billion dollars each year means nothing. The problem is the record labels. Those monies are just not getting back to the artists and the songwriters.

Quincy Jones reckons that selling 4.5 million albums today and thinking it is a hit record is a joke as he used to sell 4.5 million records every weekend in the 80’s.

Maybe he meant to say that selling 4.5 million records shows that you have an audience, people who care for you and people who will come and watch you live. The fact that people listen to the music over and over again is irrelevant to Quincy Jones. Yes, Quincy, that’s right, people streaming your music are just as important as selling 4.5 million records a week. Maybe he meant to say that I am so out of touch with what fans want, the only thing I know is sales and sales only.

I know that Quincy is not metal or rock, but his viewpoints echo similar viewpoints from Gene Simmons, Yngwie Malmsteen, Paul Stanley, Scott Ian, Duff McKagan, Kirk Hammett, Joe Perry and Roger Waters. You could easily change the name Quincy Jones above, with Gene Simmons, Yngwie Malmsteen and so forth.

Overall, being a musician is tough. It always has been and always will be. There are no overnight successes. Never have been and never will be. Ignore all the crap and make your own way. There is a lot of money to be made in music and it doesn’t just involve writing and releasing an album.

Remember back in the Seventies and the Eighties. Artists had to conquer their local area first, then their state, then the next state and so forth.

With the internet, artists have a global audience right off the bat. But the need to win fans city by city is still the same.

Stupidity Incorporated

Stupidity just doesn’t seem to go away these days. Last month the World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) promoted it’s World Intellectual Property Day with a slogan from a Bob Marley and the Wailers song called “Get Up, Stand Up”. WIPO’s theme was “Get Up, Stand Up. For Music”.

Did you know that a judge ruled against Bob Marley’s heirs a few years who sought to regain control of Marley’s copyrights from Universal Music claiming that Marley wrote the song as a work made for hire and thus Universal could keep the copyright, and not give it back to the Marley Estate.

Now “work for hire” means that an artist was commissioned to write a song to the exact specifications of the record label. Wikipedia states “work for hire” in the following way;

A work made for hire is a work created by an employee as part of his or her job, or a work created on behalf of a client where all parties agree in writing to the WFH designation.

I can’t believe how a judge would seriously believe that the record label at the time “Island Records” would have given the song titles to Bob Marley and told him the theme of what the song should be about.

Anyone involved in music knows too well that is not the case for at all. “Get Up, Stand Up” was written after Marley toured Haiti and the poverty that he was confronted with in that country.

As the Techdirt article points out, you have an organisation so dumb and out of touch with culture that it using a song from an artist that has been hijacked by the corporations who push for stronger copyright enforcement.

As far as I’m concerned, Bob Marley’s copyright MUST be in the Public Domain upon death. The public is meant to be the beneficiaries here, not the heirs and not the record labels.

Which brings me to the “Stairway To Heaven” court case.

You see I am not a fan of the heirs of an artist inheriting the copyrights of the artist once they die and I am definitely not a fan of the heirs of an artist suing others for money. We can all hear that Jimmy Page lifted the riff from the Spirit track “Taurus” and to be honest made a better derivative version of the Spirit track. For whatever reasons Spirit guitarist Randy California was cool with it and nothing happened. However the heirs are now challenging that.

What a sad state it is when a court has to decide on this and whichever way the court rules, the court is putting out the idea that one track is so original and the other is not. As a musician, trust me when I say that no song or riff is created in a vacuum. Each piece of music that comes out is a sum of our influences.

One final thing to add to my rant. When can the artists get it right when it comes to the music industry and recording industry references. Check out this quote from Ron Bumblefoot, the current guitarist in Guns N’ Roses.

”The music industry started to see their customers as their enemies and everybody suffered for it. Congratulations record industry – you’ve made a mess and you still don’t know how to clean it up.”

I always state over and over again, that the music industry is not the recording industry. They are two different entities. You see, the music industry didn’t see their customers as enemies, nor did they sue them, it was the recording industry that did that.

The World We Live In

I am over it.

I am over people like APRA/AMCOS CEO Brett Cottle calling on the Australian Parliament to offer legislative support to members of the creative industries.

I know from my own experiences APRA has been negligent for accepting dual song writing registrations on songs that I wrote and registered with them over ten years ago. They had the balls to call me up to ask me if I am okay with their negligence for accepting dual registrations and if I’m not okay with it, they can offer mediation to me to sort it out with the other party at a cost to be paid by me.

Yep, that sure sounds like a lot of support and respect from APRA/AMCOS towards the artists it is meant to represent. The truth of the matter is this.

Small time musicians don’t mean crap to these large organisations. All we do is generate a lot of money for them by playing live and by using our hard-earned monies to promote ourselves and get our songs on radio. Yep, APRA as a publishing and collection association collect those radio royalties (that we as artists worker our backsides off to get on radio) and those live returns from Club owners on our behalf.

They then hold the pool of monies for as long as they can before paying anything out to the artists based on a formula that no one can make sense off. That way APRA can double dip on the pool of money. They do that by earning interest on the large pool first and then they take out their admin fee.

So I am sick and tired at corporate entities that put out crap saying they are concerned about the artists. The music business and the movie business have consistently opted for legislation to combat piracy and when it comes to innovation they are continually dragged kicking and screaming into it.

The major record labels in the U.S killed off the 20 million strong membership of Grooveshark as it wasn’t legit enough for the record labels. Well guess what happened the next day. It was cloned and made available for users to stream music on.

Can we also make the distinction between the recording industry and the music industry?

They are two different categories. The recording industry is part of the music industry. The music industry at a high level also contains the live industry, the merchandise industry, the publishing companies, the collection agencies, the local clubs, etc..

So when I see people saying that the music industry cannot compete with piracy, it is totally a clueless and dumb statement to make.

I don’t see the live industry complaining because of piracy. I don’t see the merchandise industry complaining because of piracy.

Piracy is a recording industry problem. Actually I still find it hard to hear when people in the recording industry still complain about competing with piracy or pirates. People just don’t get it. The recording industry (and by default they acts on their roster) are competing against other products for fans/customers. It has been proven time and time again that if the customer sees value in the offering, they will pay for it.

There is a lot of money in the industry right now. “Blurred Lines” is just one song and it took in over 17 million dollars since 2013.

When it comes to music, I stream via Spotify for free and I buy physical CD’s from Amazon in the U.S or from the band direct. I never got into paying $1.29 or $2.19 for a digital mp3 of the song. However I do have a lot of mp3’s. When you buy pre-release albums from bands directly or via a fan funding campaign, you always get an mp3 version of the album. Amazon offers Auto-Rip and then there is the CD’s I purchased which I rip and put on my iPhone.

While ripping a CD is acceptable to an MP3 file is acceptable in the recording industry, the DVD I purchase is not allowed to be format shifted to an AVI file.

Torrentfreak is a website that I got to regularly to keep up to date on the latest issues around Copyright issues. So it’s no surprise to see that the MPAA is putting their hands in foreign policies. In this case, it was lobbying hard the UK Cameron government to not legalize DVD ripping. However the lobbying efforts didn’t pay off and the private copying exceptions became law in October last year.

Speaking of the MPAA, they are sure doing their best to keep their business model flourishing. Thanks to the Sony email hacks, the world know has official proof that the MPAA are offering grants to academics to write pro-copyright papers that can be used to influence future copyright policies.

As the article points this is nothing new for the MPAA.

Last November we revealed that the MPAA had donated over a million dollars to Carnegie Mellon University in support of its piracy research program. Thus far the Carnegie Mellon team has published a few papers. Among other things the researchers found that the Megaupload shutdown worked, that piracy mostly hurts revenues, and that censoring search engine results can diminish piracy. As expected, these results are now used by the MPAA as a lobbying tool to sway politicians and influence public policy.

So how is Brett Cottle from APRA/AMCOS or those stooges at Village Roadshow any different to the MPAA? All of these organisations profit from the creative works of others however they contribute nothing creatively.

In the end if copyright becomes too extreme, creativity will die.

Thank god in heavy metal and hard rock some common sense is prevailing when we hear similarities between songs. So far we haven’t had the court cases like “Blurred Lines” or the out of court settlements between Sam Smith and Tom Petty for the “Stay With Me” and “I Won’t Back Down” vocal similarities or the other out of court settlement between the song writing committee for Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk” and The Gap Band’s 1970s funk hit “Oops Upside Your Head.”

Music survives because the creators are constantly borrowing, sharing, and reacting to the different connections the 12 notes in the musical scale offer.

“The Ultimate Sin” is a forgotten song in Ozzy’s solo career (even though Jake E.Lee does perform it with Red Dragon Cartel) and it was good to hear part of the vocal melody get resurrected by Five Finger Death Punch in “Life Me Up”. Yes, they are similar for those small sections and if anything fair use is the order of the day.

Hell, we all know that Avenged Sevenfold’s latest album “Hail To The King” references a lot of great metal albums from the past. What about Kingdom Come’s “Get In On” and it’s references to Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”. As I have always said, music is derivative.

It’s getting ridiculous how everyone is slapping copyright lawsuits on everything and the reason why that is occurring is that corporations own the copyrights. Hell, even George Clinton who has been sampled by every hip hop artist known, is fighting Bridgeport Music (a publishing company) to get his rights back. Basically at this point in time, George Clinton has NO royalty rights.

Yep, the person who copyright is designed to protect and the person who actually created the music has NO royalty rights to his music. And of course, in case you didn’t know Bridgeport Music was also one of the plaintiffs in the “Blurred Lines” copyright case.

But hey, Bridgeport Music, like APRA/AMCOS would lead you to believe that they are pushing copyright agendas for the artists and that stronger copyright is needed to combat piracy. On the other side of the fence you have a housewife from the fifties who wrote the lyrics for a song called “G.I. Blues” which was later turned into a hit song for Elvis Presley who is not credited as a songwriter because she didn’t pay the $25 copyright fee back in the sixties.

But, wait, according to the corporations who own the copyrights, the world needs longer copyright terms and stronger enforcement rights.

That’s the world we live in.

Music, My Stories, Stupidity, Treating Fans Like Shit

Booms And Busts

I don’t mind dabbling in the share market. And like everything in life, the share market is one of boom and busts. If you look at the share market booms and busts you can casually make a comparison to the recording industry booms and busts.

There are billions/trillions of dollars in the share economy while the recording industry is a billion dollar industry and when you add the rest of the industry that forms the music industry you see that music is worth a lot of money.

In share market investing, the usual story is that if someone has a great idea and makes some dough from it, then others will eventually find out about the idea and they will start to put money in, to get money out. So use this analogy for the music business.

When one-act becomes a success, the recording labels would go about and sign hundreds/thousands of acts that sound the same. The labels would also get their current roster of acts to produce music that is similar sounding to the “HOT” act. Three periods in metal music stick out.

From 1980 to 1983 it was the Judas Priest era for clone like acts. From 1983 to 1986 it was the Motley Crue era for clone like acts. From 1986 to 1989 it was the Bon Jovi, Whitesnake and Guns N Roses era for clone like acts.

What about streaming. From only a few streaming players in 2008 we know have a crowded market place. The early success of Spotify and Pandora leads to a monster called envy. This monster than leads others to want to get in on whatever else is in vogue. The latest to join the line of streaming services is the star-studded Tidal. Remember the last star-studded product launch in Neil Young’s PONO. Tidal is no different and the same fate awaits it because both services are about protecting the incomes of the better off artists and they have nothing to do about what the music fan wants.

If Tidal and Pono want people to pay for music again then their business model of putting music behind a pay wall is not the answer. As soon as you do that, P2P will increase again. Newspapers tried to put their content behind pay walls and guess what happened. People just went to websites who offered the content for free.

How do you think the Huffington Post became a large game player?

But as sure as night follows day, all booms come to an end, with a thud. The recording industry is not immune to it. In the share market investors turn to safe companies which pay a secured dividend. In music we turn to the acts that we know off. So those few companies/acts benefit a lot from our patronage.

Then, interest in the share market is renewed through mergers and acquisitions. Remember all of the mergers and acquisitions that have happened to the plethora of record labels over the past 20 odd years. The majors are down to just three.

Throughout it all, musicians still create and get on with their lives. You have the mega rich artist trying to stifle a genuine music business saviour in Spotify while in the meantime said artist is making way more money than any artist has in the history of music. You have wannabes complaining about digital payments. You have a public that 90% of the time cares about the stars and the artists who break through.

And then you have the middle of the road artists who are stuck in a world where the whole history of music is available to the fan and the music fan doesn’t have enough time to gravitate to them.

Sort of like Shadows Fall, Chimaira or God Forbid. All three bands came into my head space when an early 2000 issue of Guitar World was delivered to my mailbox that spoke about a New American Movement in Heavy Metal. So of course I had to check them out.

And all three bands are good. Each band has a definitive song. Being caught up in a cultural movement helped them out a little bit more than other bands however with all cultural movements only a select few end up rising to the top while the rest either fade away, dissolve or continue as middle of the road acts.

So you have bands like Lamb Of God and Slipknot moving into the Institution league. Killswitch Engage and All That Remains are two bands that come to mind immediately that are middle of the road acts.

Then you have Shadows Fall, Chimaira and God Forbid who decided to call it a day and move on. As guitarist Jon Donais (who is in Anthrax at this point in time) said in a recent Loudwire interview;

“Brian (Shadow’s Fall vocalist) was the first one to say, ‘I can’t go on tour anymore because it doesn’t make sense for me. I got kids and a wife’”. He needed to do something more stable because Shadows was always a crap shoot. We never knew what we’d come back [from a tour] with. We never became a headlining band. We were always a support act. I got so lucky. Shadows Fall was coming to an end and this opportunity with Anthrax came up. There just weren’t that many opportunities out there for Shadows Fall. It kind of fizzled out. People stopped caring, so we were all like, ‘Alright, what’s the point?’ We got along great and we loved writing music, but financially it was impossible to go on the road and come back with enough money, especially for the guys who have families. Two of the guys have kids. When you’re single you can go, “Alright, it’s just me on the line,” but when you’ve got a family, you gotta provide for them which means coming back with enough money so they can survive. The fun and games stop once you become a real adult.”

The fate that befell Shadows Fall, God Forbid or Chimaira is no different to the fate of many bands throughout the history of music. It is a cycle that keeps on repeating regardless the propaganda of the recording industry and the RIAA. It is a cycle of boom and busts.

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