follow the money
Here’s a lede I never thought I’d write: On Tuesday, Feb. 11, I tried to buy a swastika t-shirt from a hip-hop artist.
The artist was Ye, of course, and my interest was purely journalistic. I live in Berlin, where there’s a law against the use or distribution of symbols of “unconstitutional organizations,” including those of the Nazi party, and I wanted to see if West might be enabling the breaking of it by shipping to Germany. It took me a day to make sure I wouldn’t be breaking the law as well, since potential penalties include jail time. By then, the e-commerce giant Shopify had taken down Yeezy.com — which seems like a very reasonable solution.
How seriously does Germany take this law? In 2006, a Stuttgart court fined a company selling anti-Nazi merchandise, with images of a swastika with a red line through it. It’s not clear if the law would apply to a company selling swastika t-shirts from another country, as Ye was, but ordering or wearing such a shirt would be a criminal offense. Nazi symbols are also banned in France, Italy, Poland and more than a dozen other countries, and although Ye performed in Italy last year, it’s hard to believe that he could find a promoter or venue willing to book him in these places anytime soon. If human decency fails, Ye’s unpredictability brings with it too much legal risk.
Over the last few decades, few popular musicians have behaved so badly, so publicly, and so unapologetically for so long without facing serious consequences. (Plenty have done one of these, and a few less popular musicians have done all.) And Ye doesn’t seem to be playing with Nazi iconography just for shock value the way, say, Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious did. (This is not okay either, obviously, but Ye’s assurances that he means this makes him far worse.) And although discussion of the Nazi regime tends to focus on its murderous antisemitism, it also persecuted and murdered people because they were gay, Roma, or Black. This is a regime under which Ye’s marriage to Bianca Censori would have been illegal under racial purity laws. And Ye is endorsing it. (It should be noted that, on Feb. 19, he walked it back “after further reflection.”)
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So far, Ye has avoided serious consequences, partly because he apologized to “the Jewish community,” rather lamely, in December 2023 and perhaps partly because he clearly seems to struggle with mental health issues. (He recently said he was autistic.) There’s also a tendency to see his behavior as so completely absurd that no one could possibly take him seriously. Him saying he wants to be called “Yedolf Yitler” sounds more like something out of a Dave Chappelle sketch than any kind of fascist advocacy.
So then why does this matter so much?
Partly because, in a country without hate-speech laws, like the U.S., it’s important to define the boundaries of acceptable discourse and impose some kind of consequences on those who cross them. And partly because doing so is a good way to start a more serious public discussion about where those boundaries ought to be. So far, Ye’s agent dropped him after he started selling the swastika shirts, and while it’s not clear when he might release another album, no company ought to go into business with him now.
I think it would be foolish to take offline music that Ye released years ago — his rhetoric is hateful but most of that music is great. Obviously, companies make money on that music — Universal Music Group owns the recordings from the early part of his career, and Sony Music Publishing administers his publishing rights — and they have an obligation to pay him. (Sony’s administration of his publishing will end in less than a year, after which the company will no longer have an interest in his catalog.) Both companies made statements that Ye’s behavior is unacceptable.
Since Ye started selling the shirts, the only big executive who has made a major statement is YouTube global head of music Lyor Cohen, in the form of an open letter. That’s important, since it will help make sure other companies take the issue seriously. The day after Ye started selling the swastika shirts, I joked that if he isn’t careful, he’s going to end up as a tenured professor at Columbia University. Of course, Columbia would never tolerate the way he spoke about having “dominion” over his wife. When it comes to antisemitism, however, it seems to be a bit more open-minded. The truth is that some of the tropes Ye espouses about Jewish money and power are not as far from respectable society as we might want to think.
Just look at the new video for the Macklemore song “fucked up,” which has the look of quick-cut propaganda. Macklemore is certainly free to advocate for his politics — I don’t like war, Trump, or Netanyahu, either! But his ideas about how the conflict in the Middle East is driven by the hidden agendas of powerful people — some of whom are in the media! — are creepy. Then there’s his juxtaposition of the Israeli flag and a $100 bill, which seems about as subtle as Elon Musk’s arm movements (which he attacks in the song). Plenty of people don’t seem bothered by the video, and plenty of people move their arms that way. But it’s hard to have a serious discussion about any of this while we’re tolerating outright Naziism. Obviously, Ye’s behavior is cartoonishly extreme. But it’s worth remembering that the symbols of Hamas, which have started to show up at the kind of on-campus anti-Israel protests that Macklemore seems to love so much, are also banned in Germany — just like the swastika.
Most musician biopics follow a familiar arc — a rise and fall, fueled by the childhood trauma behind it all, then a third-act redemption tied to a career peak. The rise usually involves a montage of tour buses and adoring audiences, the fall a montage of drug use and mistreatment of friends or colleagues. By 2007, the formula was so well established that it inspired the parody Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. More recently, Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman, imaginative as they were, leaned on some of the same tropes.
As the producers behind the Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown developed the project, they faced the challenge of making a film that didn’t rely on those plot points, about an iconic singer-songwriter who seldom reveals much. Dylan never derailed his career with a debilitating drug problem (his 1966 tour was fueled by amphetamines, by many accounts, and a motorcycle accident that summer gave him the chance to take some time off), and his career doesn’t have a clear arc so much as a series of sudden left turns. He established himself as a folk singer, then left that scene behind to become a rock star — then veered into country, made an album about his divorce and recorded three gospel albums as a born-again Christian, all in the first two decades of a career that has lasted more than six. It’s not an easy story to make into a film, let alone one with commercial appeal.
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The film works, though. As of the first week of February, the movie has grossed more than $67 million in the U.S. and more than another $20 million abroad, according to Box Office Mojo, and it’s already one of the 10 most successful music biopics in history. It has also received critical acclaim, and numerous Academy Award nominations — including for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor (for Timothée Chalamet as Dylan), Best Supporting Actress (for Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez), and Best Supporting Actor (for Edward Norton as a note-perfect Pete Seeger). Just as important for Dylan and the companies that have the rights to his music — Universal Music Group owns his publishing, Sony Music his recordings — the film has introduced both his story and his music to a younger generation.
From the beginning, the idea behind the film was to focus on a few years of Dylan’s life, from his 1961 arrival in New York to the summer of 1965, when he “went electric” by performing live with a rock band at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Dylan’s company had been developing a project set at this time, and in 2016 it optioned the rights to the Elijah Wald book Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties, which HBO planned to develop into a film. Jack Cocks, who is credited with co-writing the screenplay to A Complete Unknown, wrote a script, but the project never moved forward.
A few years later, Alex Heineman asked his friend and fellow film producer Fred Berger if he would be interested in making some kind of Dylan biopic. “I asked, ‘How did you get the rights?’” Berger remembers. “And he said, ‘I don’t have them.’” The two went to Dylan’s management, which told them that HBO had the rights to another project.
Meanwhile, Berger and Heineman reached out to Chalamet, who was interested in playing Dylan. When the rights to the project became available in 2019, it ended up at Searchlight Pictures, with James Mangold directing — but it didn’t start shooting for another few years. “We got Searchlight and then we got Jim [Mangold], and then we got COVID,” says a source close to Dylan. After that came the writer’s strike.
By then, Mangold, along with Berger and Heineman and Dylan’s team, had the story, as well as an approach. “James Mangold and I and the other producers have a similar feeling about biopics, which is that a cradle-to-grave approach is an expanded Wikipedia page,” Berger says. (Mangold shares a co-writing credit with Cocks.) The director “focused on a narrow period of time” that offered a compelling story to make a larger point about Dylan and what drives him.
In his book, Wald shows that Dylan’s decision to go electric wasn’t just a matter of instrumentation but of leaving the folk scene, with its focus on authenticity and leftist politics, for a rock band and a style that involved more leather jackets than workwear. The original approach for the movie would have spent more time on that political context but the film casts the conflict in more personal terms: Dylan needs to turn away from familial figures, including Pete Seeger, in order to follow his muse. Mangold “approaches story from character,” Berger says. “It’s not about acoustic versus electric — it’s about the family that lifted him up and how those relationships are on the line.”
The stakes are personal, in other words, so A Complete Unknown lacks a rousing resolution, as well as rousing music to accompany it. (The last song Dylan is seen playing in the film is the same song that ended his actual Newport set, “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” an acoustic kiss-off to a scene he had outgrown.) Afterward, Dylan seems to be contemplating his next move, rather than rejoicing in triumph, as Queen is seen doing in Bohemian Rhapsody after the scene set at its Live Aid performance.
It’s hard to know what the success of A Complete Unknown might mean for future music films, but it certainly opens up more possibilities. Coincidentally, one of the next rock biopics to come out will be Deliver Me from Nowhere, a movie about Bruce Springsteen essentially going acoustic, on his 1982 album Nebraska. (It’s Springsteen’s darkest and least commercial album, so don’t expect anthemic music there, either.) It will be interesting to see how that does — and what other stories will follow it to the big screen.
In case you missed it: Suno has picked up another lawsuit against it.
Before you read any further, go to this link and listen to one or two of the songs to which GEMA licenses rights and compare them to the songs created by the generative music AI software Suno. (You may not know the songs, but you’ll get the idea either way.) They are among the works over which GEMA, the German PRO, is suing Suno. And while those examples are selected to make a point, based on significant testing of AI prompts, the similarities are remarkable.
Suno has never said whether it trained its AI software on copyrighted works, but the obvious similarities seem to suggest that it did. (Suno did not respond to a request for comment.) What are the odds that artificial intelligence would independently come up with “Mambo No. 5,” as opposed to No. 4 or No. 6, plus refer to little bits of “Monica in my life” and “Erica by my side?”
“We were surprised how obvious it was,” GEMA CEO Tobias Holzmüller tells Billboard, referring to the music Suno generated. “So we’re using the output as evidence that the original works were elements of the training data set.” That’s only part of the case: GEMA is also suing over the similarities between the AI-created songs and the originals. (While songs created entirely by AI cannot be copyrighted, they can infringe on existing works.) “If a person would claim to have written these [songs that Suno output], he would immediately be sued, and that’s what’s happening here.”
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Although the RIAA is also suing Suno, as well as Udio, this is the biggest case that involves compositions, as opposed to recordings — and it could set a precedent for the European Union. (U.S. PROs would not have the same standing to sue, since they hold different rights.) It will proceed differently from the RIAA case, which involves higher damages, and of course different laws, so Holzmüller explained the case to Billboard — as well as how it could unfold and what’s at stake. “We just want our members to be compensated,” Holzmüller says, “and we want to make sure that what comes out of the model is not blatantly plagiarizing works they have written.”
When did you start thinking about bringing a case like this?
We got the idea the moment that services like Suno and Udio hit the market and we saw how easy it was to generate music and how similar some of it sounds. Then it took us about six months to prepare the case and gather the evidence.
Your legal complaint is not yet public, so can you explain what you are suing over?
The case is based on two kinds of copyright infringement. Obviously, one is the training of the AI model on the material that our members write and the processing operations when generating output. There are a ton of legal questions about that, but I think we will be able to demonstrate without any reasonable doubt that if the output songs are so similar [to original songs] it’s unlikely that the model has not been trained on them. The other side is the output. Those songs are so close to preexisting songs, that it would constitute copyright infringement.
What’s the most important legal issue on the input side?
The text and data-mining exception in the Directive [on Copyright in the Digital Single Market, from 2019]. There is some controversy over whether this exception was intended to allow the training of AI models. Assuming that it was, it allows rights holders to opt out, and we opted out our entire membership. There could also be time and territoriality issues [in terms of where and when the original works were copied].
How does this work in terms of rights and jurisdiction?
On the basis of our membership agreement, we hold rights for reproduction and communication to the public, and in particular for use for AI purposes. As far as jurisdiction, if the infringement takes place in a given territory, you can sue there — you just have to serve the complaint in the country where the infringing company is domiciled. As a U.S. company, if you’re violating copyright in the EU, you are subject to EU jurisdiction.
In the U.S., these cases can come with statutory damages, which can run to $150,000 per work infringed in cases of willful infringement. Is there an amount you’re asking for in this complaint?
We want to stake out the principle and stop this type of infringement. There could be statutory damages, but the level has to be calculated, and there are different standards to do that, at a later stage [in the case].
Our longterm goal is to establish a system where AI companies that train their models on our members’ works seek a license from us and our members can participate in the revenues that they create. We published a licensing model earlier this year and we have had conversations with other services in the market that we want to license, but as long as there are unlicensed services, it’s hard for them to compete. This is about creating a level playing field
How have other rightsholders reacted to this case?
Nothing but support, and a lot of questions about how we did it. Especially in the indie community, there’s a sense that we can only discuss sustainable licenses if we stand up against unauthorized use.
The AI-created works you posted online as examples are extremely similar to well-known songs to which you hold rights. But I assume those didn’t come up automatically. How much did you have to experiment with different prompts to get those results?
We tried different songs, and we tried the same songs a few times and it turned out that for some songs it was a similar outcome every time and for other songs the difference in output was much greater.
These results are much more similar to the original works than what the RIAA found for its lawsuits against Suno and Udio, and I assume the lawyers on those cases worked very hard. Do you think the algorithms work differently in Germany or for German compositions?
I don’t know. We were surprised ourselves. Only a person who can explain how the model works would be able to answer that.
Tell me a bit about the model license you mentioned.
We think a sustainable license has two pillars. Rightsholders should be compensated for the use of their works in training and building a model. And when an AI creates output that competes with input [original works], a license needs to ensure that original rightsholders receive a fair share of whatever value is generated.
But how would you go about attributing the revenue from AI-created works to creators? It’s hard to tell how much an AI relies on any given work when it creates a new one.
Attribution is one of the big questions. My personal view is that we may never be able to attribute the output to specific works that have been input, so distribution can only be done by proxy or by funding ways to allow the next generation of songwriters to develop in those genres. And we think PROs should be part of the picture when we talk about licensing solutions.
What’s the next step in this case procedurally?
It will take some time until the complaint is served [to Suno in the U.S.], and then the defendant will appoint an attorney in Munich, the parties will exchange briefs, and there will be an oral hearing late this year or early next year. Potentially, once there is a decision in the regional court, it could go [to the higher court, roughly equivalent to a U.S. appellate court]. It could even go to the highest civil court or, if matters of European rights are concerned, even to the European Court of Justice [in Luxembourg].
That sounds like it’s going to take a while. Are you concerned that the legal process moves so much slower than technology?
I wish we had a quicker process to clarify these legal issues, but that shouldn’t stop us. It would be very unfortunate if this race for AI would trigger a race to the bottom in terms of protection of content for training.
From a pop music perspective, the Donald Trump inauguration seemed normal enough. After Trump’s inaugural address, Carrie Underwood sang “America the Beautiful” — a cappella, in the wake of an audio malfunction. Jason Aldean and Rascal Flatts performed at the inaugural ball; other events featured Nelly, Gavin DeGraw and the Village People; Snoop Dogg even played the Crypto Ball. It was a far cry from eight years ago, when Trump’s first inaugural featured a comparatively anemic lineup of Toby Keith, Jennifer Holliday and 3 Doors Down. Back then, Billboard reported that the 2017 event “has been hobbled by the perception that major entertainment industry names have refused invites to perform at the festivities.”
The reaction of many artists and music executives to Trump’s first term was to hope there wouldn’t be a second. Artists spoke out against him, and those who supported him took their share of criticism for it. (The exception is Lee Greenwood, who has become so associated with Trump that it’s almost hard to remember a time when he wasn’t.) Oddly, the president for whom the music business had so much contempt probably helped it more than President Barack Obama, who championed technology companies at the expense of rights holders, while Trump signed the Music Modernization Act.
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That was then.
Now — well, now things are different. The artists who supported Kamala Harris found out how much power they have — less than they thought. (Remember all that talk about the Swiftie vote?) Mark Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos, who have real power — they don’t just participate in the conversation, they steer it — had VIP seats at the inauguration. Then there’s Elon Musk, who has used the influence of X in ways that might help Elon Musk (who, when he’s not hating the government, does plenty of business with it). If such powerful CEOs stand behind Trump, who are artists to stay home?
Maybe that’s why artists who seem to hate Trump turned around. Snoop once told DJ Suss that Trump’s supporters were “racist” and starred in a video in which he pulled a fake gun on the character “Ronald Klump.” (The Crypto event at which Snoop performed was independent but Trump embraced the technology by issuing a meme coin.) Village People frontman Victor Willis, who in 2020 asked Trump to stop playing “Y.M.C.A.” and “Macho Man” at his rallies, said on Facebook that the group “accepted an invitation from President Elect Trump’s campaign to participate in inaugural activities.”
These artists aren’t known for their politics — at this point, Snoop’s brand is mostly about being a brand, and Willis seems to relish the exposure Trump gives his songs. (In the Facebook post that announced the Village People performance, Willis also threatened to sue any news organizations that refer to “Y.M.C.A.” as a gay anthem, “because it is damaging to the song.” I will simply note that it originally appeared on the Village People album Cruisin’.) But their actions make other artists less likely to shy away from the new administration. Because the truth is that millions of Americans voted for Trump and those who object to his politics — including myself, incidentally — won’t change their listening habits over anything like this.
Over the past decade or so, “cancel culture” has put pressure on creators and companies to change by trying to ensure that bad behavior has consequences. The problem is that the actual consequences rarely materialize — of all the artists who transgressed and faced online criticism, only R. Kelly saw his popularity plummet, and only after years of accusations, plus multiple convictions. After Morgan Wallen was seen on video using a racial slur in 2021, his radio play plummeted, he was dropped by his booking agent, and his recording contract was “suspended” — but his career recovered within a year. Kanye West still books big venues.
The idea of cancel culture was that the creative sector could pull politics to the left — that if artists and companies pursued more progressive policies, government would follow. Instead, the opposite is happening: Politics is pulling pop culture to the right. Some of this isn’t viscerally ugly — the crypto event that Snoop played isn’t racist or sexist. But unregulated currencies are get-rich-quick schemes backed by arch-libertarian politics that give algorithms more power than democracy.
During Trump’s first term, there was a great deal of #resistance, and the Democrats seemed energized. This isn’t who we are, we told ourselves — it’s an aberration. And for four years starting in 2020, it seemed like that was the case. Now the Democrats are in disarray, united only by their opposition to Trump as a leader, when in fact a new poll showed that many of Trump’s policies are more popular than he is. This is who we are, at least at the moment. Many Trump voters want to see acts they like play inaugural events, and there’s going to be a big market for new artists in the same mold. (I love the Linda Lindas, but there’s more money in signing the next Jason Aldean.)
For the last decade or so, companies that took stands on social issues and artists who spoke up for left-leaning politics were accused of “virtue signaling” — doing the right thing to be seen doing it. At the time, it was so easy to do “the right thing” that it was almost harder not to. No longer; now speaking up for liberal values is going to come at a real cost. It will be interesting to see how many creators and companies are going to be willing to pay it.
We’re a week into 2025, and Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg have gone full MAGA and parts of Los Angeles are burning.
Much like the world in general, the music business seems to be at an inflection point, its dominant subscription-streaming business model challenged by its success. As growth slows in the U.S. and Europe, labels and artists must contend with an avalanche of new music, disruption from distribution startups, and a possible ban on TikTok in the U.S. Then there’s the looming threat of generative artificial intelligence, which raises the uncomfortable prospect that computers could write songs about a dark future in which computers write songs about a dark future.
In a lighter spirit, here are my predictions for the coming year: the good, the bad, the ugly — and the nerdy.
TikTok’s time will not run out — but the issue won’t go away
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The case against TikTok is tighter than many people assume — the U.S. has always restricted foreign ownership of some media (which is why Sony is the only company that owned a movie studio but not a television network). But at a time when both political parties need to show that they matter to young people, the availability of TikTok is a tempting problem to solve. So it’s easy to imagine a compromise — which will last unless tensions rise with China and mysteriously popular videos portray Taiwan as a breakaway province.
Catalogs will continue to sell — but it will be obvious that some were overvalued
The market for publishing catalogs and other rights depends mostly on economics, but demographics matter, too. Baby Boomer performers and songwriters are at an age when they’re doing estate planning, and since many have led complicated personal lives, it’s often simpler to sell assets rather than divide them. That, and streaming growth, will keep the market steady overall. But it will emerge that at least some of these acquisitions weren’t worth the price. Any market only has so many blue-chip assets.
Trump’s administration will settle the federal antitrust case against Live Nation — but some states won’t back off
President Joe Biden’s administration made antitrust a priority, and the Justice Department’s case against Live Nation symbolized its ambition. (The case is complicated.) Most Republicans disdain antitrust enforcement and vice-president-elect JD Vance seems to favor it, but Trump’s consistent desire for visible wins on popular issues will tempt him to settle and declare victory. The states that joined the Justice Department case might not agree, however, and they could continue to pressure the company in other ways.
This will be the winter of our diss-content — but it will not last
Some feuds only have winners. Together, the six tracks at the center of the rap battle between Kendrick Lamar and Drake generated nearly $15.4 million in streaming, digital sales and publishing revenue by late November, according to a Billboard estimate based on Luminate data. No wonder the Drake freestyle “Fighting Irish” already appeared briefly on Jan. 3. Expect a few more lyrical salvos, one or two of which could do well. After that, hip-hop fans will move on.
More mergers are coming — at high prices
The Trump administration may move to limit market concentration in technology and some sectors of the media business, but the recorded music business won’t be a priority. If European regulators approve Universal Music Group’s acquisition of Downtown Music Holdings, another label group will buy another distributor. At what price, though? Companies, like catalogs, are selling for high multiples — especially distributors, which are strategically important to maintain market share and ensure access to talent. How much is too much? We’ll soon find out.
Concert ticket prices will keep rising — while Live Nation gets the blame and the money
As my colleague Dave Brooks points out, some concertgoers have had sticker shock longer than others have been alive, yet they keep paying top dollar to see their favorite artists. Prices will rise most for big shows, boosted by FOMO and the ability to tell everyone you were there on social media. Live Nation will take the blame and make more money, even though prices have more to do with supply and demand — there are only so many tickets to go around.
“Streaming 2.0” will take off — and we’ll figure out what it means
Subscription streaming saved the recorded music business, but its flaws are starting to show. Online platforms are full of AI elevator music and sped-up versions of existing songs. Meanwhile, rightsholders are pushing for a price increase. The solution, according to UMG, is “Streaming 2.0,” a concept introduced at UMG’s capital markets day presentation and mentioned again in the company’s announcement of its new deal with Amazon Music. The basic idea is to segment pricing, to drive up ARPU by offering more value to superfans. This is the year we’ll get some details.
Streaming services will set themselves apart from rivals — at least a little
The tiered pricing model implied by Streaming 2.0 means online platforms could be incentivized to offer additional content or functionality for superfans. Exclusives died in 2016, when the industry’s focus was on adding subscribers. Now it needs to get some of them to pay more. Imagine extra tracks, like those that go to big-box retailers, or behind-the-scenes video — content that’s worth something to a relatively small number of superfans but won’t capture the interest of casual fans.
Emerging markets will keep emerging — but will stay that way for some time
As streaming growth slows in the U.S. and Europe, all eyes are on emerging markets — countries in South America, Africa and the Middle East. The growth is impressive, and the excitement is palpable, but some of these markets account for so little revenue that it will take some time for them to matter as much as people expect. For the next decade, most of them will bring in less revenue than vinyl records in the U.S.
At least one major star will go all-in on Trump — and many fans won’t care
As Trump prepares to take office, the resistance is losing its persistence — especially in the media business. Walt Disney Company CEO Bob Iger signed off on subsidiary ABC’s settlement with Trump, and Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg announced that the company would prioritize free speech, in a way that looks like he kissed Trump’s ring. Before 2026, at least one major pop star will follow, either out of genuine enthusiasm or just because it’s easier. The expected outrage will not materialize.
Classic rock is still big — it’s the pictures that are getting smaller.
The definitive modern pop music documentary was Beatles Anthology, the 1995 multi-night television project released with three CD sets of band outtakes and a coffee table book. More recent years brought Ron Howard’s 2016 documentary about the band’s touring years, Peter Jackson’s 2021 series about the making of Let It Be, and the self-explanatory Beatles ’64. In 2027, the Beatles’ Apple Corps will release four more films, one about each individual member of the band.
Bob Dylan, like the Beatles, has always loomed too large for one movie. Don’t Look Back, arguably the most powerful rock documentary ever made, followed Dylan’s 1965 tour of the U.K. Martin Scorsese’s 2005 No Direction Home chronicled the first five years of his career. Then the director made another documentary, this one full of fictional elements and in-jokes, just about Dylan’s 1975-’76 Rolling Thunder Revue tour.
Now James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown, which opened Christmas Day in the U.S., offers a fictionalized take on the first chapter of Dylan’s career, from 1961 through the 1965 concert at which he “went electric.” Timothée Chalamet stars as Dylan, with Edward Norton as Pete Seeger, Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez and Elle Fanning as a character based on Suze Rotolo (the woman pictured on the cover of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan). It’s a fantastic film, and the performances are incredible — Chalamet captures Dylan’s lost-boy charisma, and Norton channels Seeger’s inflexible idealism perfectly. The movie, based on author Elijah Wald’s Dylan Goes Electric!, took in more than $23 million during its first week in theaters, and reviews have been almost universally favorable.
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The story of the movie is anything but unknown, and there’s not much suspense in it — Dylan grows up fast in the Greenwich Village folk scene, then plays an electric rock set at the Newport Folk Festival, upsetting much of the audience. Dylan’s early career now has the quality of myth, so even the most casual rock fan knows where the story is going — the joy is in seeing it get there in the hands of such talented storytellers. How surprising was Dylan’s decision to play with a rock band, given that the half-electric album Bringing It All Back Home had been out for three months and the single “Like A Rolling Stone” came out five days before the show? Were people booing because Dylan went electric, because the volume obscured his voice, or because his new songs weren’t political? Wald’s excellent book gets at the truth behind the myth — the movie just retells it.
And why not? Stories become myths partly because they’re compelling, and A Complete Unknown evokes nothing so much as a superhero origin story — except that in Dylan’s case, so much of his origin involves making up his actual origin as he went along. In the movie, by the time people realize that this brash young Jewish kid from Minnesota didn’t really work in a traveling circus, he had managed to acquire his own mystique. (In real life, it was a bit more complicated.) As with comic book movies, this leaves plenty of room for sequels, and jokes about this have already been made.
Now’s the time: Chalamet captures Dylan so well that I hope someone signs him up for a sequel based on Dylan’s 1965 tour with the Band, ending with his 1966 motorcycle crash. After that, there’s a domestic drama to be made about Dylan’s retreat into family life in Woodstock, ending with his divorce and Blood on the Tracks. That’s only the first decade and a half of Dylan’s career — there’s another movie to be made about Dylan’s born-again period, when he again offered new music to fans who didn’t receive it well. And what about a comeback story on the making of Oh Mercy or Time Out of Mind?
Dylan’s career lends itself to a certain kind of expansive storytelling, partly because he’s changed so much. (Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There had six different actors essentially playing six different Dylans.) But it’s also worth asking if Dylan is pointing the way forward for music films, as he did with Don’t Look Back. Think about it. Walk the Line told the Johnny Cash story in a way that ends in the late ‘60s, but Cash went on to decline in the ‘80s and came back in the ‘90s, with some of his best work, on the “American Recordings” albums. Isn’t that story worth its own movie? Straight Outta Compton tells the N.W.A. story, but the group’s members went on to have compelling careers that are worth their own stories.
Film executives might suggest that the big stories have already been done, but these days aren’t big stories just foundations for a franchise? Seeing a hero become himself is just the beginning — the best stories are often about what happens next. That’s certainly true in Dylan’s case, and I think it’s true of other artists, to one extent or another. That’s the idea behind the forthcoming Paul McCartney documentary Man on the Run, which tells his story after the Beatles broke up. I hope a Dylan movie sequel follows.
Over the past dozen years, vinyl records have grown from an indie-rock subculture to a significant, established part of the music business. In the U.S. alone, vinyl sales were worth $1.4 billion in 2023, more than CDs — and as much as Latin music — and they will probably be worth more than $2 billion worldwide by 2025.
As the market matures — and growth slows from spectacular to merely healthy — it’s also splintering. A part of the business once dominated by rock and reissues now looks more like the Billboard 200, and labels are releasing different kinds of records for different buyers — low-price products for big box retail, endless color variations for pop fans and, increasingly, high-end vinyl for audiophiles.
The descriptions of these products makes them sound quite impressive — as do the prices. If the new Joni Mitchell vinyl reissues just aren’t good enough for you — and they are very good — $125 will buy you Mobile Fidelity’s UD1S 180g 45RPM SuperVinyl 2LP Box Set, pressed from “analog master to DSD 256 to analog console to lathe.” That’s about five times the price of most records. Mobile Fidelity is selling a few of Mitchell’s albums in that format, plus titles by Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Van Halen and many more. It’s not the only company selling premium products, either: Analogue Productions is reissuing all the Steely Dan albums on 45rpm on UHQR vinyl for $150 each, plus putting out a treasure trove of deluxe Atlantic Records reissues to make the label’s 75th anniversary. (Both companies have been in business for some time.) The majors are doing this themselves, too. Back in 2019, Blue Note President Don Was launched the Tone Poet series, which reissues jazz records that sell for about $35. And in 2023, Rhino began releasing Rhino High Fidelity reissues of WMG albums, which it sells online for $40.
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All of these are marketed with the exacting specificity of supercar engines — it’s not just vinyl, it’s SuperVinyl! But how much better do they really sound — especially to an untrained ear on a home stereo? This is important to the music business — consumers will only buy so many $125 records if they don’t sound great. And I was also curious myself.
Here I must confess that I’m enough of an audiophile to understand about half of the jargon above. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a few dozen audiophile records myself, including two Mobile Fidelity Linda Ronstadt records (fantastic), a CBS Mastersound version of Bridge Over Troubled Water (incredible), and the Craft Recordings Small Batch pressing of Isaac Hayes Hot Buttered Soul (like being in the studio). Others were just very good — and not worth the money. And I had never really sat down and compared different versions of the same record in any disciplined way. So I decided to do so. A few caveats: I have no real audio expertise; I listened on a very good home stereo, and it doesn’t make sense to buy records like this unless you have one; your mileage may vary. Here’s what I found.
I started with the Analogue Productions reissue of Steely Dan’s Aja because the album has a well-deserved reputation as a fantastic recording. I compared it to an early pressing I have, which is a detailed and vibrant record — it sounds great. This reissue just blew it away. The definition on the reissue was so impressive that on “Black Cow’ and “Deacon Blues,” I noticed sounds that I hadn’t really paid much attention to before. And while the older album sounded spacious, the new one sounded like I could point to which musicians were playing where. If you’re a Steely Dan fan, this is worth $150. If you’re not, this might make you one. It’s that good.
The other Analogue Productions reissue I listened to, Otis Blue / Otis Redding Sings Soul, is part of the company’s Atlantic 75 Audiophile Series, and I compared it to my copy of the album that came in a 2017 box set of Redding’s mono studio albums. (I compared these reissues to records I happened to own.) The Analogue version was more detailed and transparent — specific sounds stood out more. But the reissue was of the stereo version of the album, on which Redding’s voice is on one side, and I found that my less detailed mono version had more punch. I prefer the reissue, but it’s a close call.
The first new Mobile Fidelity album I played was Bob Dylan’s Good as I Been To You, which I compared to the 2017 European reissue. Neither record has much of a soundstage — it’s really just Dylan and his guitar — but the Mobile Fidelity version has more detail. For this album, though, that’s everything. Hearing Dylan’s fingers on the strings matters because the album is so intimate — it’s a portrait of a songwriter going back to the music that inspired him. The reissue makes a big difference.
Then I tried Mobile Fidelity’s $125 pressing of Joni Mitchell’s Blue. It’s astonishing. From the opening strums of “All I Want,” I felt like I could better hear more details on a familiar recording. I compared it to my 2007 reissue, which I prefer to an early pressing I used to own. The 2007 pressing is a great record, with the depth and spaciousness this album deserves, and I don’t have a bad thing to say about it. But the Mobile Fidelity pressing offered more space and detail. Here, the deluxe version is better, but it’s hard to go wrong either way.
Last I turned to two Rhino High Fidelity records. (Tone Poet pressings sound great, but I don’t have enough old jazz records to compare them to.) I’ve always been happy with the 2014 reissue of Gram Parsons’ Grievous Angel, a quiet, clear pressing of a detailed recording. But the Rhino High Fidelity reissue blew it away: Details came out clearer, vocals emerged more forcefully, the music just seemed more lively. It just felt more there. Listening to the old record after the new one, it almost sounded veiled. Of all the records I played, this one delivered the biggest difference for the least amount of money. It’s a no-brainer.
I found less of a difference between the Rhino High Fidelity version of the Stooges debut and my 2010 reissue. This is a less detailed recording than Grievous Angel, by design, and it should hit harder – and both versions did. The deluxe version sounded a bit more present, but only if you listened closely. To get another perspective, I also listened to a 2005 CD reissue of the album, which I kept because it came with a disc of extra tracks, and I immediately noticed that it sounded lousy — shrill, unexciting, and hard on the ears at any volume. Here, both vinyl versions are great.
Obviously, pricey records have a limited audience. But at a time when so many music executives are talking about “superfans,” this seems like a product category worth keeping an eye on.
Here we go again.
On Dec. 9, the technology activist group Fight for the Future announced that 300 musicians signed an open letter denouncing the lawsuit that labels filed against the Internet Archive for copying and offering free streams of old recordings under its “Great 78” project. The letter essentially says that labels need to focus less on profit and more on supporting creators, by raising streaming service royalty rates — and partnering with “valuable cultural stewards” like the Internet Archive.
This is exactly and entirely backward. Labels have to focus on making money — they’re companies, duh — and they are always trying to raise streaming royalties in a way that would help them, as well as artists. It would help if streaming services raised prices, which they would have an easier time doing if less unlicensed music was available for free on both for-profit pirate sites and services like the Internet Archive. And one of the worst possible groups to offer advice on such matters is Fight for the Future, which has consistently opposed the kind of copyright protection that lets creators control the availability of their work.
Most people think of the Internet Archive, if they think of it at all, as the nonprofit organization that runs the Wayback Machine, which maintains a searchable archive of past and present Internet sites. But it also preserves and makes available other media — sometimes in ways that push the boundaries of copyright. After the label lawsuit against the Internet Archive was shifted to alternative dispute resolution in late July, an appeals court affirmed book publishers’ victory in their lawsuit against the organization for making electronic copies of books available without a license under the self-styled concept of “controlled digital lending.” On Dec. 4, the deadline passed for the Internet Archive to file a cert petition with the Supreme Court, making that decision final.
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It sometimes seems that part of the purpose of the Internet Archive, which was founded in 1996 by technology activist Brewster Kahle, is to push the boundaries of copyright. In 2006, Kahle sued the government for changing the copyright system from opt-in to opt-out. (His side lost in the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals.) Later, the Internet Archive began buying and scanning books and distributing digital files of the contents on a temporary basis, according to how many copies of the volume the organization owned. (The digital copies became unusable after a certain amount of time.) During the pandemic, it launched a “National Emergency Library” and announced it would begin lending out more digital copies than the number of physical copies of books it owned. Two months later, three major publishers and one other sued, arguing that this controlled digital lending — a theoretical model that’s not recognized in U.S. law — infringed copyright.
The Internet Archive argued that it was a library and that its digital lending qualified as “transformative use,” an aspect of the fair use exception to copyright law that in some cases allows copyrighted works to be used for a different purpose. (The thumbnail images seen in search engine results qualify as a transformative use, for example, since they are used to help users find the images themselves.) The copyright exceptions for libraries and archives are very specific, though, and it’s hard to imagine how borrowed digital copies of books are so different from the digital books that have become an increasingly important part of the publishing business. The Second Circuit Appeals Court treated the dispute as a straight fair use case — it barely mentioned the National Emergency Library — and ruled for the publishers.
“Fair use is an important part of the law, and no one would disagree,” says Maria Pallante, president and CEO of the Association of American Publishers, the trade group that handled the lawsuit. “But this this was a gross distortion of fair use — they wanted to normalize that it’s OK to reproduce millions of works.”
The label lawsuit — Sony Music, Universal Music Group and Concord sued under the auspices of the RIAA — could end up being just as straightforward. (Kahle is also personally named in the lawsuit, along with other entities.) The Great 78 Project makes 400,000 recordings digitized from 78 rpm records available to stream online. The idea is to “make this less commonly available music accessible to researchers,” according to the project’s web site.
The reality, the labels’ lawsuit alleges, is that among the recordings available are Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven” and Duke Ellington’s “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing),” all of which have considerable commercial life on streaming services. “The Internet Archive’s ‘Great 78’ project is a smokescreen for industrial-scale copyright infringement of some of the most iconic recordings ever made,” RIAA chief legal officer Ken Doroshow said in a statement. The Internet Archive did not respond to a request for comment.
The Internet Archive seems to be appealing both of these cases to magazines, making the case that the $621 million RIAA lawsuit threatens “the web’s collective memory” (Wired) and the “soul of the Internet” (Rolling Stone). Maybe. But neither book publishers nor labels object to the Internet Archive’s actual archive of the actual Internet. In both pieces, Kahle positions himself as a librarian and a preservationist, never mind that “White Christmas” doesn’t need preserving and that the Music Modernization Act has a provision that allows libraries to offer certain unavailable pre-1972 recordings if they follow a process. (The labels’ complaint says the organization didn’t do this; Kahle told Rolling Stone that “we talked to people, it wasn’t a problem.”) The fact that some of the recordings are scratchy, which Kahle and his allies make much of, is legally beside the point.
It’s reasonable to hope that the labels don’t put the Internet Archive out of business, because the Wayback Machine is so valuable. But it’s also reasonable to wonder why Kahle let the Internet Archive take such big legal risks in the first place. If the Wayback Machine is so important, why distribute books and music in a way that could be found to infringe copyright, with the enormous statutory damages that come with that? Unless, of course, that’s actually part of the organization’s work in the first place.
Some of these issues can get pretty abstract, but the way they’re settled could have serious consequences in the years to come. If one wanted to assemble a collection of scanned books in order to train an artificial intelligence, one might go about it in exactly the way Kahle did. Same goes for old recordings. Indeed, artificial intelligence companies are already arguing that mass copying of media doesn’t infringe copyright because it qualifies as “transformative,” and thus as fair use. There is no evidence that the Internet Archive copied books and recordings for this reason, but it’s certainly possible that the organization might have wanted to set precedents to make it easier for AI companies to argue that they use copyrighted work for training purposes compensating rightsholders.
The letter from Fight for the Future points out that “the music industry cannot survive without musicians.” But there’s a chance that the kind of large-scale copying of music that it’s convincing musicians to defend could represent a first step toward the technology business doing exactly that.
Music made by generative AI has been on the horizon as an issue for a couple of years, and the industry started playing close attention when the “Fake Drake” track hit streaming services in April 2023. The part of the issue that gets the most attention is, of course, that part that involves celebrities — especially Drake, who objected when his voice was spoofed by AI and then used AI software to spoof the voices of other rappers.
That’s just the tip of a particularly dangerous iceberg, though, according to a new study commissioned by global collective management trade organization CISAC and conducted by PMP Strategy. Vocal imitations are fun, but how much time can you really spend listening to Frank Sinatra sing Lil Jon? The bigger issue is what generative AI means for new music — first for passive listening, presumably, and eventually for the entire business.
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Using quantitative and qualitative research, PMP concluded that a full $4 billion could be lost to composers and publishing rightsholders in 2028 — 24% of the revenue they collect through CISAC-member organizations. (This gets complicated: The study measures revenue that comes to them through collective management organizations, which includes performing rights and, in most cases, mechanical rights royalties.) This doesn’t even count the recording business, or revenue from synch licensing. By 2028, generative AI music will be worth $16 billion and the services that create it will bring in $4 billion in revenue. One previous study commissioned by SACEM and GEMA reached somewhat similar conclusions — in that case, that 27% of revenue would be at risk.
The music business is driven by new pop music, so there’s a tendency to focus on stars like Drake. But publishers and songwriters also depend on background music played in public — at bars and in stores — and streaming services have made a business out of utilitarian music, sounds to help listeners focus, relax or sleep. That might be where the impact of generative AI is felt first — the restaurant that plays AI music to avoid paying a performing rights organization, a playlist that avoids copyrighted music, a low-budget film that uses music generated by an algorithm. By 2028, the study predicts that generative AI could cut into 30% of digital revenue, 22% of TV and radio revenue and 22% of compositions played in public. Eventually, presumably, AI could generate hits as well.
To some extent, AI is inevitable.
“There’s no way we can or should stand against AI — it can be a wonderful tool,” said songwriter and ABBA frontman Björn Ulvaeus, who serves as president of CISAC, at a Nov. 3 online press conference to announce the results of the study. Many composers already use it as a tool, mostly for specific purposes. (I thought of using AI to write this column but I got nervous that it would do a poor job — and terrified that it would do a good one.) “Creators should be at the negotiating table,” Ulvaeus said. “The success of AI isn’t based on public content — it’s based on copyrighted works. We need to negotiate a fair deal.”
That’s only possible if generative AI companies are required to license the rights to ingest works, which by definition involves copying them. That seems to be the case already in the European Union, although the AI Act says rightsholders need to opt out in order to prevent the unauthorized use of their work to train AI software. In the U.S., until Congress turns its attention to AI, this is a matter for the courts, and in June the RIAA, on behalf of the major labels, sued the generative AI companies Suno and Udio for allegedly infringing their copyrights.
The study lays out a picture of how generative AI will develop between now and 2028, in both the music and audiovisual sectors — it will affect streaming revenue the most, but also change the market for music in TV and film. And although few people spend much time thinking about background music, it provides a living, or part of a living, for many musicians. If that business declines, will those musicians still be able to play on albums that demand their skills? Will studios that are booked for all kinds of music survive without the background music business?
The study predicts that the generative AI business will grow as the creative sector shrinks, as some of the money from music goes to software — presumably software trained on copyrighted works. “In an unchanged regulatory framework, creators will not benefit from the Gen AI revolution,” the study says. Instead, they will suffer “the loss of revenues due to the unauthorized use of their works” to train AI software and the “replacement of their traditional revenue streams due to the substitution effect of AI-generated outputs.”
Making sure composers and other creators are compensated fairly for the use of their works in training generative AI programs will not be easy. It would be hard for creators and other rightsholders to license a onetime right to use material for training purposes, after which an AI model can use it forever. The current thinking is that it makes more sense to license these rights, then require AI programs to operate with a certain level of transparency to track the works they reference in response to a given prompt. Then the owners of those works can be paid.
This is going to be hard. Getting it right means starting immediately — and the obvious first step is clarifying creators’ rights to be compensated when their work is used to train an AI.
Even by the standards of a litigious business, Drake’s recent legal actions against Universal Music Group and other companies look like odd filings.
On Nov. 25, Drake filed an action accusing UMG and Spotify of acting to “artificially inflate” the popularity of Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us”; the next day, he made a similar filing against UMG and iHeartRadio, alleging that UMG’s release of the song could also constitute defamation. The basic idea seems to be that “Not Like Us,” Lamar’s diss track against Drake, became so successful because it was rigged.
“UMG did not rely on chance, or even ordinary business practices,” Drake’s lawyers wrote in the first filing. “It instead launched a campaign to manipulate and saturate the streaming services and airwaves.” The filings accuse UMG and its partners of acting in ways that are fraudulent, including using “bots” and payola, but little proof is provided — a “whistleblower,” an “inside source known to petitioner” and an assertion that Drake “learned of at least one UMG employee making payments to an independent radio promoter” who had agreed to pay stations. (The company has said in a statement to Billboard that “the suggestion that UMG would do anything to undermine any of its artists is offensive and untrue.”)
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These filings aren’t lawsuits, but rather legal attempts to get information that might provide the basis for them. And since Lamar’s success doesn’t really come at the expense of Drake’s — at least any more than any artist becomes popular at the expense of any other — it’s hard not to wonder if Drake is just upset that, with “Not Like Us,” Lamar seems to have won the long-running feud between them. That’s a long story — well-summarized here — but Drake and Lamar basically traded diss tracks for hip-hop fans until Lamar’s scathing “Not Like Us” topped the Billboard Hot 100. Drake is essentially claiming that UMG — for which both rappers record under different labels — cheated on Lamar’s behalf. It was rigged.
Quick: What other famous person does this remind you of? Hints: When he wins, he revels in his success; when he loses, he blames it on unfairness and litigates. Yes, I’m going there: Drake has become Trumpian.
Before Team Drizzy throws bottles of Virginia Black Whiskey by Drake, Drake is a skilled rapper, a compelling performer, and a fantastic Drake — it’s hard to compare him to other artists, both because he doesn’t fit neatly into a genre and because his greatest talent is being Drake. (Drake the artist seems to be an exaggerated version of Drake the person, with the soap operatic conflict amped up and the more mundane parts edited out.)
Both Drake and Trump thrive on success and fandom — their fans root for them because they win and they win because their fans root for them. (Trump the politician seems to be an exaggerated version of Trump the person, with the cultural conflict amped up and the boring parts edited out.) Neither gets a ton of respect from critics, but they are both popular beyond belief, and they love to win and then show off that they did. Drake’s feud with Lamar became so compelling because each was a champion in his own way — Drake the unmatched entertainer, Lamar the iconic old-school lyricist. By scoring a No. 1 single with a diss track, an unusual achievement, Lamar essentially beat Drake at his own game.
Is this why Drake is filing legal actions? Most people file litigation for financial restitution, to get an injunction to stop something, or to win negotiating leverage. In this case, the first would be hard to calculate, the second involves practices that would be hard to prove and the third seems unlikely — why would Drake want out of the UMG deal he signed in 2021, which includes publishing and merchandise rights and was described as “Lebron sized.” The only thing we know about Drake’s motive is that his second filing says he “brings this action for a discrete and specific purpose: to understand whether, and how, UMG funneled payments to iHeartRadio and its radio stations as part of a pay-to-play scheme.” Perhaps, like Trump, he simply can’t imagine the possibility that he would lose a fair fight.
Does Drake have a case? If UMG really had the power to make any song a hit, wouldn’t it do so more frequently? If anyone thinks Drake hasn’t received enough marketing or promotion — and I have yet to meet such a person — it’s worth considering that some Spotify subscribers found the service’s promotion of Scorpion so extensive that they asked for a refund. This, too, has political echoes: If U.S. elections are as unfair as Trump claims, how can he trust the one in November?
Like Trump, Drake loves the one-upmanship drama of competition — but only, apparently, when he wins. Trump ran several campaigns based partly on the politics of insult comedy — his dog-whistle racism was obviously far worse — but he doesn’t like to be on the receiving end of it. (The kind of thin skin that would be a personal fault in most is terrifying in the U.S. president.)
If rappers could pursue defamation claims for diss tracks, much less against the labels that release them, hip-hop never would have made it out of the Bronx. Lamar called Drake a certified pedophile, which is an ugly accusation, and a pun on Drake’s Certified Lover Boy, but not an actual thing; the reason Drake looks bad isn’t because people believe it but because “Not Like Us” is catchier and wittier than his own diss tracks. Drake certainly has the right to ask about music promotion practices — even in a legal filing. If no evidence of this emerges, though, he will need to seek satisfaction the old-fashioned way — by releasing a more compelling single.