State Champ Radio magazine
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On a hulking gray building on a wide boulevard once bisected by the Berlin Wall, a silver call button grants access to an expansive, shadowy, unfurnished foyer. Ascend a winding set of stairs and open the door at the top, and you’ll find the office of the CEO: South Korea-born Peggy Gou, who has swiftly become the world’s most in-demand female DJ-producer working in dance music today.
Inside Gou HQ, the bright overhead lights contrast with the early-April rain outside. The sprawling room — which has a vibe that’s more “friend’s apartment” than sterile corporate sanctum — is outfitted with a wooden meeting table, full bookshelves and a plush green velvet couch from which Tasos Filippou, Gou’s touring manager, arises to serve Gou and me black coffee in little terra cotta mugs on peace sign-shaped coasters. Gou wears baggy jeans, a black sweater that covers her many tattoos and sunglasses with silver reflective lenses that offer only occasional glimpses of her eyes. Her hair is piled in a loose bun, her skin is flawless, and even in casual mode, she’s giving cool-girl glamour. She offers a quick handshake, closes the window to make sure the room is quiet, then sits down to attend to business.
In the last 12 days, her slick brand of house has taken her to Miami, Mexico City and Buenos Aires. Of course, it’s not unusual for DJs to party hop across continents — what’s less typical for a DJ is having an office. But Gou’s story is defined by a business acumen that could be characterized as corporate hustle if it didn’t also happen inside dark techno clubs.
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A Korean woman in a scene dominated by white men, Gou, 32, has orchestrated her own dizzying rise, immersing herself in Berlin’s electronic scene upon moving here 10 years ago, then ascending to white-hot producer/fashion tastemaker thanks to last summer’s viral single, and her first Billboard chart hit, “It Goes Like (Nanana).” This new ubiquity — ever-higher billing at the world’s major music festivals, a German Vogue cover, a 2024 BRIT Award nomination for international song of the year — has neatly teed up Gou’s debut album, I Hear You, coming June 7 through eminent indie label XL Recordings.
The rare self-managed marquee artist, Gou has achieved much of her success on her own, and the room we’re sitting in functions as an extension of the command center in her mind.
“I remember meeting managers who told me, ‘I can make your life easier,’ ” Gou recalls. “I was like, ‘How? Tell me.’ Even if you take care of all these emails, you still have to come back to me because no one can make decisions for me. Every decision has to come from me.”
Peggy Gou photographed March 26, 2024 at Maison Celeste in Mexico City. Sentimiento tracksuit, Tercer Mundo vest, Cruda shoes, AYANEGUI earrings and necklace.
Aaron Sinclair
These decisions have produced an expansive business that includes heavy touring; A-list brand deals; her label, Gudu Records; and a merchandise line, Peggy Goods. With strong fan bases across continents, Gou will next be raising her profile even more in the United States ahead of and beyond I Hear You’s release.
“Because Peggy has such an incredible touring footprint globally,” XL Recordings head of U.S. campaigns Laura Lyons says, “in the U.S., we’re in a position where, because we haven’t historically had her in the market as much, we need to build on the moments when she’s here in person and also translate the excitement of an international, globe-trotting DJ to the local market.”
One week and 6,000 miles later, the odds will look clearly in Gou’s favor.
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The first time Gou played Coachella, in 2018, the line to get into her show wrapped around the at-capacity Yuma Tent where she was performing at three in the afternoon. “Even one person not being able to see my set, that upsets me,” she says. “So I was like, ‘Maybe next time, I play a bigger stage.’ ”
On the first night of the 2024 festival, that “maybe” has become a firm “for sure.” Gou presides over the Sahara Tent — Coachella’s biggest and most established dance music mecca — from atop a towering stage as an emoji version of herself smiles at the audience from massive LED screens. With the newly expanded Sahara Tent stretching 320 feet, not including spillover — almost a football field long — it’s likely Gou’s crowd is the largest ever assembled to see a female producer in Coachella history. (After the set, she shares Instagram Stories of herself backstage hanging with J Balvin, getting chummy with Will Smith and then getting a burger from an In-N-Out somewhere in the Coachella Valley.)
In March, Gou made her debut at Miami’s Ultra Music Festival, and in May, she’ll play dance mega-festival EDC Las Vegas for the first time. These shows, “from a perception point of view,” Lyons says, “are going to broaden [her] audience from this more underground electronic fan to a more mainstream kind of electronic base.”
Cueva top and skirt, Ket Void jacket, Cruda shoes. Floral Art Installation by Flores Cosmos.
Aaron Sinclair
That might be anathema to some purists, particularly those steeped in the techno-as-religion culture of Berlin. But Gou has been able to maintain her underground cred even while blowing up. The early-April screening of the music video for I Hear You’s third single, “1+1=11,” happened at a smoky Berlin club where the techno went until 3 a.m. on a Wednesday, and her friend group includes revered producers like Four Tet and Floating Points, whom she was recently hanging with in Mexico City. “I love those guys,” she says. “So nerdy. Like, ‘Guys, stop talking about how fat your drum is.’ ”
I suggest to Gou that her underground pedigree, paired with a forthcoming debut album that’s refreshingly accessible, might make her uniquely well-suited for the United States, where the so-called “underground” styles of house and techno have become the scene’s prevailing commercial forces in the live space. For her, that idea is beside the point. “Some people are like, ‘She’s really underground,’ or ‘She’s commercial,’ ” Gou says. “I don’t care. I’m just going to keep doing my thing and you can say what you want.”
Growing up in South Korea’s third-most populous city, Incheon — where she was born Kim Min-ji — Gou listened to “sh-t,” “good music” and “everything.” She lived in the shadow of her older brother, who’s “like super genius, one of the crazy Mensa IQ people.” Meanwhile, “Study wasn’t my thing. I was kind of rebel. So if you tell me to stay here, I will not stay there. If you tell me to go, I will stay. I didn’t like people telling me what to do even from when I was a kid.”
Her parents, recognizing that their 14-year-old was not “doing well” in South Korea, asked if she wanted to study English in London; she did. In the United Kingdom, Gou lived with guardians but snuck out to parties, fostering a clubbing habit that matriculated with her into the London College of Fashion. She began DJ’ing, booked her own residency at a club in Shoreditch, finished school, moved to Berlin and worked at a record store by day while she was indoctrinated into techno by night. “After one month, I’m like, ‘OK,’ ” she says flatly of her first trips to the city’s notoriously exclusive techno institution, Berghain. “Three months later” — her voice grows louder and more forceful — “ ‘OK.’ Five months later, I was like, ‘I finally get it.’ ”
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By 2016, she was making her own music, and by 2018, revered dance label Ninja Tune was releasing it. She started her own Gudu Records in 2019; that same year, she released the groovy house track “Starry Night,” which featured her singing in Korean and became a dance world hit.
All the while, she was touring. As her own manager, “I was the only person who was pushing me,” she says. “I didn’t need to be there. I didn’t have to do that. I think I got hyped. I got too excited about the shows and getting many shows.” In 2019, she played in 25 countries, including some, like Lebanon, Egypt and Saudi Arabia, that are far from the well-trod dance world circuit.
“Imagine a bullet train,” Gou says, speaking rapidly. “This was me in 2019. When it stopped, it didn’t stop slowly; it had to stop super fast.”
When the pandemic started, she returned to South Korea and spent three months at home — the longest amount of time she had been with her family since she was 14. She recharged even as life in South Korea — which introduced what many considered one of the world’s best COVID-19 control programs — continued without large-scale lockdowns. (“Asian culture is different because when you have a flu, you wear a mask,” she says, “so it was not that difficult for Asian people to keep the rules.”)
In Incheon, Gou had the time and head space to focus on music. She echoes a pandemic-related refrain prevalent among DJs who tour heavily: “It was a hard time for a lot of people, but for me, it was one of the best things that happened to me.”
Peggy Gou photographed March 26, 2024 at Maison Celeste in Mexico City. Sentimiento top, Tiempos pants, Tercer Mundo belt, Frank Zapata shoes, AYANEGUI necklace. Batán Chairs by Taller Batán.
Aaron Sinclair
She kept working upon her return to Berlin in mid-2020, finding that the ’90s dance music she was listening to during the pandemic had “changed my taste.” While she had been making her debut album for a while, she decided to make ’90s dance the center of the project, evident in the interplay of the bass and chimes on a track like “Lobster Telephone,” which sounds like it’s sprinkled with powdered sugar. The “It Goes Like (Nanana)” bassline is pure Jock Jams — the 1995 compilation that introduced a generation of suburban adolescents to dance music — and has helped the song aggregate 72.2 million on-demand official U.S. streams and 565.3 million on-demand official global streams to date, according to Luminate. Altogether, the album, on which she sings in both Korean and English, is dance music distilled down to its most polished essentials — and you don’t have to be a hardcore fan of the genre to get into it.
The sonic opposite of EDM maximalism, I Hear You may very well represent the future of main-stage electronic music. “In my career, I never once thought, ‘I’m on the next level now,’ ” she says. “Only when ‘Nanana’ happened did I realize that people were recognizing my song before my face. That’s when I really realized, ‘F–k, this is different.’ ”
Gou’s North American agent, Stephanie LaFera of WME (which represents her worldwide), says the song’s success has created “significant growth in her U.S. audience” that’s “only increasing the demand for her.” LaFera is focused on opportunities that serve Gou’s “super-engaged fan base that cuts across a lot of different spheres” while also introducing her to new listeners.
“For [“It Goes Like”] to become this global song of the summer and be Peggy’s first song to hit No. 1 on the U.S. dance radio charts was just such a fantastic tone-setter for this album,” Lyons adds, “and for what we believe she’s capable of achieving in the U.S.”
If you’re Peggy Gou, it’s entirely possible that the person seated across from you at Thanksgiving dinner may turn out to be Lenny Kravitz — which was exactly the case when, in 2022, she went to a friend’s house in Miami for the holiday.
“He had absolutely no idea who I was,” Gou recalls. “The only thing I could mention was that I did [two songs] for [his daughter] Zoë’s movie [The Batman].” It was a solid in. The pair talked over turkey, and her friend told Kravitz to check out Gou’s music. Not long after, Kravitz asked if she wanted to collaborate.
She sent Kravitz a track — a song that she had struggled to find a singer for after artists including The Weeknd and Giveon turned it down — and heard nothing back. “So I decided to go to the Bahamas,” where Kravitz lives, she says. “My friend was like, ‘You want to have Lenny Kravitz on your album? F–king book your flight, go there and get it.’ ” There was, Gou says, some “opinion clash” during the recording process, as “I’m a perfectionist and he’s perfectionist.” She adds with a smile, however, that Kravitz did ultimately tell her she was right about a part of the song they had disagreed on. Their slinky “I Believe in Love Again,” the second I Hear You single, arrived in November.
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Gou’s single-minded professional chess moves manifested her deal with XL in the first place, years after she reached out to the label about an internship back when she was a student in London. XL didn’t respond then, but it got in touch after the success of her 2018 single “It Makes You Forget (Itgehane).” “I did make a joke,” she says of her first meeting with XL, “like, ‘Check your inbox.’ ”
Gou acknowledges that working with her can be “very difficult because I push the team always harder… If you have so many opinions and you’re a woman, people call you a b–ch, but [XL] doesn’t see it that way. They think it’s a pleasure to work with someone who has a clear vision.”
XL also most likely enjoys working with a talent who’s changing the face of electronic music simply by being one of the most popular artists making it. “As incredible as it is to see a Korean woman occupy this space in dance music culture,” says Lyons, who herself is Asian American, “it’s not the reason why I’m excited by her.”
While a new level of streaming and chart success would be a nice outcome for I Hear You, to Gou, they’re “very 1D hopes.” She’ll consider the album a success if people listen to it and — she puts a hand over her heart — “get a feeling.”
Bottega Veneta coat, AYANEGUI earrings.
Aaron Sinclair
The feelings are clearly being felt at Coachella, where people in the crowd — many of them, like Gou, also wearing sunglasses though the sun set long ago — are flailing around, arms in the air and dreamy smiles on their faces. A crew of six dancers pop and lock, vogue and gyrate onstage. Gou will take this show on the road this summer for a run that includes European festivals like Primavera Sound, Glastonbury and Creamfields. In August, she’s hosting and headlining her own one-day mini-fest at London’s Gunnersbury Park; the show’s 8,000 tickets sold out within days of going on sale.
Unlike her early years of touring alone, Gou now travels with her tour manager and a road assistant or two. She “doesn’t always fly private,” but says the primary appeal of a private jet is a preference for efficiency that she says is part of her heritage: “I’m someone who [doesn’t] like wasting my time. I’m very efficient. I think that’s from Korean culture. Efficiencies are very important in Korea.”
A private jet “saves a lot of time,” she continues, “and you can sleep half an hour or even one hour more. Also, you don’t need to worry about the baggage weight.” Perhaps most crucially, though, flying private lets her move through the world while maintaining maximum control. “Hotel lobbies and the airport,” she says, “give me so much anxiety.”
These days, Gou’s team also includes a security detail, as she has experienced stalkers and people “waiting at the hotel or waiting at the airport for 10 hours.” She “can’t go to Italy alone” and brings two security guards to Argentina where the crowd is “quite wild.” She recalls spending the entirety of a commercial flight to Ibiza facing the window after half the plane recognized her while boarding. “I was like, ‘My neck,’ ” she says with a laugh, feigning pain. “It’s nice, but sometimes it gets a lot for me.”
“She can see 100 meters ahead in the airport. She notices the colors of things, remembers what people are wearing and is just super, super sensitive,” touring manager Filippou says, “especially when there’s a lot of people around.”
But her skin has gotten thicker as her career has grown. “In the beginning, I remember [people saying], ‘You will never be bigger than this person. No one’s going to buy your record. No one knows your name.’ I heard these things so many times.”
The criticisms “used to really affect me,” Gou continues. “I used to want to scream, like, ‘That’s not f–king true.’ ” But as time went on, she realized she was the reason her feelings were getting so hurt. “I was not happy,” she says of her pre-pandemic life. “I was so focused and tunnel-visioned. My relationship with boyfriend wasn’t doing well. Friends, workwise — nothing was happy. I learned a lot about myself during the pandemic.” Learning to listen first and react later has been huge for her. It’s why she’s wearing a mirrored headpiece that reflects her ears on her album cover and why she named the project I Hear You.
Sentimiento tracksuit, Tercer Mundo vest, AYANEGUI earrings and necklace.
Aaron Sinclair
One of the biggest early critiques Gou experienced side-eyed her interest in fashion, which made her fear “that people would never take me seriously.” So during her early years in Berlin, she sported the de facto DJ uniform of black (and sometimes, maybe, white) T-shirts — a fit that never felt authentic. Around this time, a mentor told her to turn her perceived weaknesses into strengths, so she ditched the tees for couture.
Dressing in brightly colored, flowing sets and racing gear helped her catch the attention of top fashion houses like Louis Vuitton, with which she has had two partnerships. She was good friends with late DJ-designer Virgil Abloh; after his 2021 death, she posted on Instagram that “I will forever be grateful that in the infancy of my career, Virgil showed support at a time when not many others would.” Her own Peggy Goods line creates custom merch for each of her shows; at the “1+1=11” music video screening party, more than one person wears a bomber jacket with the song’s title embroidered on the back.
Gou documents the fabulousness of it all on her Instagram, which has 4.1 million followers and which — yes — she runs herself. To her, the account is a natural evolution of her old Tumblr, where she would post photos of her outfits, meals and outings. She uses the same approach now on Instagram — except the outfits are by Ferragamo, the meals are on a beach in Ibiza and the outings are playing for tens of thousands of people screaming her name. Her glamorous aesthetic, and the size of her audience, has yielded deals with brands including Don Julio, Coca-Cola and Maybelline.
Now other DJs ask her how they can expand their own brands into the fashion world. It’s speculative, but the most obvious answer seems to be to work as hard as she has. “People see that I’m riding in a Rolls-Royce now, but I used to take a f–king bus,” she says. “I did an interview in Korea recently, and the first [comment] was, ‘I smell old money.’ No. My dad was poor. My mom was average. I’m not from a rich family. I worked hard to have a glamorous life.”
Like most anyone who has achieved major success and its attendant visibility, people still give Gou sh-t. But in a true boss move, she has come to enjoy it.
“Now when I hear criticism, it means I’m doing super well,” she says. “So go ahead: Say my name.”
This story will appear in the April 27, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Michael Marcagi came to an agreement of sorts with his manager in late 2023. The folk-pop singer-songwriter had just finished a recording session in Woodstock, N.Y., and emerged with three songs he felt captured the signature sound he’d been crafting, inspired by Bruce Springsteen as well as artists like Jim Croce and John Prine.
Marcagi was eager to release one song as a single before the end of the year, while his manager, Alex Brahl, was hoping he would ramp up his presence on TikTok — and advocated for a regular quota of posts to increase exposure. “Five times a week, that was our ultimate deal,” recalls Brahl. “We were coming from zero, more or less.”
The two studied how other artists used the platform to their advantage, and within weeks, Marcagi released his solo debut single, the simmering, acoustic guitar-led “The Other Side,” and had developed a following on the platform. By January, that fandom helped power his breakout hit and follow-up single, the jangly and more uptempo “Scared To Start.”
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The following month, “Scared To Start” scored the artist his first Billboard Hot 100 entry, reaching a new No. 54 high on this week’s chart. The song — which appears on Marcagi’s debut EP American Romance — also entered the top 10 on Hot Alternative Songs and Hot Rock Songs charts and marked Marcagi’s return to Adult Alternative Airplay, which he previously graced in 2020 and 2021 with his former folk-rock band The Heavy Hours.
“I knew in the back of my head that I wanted to eventually write singer-songwriter music that was narrative-driven and just talk about what I felt, what I wanted to sing about,” says Marcagi, who mentions that The Heavy Hours amicably parted ways a few years ago. However, the role of frontman primed him for his solo career — particularly amid his viral takeoff. “I needed those couple years of playing shows and getting notches in my belt and learning the ropes,” he continues. “The music industry is weird. It’s a hard, kind of a lonely, intimidating place to be sometimes. I needed the time to get used to it.”
Kate Sweeney
Growing up in Cincinnati, Marcagi was drawn to the production of “simple folk songs and acoustic guitars,” while his midwestern upbringing inspired his lyrics. “I write a lot of songs from that feeling of being from a flyover state,” he says. (His brother and day-to-day manager, Andrew Marcagi, adds that their “blue collar roots, without a doubt, have shaped Michael’s lyrics and songwriting style.”)
Marcagi is well aware that folk-pop is enjoying a mainstream resurgence, propelled in part by new labelmate Zach Bryan as well as Noah Kahan, the latter of whom Marcagi is a major fan. “I think it’s so awesome he’s playing for stadiums of people that are screaming about Vermont,” he laughs. “This style of music is working right now and I’m super grateful that people connected with [‘Scared To Start’]. It has been this wild little rocket ship the past couple months.”
Brahl can trace the song’s takeoff all back to one particular TikTok clip in which Marcagi is playing guitar in a field of dead grass over the “Scared To Start” lyric “let’s lay in the dead grass, stare at the stars.” As Brahl recalls, after uploading the teaser on December 19, the team went out to lunch — and when they came back, the clip had 10,000 views. “I remember talking to Michael and being like, ‘What if we wake up tomorrow and it has 50,000?’,” he says. “It had 100,000, and it was this completely organic thing that just kept going and going.”
Kate Sweeney
In the days before the holiday break, Brahl sent the clip around to a handful of labels, and by Christmas Eve, Marcagi and his team selected Warner Records as his label home. He signed his deal the first week of January, and the following week, “Scared To Start” was released as his next single from American Romance, which arrived in early February. “One of the reasons we were so excited about Warner is that over the holidays we were getting on the phone with the digital team and planning. We were moving very, very quickly,” says Brahl. “We had momentum and I’ve seen it too many times where people don’t take advantage of that. We wanted to.”
“We were aggressive out of the gate in attacking the areas we knew would adopt the song with open arms,” says Will Morrow, Warner’s vp of viral marketing and digital development. Plus, as senior vp of digital marketing, Dalia Ganz, adds, the digital teams at Warner were quick to “leverage our deep relationship with TikTok to get increased visibility for the song on the platform,” noting that they are now focused on driving virality for “Scared To Start” across other shortform platforms like Instagram Reels and YouTube Shorts.
With the hit’s success, Warner has another win and developing star on its roster, joining the likes of Teddy Swims and Benson Boone, who have each enjoyed top 5 Hot 100 hits in 2024. “Warner has emerged as a leader in the championing of this new generation of singer-songwriters and the return of guitars in pop music, and we identified Michael as a standout in that space,” says Warner CEO Aaron Bay-Schuck. “He had a collection of songs we loved and felt he really understood how to authentically market and promote himself online.” (Yet, Marcagi is the first to admit “TikTok is a weird, Wild West for me still.”)
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Recently, Marcagi returned to the same Woodstock studio to work on his debut full-length before heading out on tour. He’s currently abroad — with dates in the U.K., Ireland, Germany and elsewhere — and in May will kick off his 23-date U.S. trek in Denver. “It’s been very much like, ‘Quick, go!,’ but still mostly organic,” says Brahl, noting there has yet to be a major TV campaign or concerted radio push, nor any particular challenge TikTok users can opt into.
Even so, Marcagi’s friends send him a photo whenever “Scared To Start” does play on the radio — which he says is perhaps the most surreal part so far. “I remember driving my dad’s car and hearing Mumford and Sons and The Lumineers on the radio when I was in high school,” he recalls. “It’s a weird full circle moment to be like, ‘I can’t believe that out of all of the artists that are putting music out, they’re choosing to play my song.’ It’s really, really wild.”
Kate Sweeney
A version of this story will appear in the April 27, 2024, issue of Billboard.
For the better part of the last decade, Joe Keery has most of his time bouncing between worlds. In the more literal sense, he’s navigated to-and-from the Upside Down as Steve Harrington, the bad boy-turned-fan favorite, on Netflix’s Stranger Things. But outside of the hit series, he has balanced his growing prominence as an actor — recently starring in the dramedy Marmalade with Camila Morrone, and in the latest season of Fargo alongside Jon Hamm as his sheriff character’s son — with Djo, his ever-burgeoning solo music project.
For part of his 20s, Keery attended college and lived in Chicago, also cutting his teeth in the indie scene as part of psych-rock band Post Animal. Though he ultimately departed the band as Stranger Things caused too many constraints with his schedule, Keery continued to create music during his free time, ultimately leading to the birth of Djo. Debut album Twenty Twenty arrived in 2019 as an independent release through AWAL; three years later, he utilized the same route for his follow-up set, Decide.
Funnily enough, Keery, 31, is now returning to Chicago in a way — as his dreamy, synth-pop single “End of Beginning” from Decide has transformed into a viral hit in recent months. Reminiscent of new wave hits from the likes of Crowded House and INXS (Keery has noted influence from Annie Lennox’s “No More ‘I Love You’s’” as well), listeners have gravitated in particular to the lyrics in its chorus: “And when I’m back in Chicago, I feel it/ Another version of me, I was in it/ I wave goodbye to the end of beginning.”
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“Your late 20s are a wild time,” he tells Billboard. “The gist of it is being sad that I wasn’t more appreciative for something in the moment — longing for something that’s over, but also being happy that it happened.”
Since the song has gained new legs in 2024, it has reached a No. 11 high on the Billboard Hot 100 (Djo’s first career entry on the chart), while also hitting No. 1 on Hot Alternative Songs and continuing to gain momentum at alternative radio. It could be just the start of a breakout year for Keery’s musical project, as the multi-hyphenate notes he’s finishing a third album and hopes to go on a proper tour, which he still is yet to do in support of Decide, due to his acting career.
In the meantime, he’s also currently filming the final season of Stranger Things. At the time of our Sunday morning call, he’s enjoying a day off by moseying through a number of yard sales in Atlanta, one of which he says has happily yielded a vintage edition of The Settlers of Catan for just $5. Below, Keery tells Billboard about the makings of “End of Beginning,” compares successes as an actor versus successes as a musician, previews what to expect in the year ahead and more.
How did the song come together? Was the demo you posted on social media the first time that you worked on it?
No, I had had the idea. At the time [in fall 2021], I was living in Los Angeles. I had punched the chords out really quick and had an idea for a melody. That demo that I posted was me arranging and starting to figure out what the other parts might be. Then, I banged it out in the studio, at least the instrumental, pretty much in a day, with [co-producer] Adam Thein and [Slow Pulp drummer] Teddy Mathews. We all tracked the bare bones of it — guitar, bass and drums — and filled it in from there.
It was a swift process for this one. The album [2022’s Decide] is full of extra production in a lot of places, so I was just feeling like, “Let’s just make the simplest thing we could possibly make.” Verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus and be done with it. That was the goal: Try to work fast and not overcomplicate things, and that was what we did. The lyrics came a fair bit later. I really like to take the songs outside and walk around; that’s generally when I’m best at thinking up lyrics.
When did you know the song was a finished product?
You never really get to that point. I feel that, personally. There are always things that I wish we could go back and redo or improve this or improve that. But we gave ourselves until the end of March, and then at that point, we thought, “Okay, let’s just set a date for ourselves and then be done with it.”
“End of Beginning” has plenty of accolades to go around: your first Hot 100 entry, No. 1 on Hot Alternative Songs, RIAA certified gold and many more. Do those sort of accomplishments resonate with you?
It has never even been on my radar, to be honest with you, with the style of music that I’m making. It’s really cool, but I almost feel like I don’t have the perspective to really appreciate what’s going on in a way. I think that in time, it’ll come to me even more. They’re cool milestones to hit, but at the end of the day, the greatest thing is being able to go into the studio and work.
Has the song’s meaning changed for you at all over time, or is still the same as when you created it in 2021?
I guess it does mean the same thing; I feel that I’m in a different place, though. Maybe I’ve slightly come to terms more with what I was feeling. I don’t know, your late 20s are kind of a wild time. I’m not a huge believer in astrology, but I do feel like there is something to the whole Saturn return thing.
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Are there conversations happening right now behind the scenes about pushing listeners back toward the rest of Decide or even debut album, Twenty Twenty, versus trying to strike while the iron is hot with new music?
I’m much more focused on new stuff than old stuff — and finishing the new stuff. But the song has opened up possibilities for some new ears to hear the music, and I’m looking forward to getting the new stuff out, because it has been something that I’ve been working on basically since Decide came out. I’m really trying to embrace the newness that has come along with entering my 30s and now living in a different city as well. I’m excited. I feel like it’s a little bit different. It’ll be fun to see what people think.
Do you find that the location where you’re living and recording impacts the creation of the music itself?
One hundred percent, yes I do. I also think that the process of how you go about recording [impacts the music]. To me, it’s all about process over product and letting that process inform the music you’re making. I spent a lot of the last album starting making music on the computer, and I’m trying to take a different approach this time around.
Last time we talked, you told me how the sessions at The Sound Factory really inspired your affinity for in-studio collaboration. Does that still hold true?
Definitely. I have wanted my whole life to get into the studio. So, now to have a little bit more leeway under my belt, it was really cool to get into a professional environment. When you make music at home, you have all these tools, plug-ins and stuff that try to emulate real gear that exists out in the world. To be able to use some of that gear … I don’t know. Working at home is really cool because you can do it whenever, but to be able to go into a place to work feels really good. I really enjoyed that.
How does the song’s success affect your marketing strategy for this side of your career?
In the same way that we haven’t really been able to tour the music — a lot of that has been up to my schedule for shooting [Stranger Things] being all over the place — the same kind of thing with this marketing stuff. You spend all this time making the music, and you do want to market it properly. Now that the word is out a little bit more on the project, and it’s a little less of a secret between the people who know, a change in the way that the project is marketed could be cool. I’m still figuring it out, really.
You’ve talked ad nauseam about your disguises and making an effort to make Djo something of a separate entity than your acting career. When you’re having a big moment like this, is there any part of you that wants to maximize the audience by making the connection between Joe Keery and Djo abundantly clear for people?
Not sure about that. Maybe, but I’m not trying to shove it down anyone’s throat — it’s pretty easy to tell when things are like that. The fact that this all popped off naturally and happened on its own is best possible scenario for me. I’m really happy that it has happened this way. It’s cool for me because all the rules have seemed to changed a little bit.
How do you mean the rules have changed?
It just feels like the project is in a different place. Before, it was this thing that was sort of my own little secret. And now, I don’t know. It makes me think how I could treat it differently. I always am really interested when people use marketing to their advantage — that’s what I tried to last time with the disguise and the name. Maybe there’s a new way to embrace that, and I guess it’s time for me to figure out what that is.
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Is there a difference in how you feel receiving praise for something you’ve acted in versus something you’ve created as a musician?
Definitely. [Being] a performer as opposed to a writer is really the distinction to be made that I’ve found rewarding. That’s kind of the point of art, in general: To share something that people take in as their own and repurpose it for their own life. To be on the receiving end of that is really cool. Obviously, I’ve had some amazing experiences being on [Stranger Things]. The fan base is incredible. To see people wearing your character as a Halloween costume, that’s unbelievable. But [music] does scratch a different itch, and it’s really rewarding. I just feel super lucky.
Are there are any plans for a tour?
Yeah, I’ve got a fair amount of work ahead of me on the show, but the plan would be to do that sooner rather than later. And hopefully to do it right.
I would imagine it’ll be extremely cool to see all the fans in person that either found Decide immediately or as a result of this more recent wave. Looking at numbers on a page can probably only yield so much of a dopamine rush.
Yeah, it’s funny. You release something, and in this day in age — and in my situation — I kind of just released it, and then it was like, “Okay.” I didn’t really play any shows, it just came out, and that was sort of it. So, for me, it still exists as this tiny little thing. This kind of reaction to this song has been a little bit of a wake up call like, “Oh, people are actually listening to this! This exists in the world.”
To see that physically embodied at the shows would be overwhelming I’m sure, but extremely exciting. Live performance is what got me into being an artist in the first place. Just doing plays and enjoying the energy you get in a live setting. I definitely am itching to get out there. At the end of the day, it’s really about the live experience.
Are there lessons that you’ve learned from creating Decide, Twenty Twenty or anything else in the past few years that are influencing how you’re making music now?
This song has taught me the lesson of specificity being something that is important. Also, becoming less interested in something sounding perfect or polished, and more interested in trying to capture something that is a one-of-a-kind thing, whether it’s a sound or a vocal take or a drum sound. I think those are the things that stand the test of time and make things sound different. I’m chasing that more recently.
A version of this story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Since the 1970s, D’Addario has manufactured strings for guitars, orchestral instruments and more with an eye on the future — but back then, no one at the Farmingdale, N.Y.-based company could have expected that future to involve smelting metal strings.
After decades of prioritizing music education for children through its D’Addario Foundation, particularly in underserved communities, the company launched Playback in 2015, which prioritizes sustainability. The program repurposes used guitar and orchestral strings in partnership with recycling company TerraCycle. Metal strings are smelted into new alloys, while nylon strings are recycled for industrial plastic applications — keeping both out of landfills, where over 1.5 million pounds of strings accumulate every year, according to Playback. To participate, individuals can place strings into bins at one of the nearly 1,200 collection locations across the country, including hundreds of Guitar Centers and independent retailers, or mail them on their own, so long as shipments exceed 5 pounds, to minimize waste. (D’Addario provides prepaid UPS shipping labels for such donators.)
To date, almost 13 million strings have been recycled through Playback. Acts such as U2, My Morning Jacket and Young the Giant have drawn attention to the initiative, with the lattermost donating a percentage of every ticket sold from its 2023 summer tour to the D’Addario Foundation. Additionally, the company has partnered with competitors, and its site provides links to international string recycling organizations in France and Slovakia, too. “We want to do what’s good for the whole industry,” says Brian Vance, D’Addario vp of fretted strings and accessories.
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In 2022, D’Addario instituted World String Change Day to heighten interest in the program. The idea encourages consumers to try new strings and other accessories, often through deals. It will return for its third year on June 6. “At that moment you’re taking your strings off, it goes right into the Playback bin,” chief marketing officer Jonathan Turitz says. The D’Addario Foundation has also led drives for those looking to donate used instruments, many of which end up in the hands of in-need students. The practice of repairing used instruments for kids was highlighted in the recent Academy Award-winning documentary The Last Repair Shop. “That film is exactly the story of what we’re doing,” Turitz says, “whether it’s the people in the shop or the kids.”
Playback aims to expand globally in the coming years, though logistical issues and costs stand in the way. “The recycling laws, methodologies and practices in Europe are much different than they are in the U.S.,” Vance says, although later this year, D’Addario hopes to conduct testing on scaling the program abroad. And despite the rising costs that come with the program’s success, D’Addario’s ultimate mission remains at the forefront. “We’re facing an existential crisis,” Turitz says. “It’s vital that we put the planet above profit.”
This story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
As the 18,000 fans gathered at Mexico City’s Arena Ciudad de México on Feb. 14 screamed at deafening levels, the duo Los Temerarios ran onstage — Adolfo Ángel from the left, Gustavo Ángel from the right — and embraced briefly but fiercely upon meeting in the middle of the vast platform.
Then, Adolfo, 60 — dressed in black pants and shirt and light blue jacket — took his customary place behind an array of keyboards while frontman Gustavo, 55, dressed in a shining black and red embroidered jacket, picked up his microphone.
Without preamble, he sang the first notes of the first song of the brothers’ last tour, Hasta Siempre (Until Forever).
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After more than four decades together, 41 entries on Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart and an astounding 46 entries on Top Latin Albums — more than any other Latin act in history — Los Temerarios is calling it quits.
“Tomorrow is the beginning of the end of an era for Temerarios,” Adolfo says over a bottle of wine in Mexico City the night before the tour opens, his eyes welling up with tears, in his first and only interview since the group’s announcement of this finale. “I’m a little sensitive,” he adds with a soft, embarrassed laugh.
Adolfo, the “big” Temerario, is over 6 feet tall and brooding. It’s not unusual to see him get emotional. After all, this is a group whose career has quite literally been built on love songs, all penned and produced by Adolfo since he was a teenager doing music with younger brother Gustavo, the dashing, charismatic singer with the high, expressive tenor.
But during a U.S. tour in August, Los Temerarios made a surprise announcement on social media:
“With the love that has united us since we were kids, the same that we feel for the vocation that we’ve had the privilege of working in for more than 46 years, we want to share that we’ve made the difficult decision of separating, closing one of the most important and gratifying cycles of our lives,” the brothers wrote. “Everything we express from this moment on will be in the form of music and in our next shows where we’ll be giving you the best of us.”
Los Temerarios’ Hasta Siempre tour played CDMX Arena in Mexico City on Feb. 16.
Virtus Music
On the eve of their farewell tour, Adolfo stayed true to his statement, refusing to further explain the group’s split except to say they were ending Los Temerarios at Gustavo’s request and that things were not just amicable, but brotherly.
“My brother and I were clear that [beyond the statement] we were keeping things between him and me, and I want to respect that, and I’m sure he does, too,” Adolfo says. “We will finish this tour, each of us will go our own [professional] way, and I will always wish my brother the very best.”
For now, they’re making good on their promise to fans by bringing their best to the stage. On Feb. 14, backed by their longtime five-piece band, Adolfo and Gustavo performed for well over two hours as the crowd sang along. The brothers sold out five consecutive nights, a record for the venue.
“Having a single artist play five consecutive sold-out [shows] goes beyond anything we’d done before,” says Alejandro Arce, general director of tour promoter Zignia Live, which also owns Arena Ciudad de México. The promoter initially announced nine tour dates across Mexico for Los Temerarios, “and sales were extraordinary,” Arce says. The group hadn’t toured the country in over a decade, and the response has been phenomenal, spurring the addition of three more dates at the Mexico City arena (for a total of over 120,000 tickets sold), as well as three sold-out dates (30,000 tickets) at the Arena Monterrey. Not that any of this was a surprise. Last year, the group grossed $12.3 million and sold 125,000 tickets to 14 shows, according to figures reported to Billboard Boxscore.
All told, in 2024, Los Temerarios will play over 50 arena and stadium dates across Mexico, Central America and the United States — including Madison Square Garden in New York and two nights apiece at Houston’s Toyota Center and Chicago’s Allstate Arena, with more cities expected to be announced. The U.S. leg of the tour is promoted by Zamora Entertainment and, for West Coast dates, in partnership with Frias Entertainment.
“Los Temerarios is a group that has transcended generations,” Arce says. “Very few groups in this genre can fill stadiums. It opens this kind of music, which is completely different and with a completely different message, to new generations.”
The duo won the top Latin albums artist of the year honor at the 2005 Billboard Latin Music Awards.
Rodrigo Varela/WireImage
The duo performs wistful and passionate love songs with arrangements that veer from very traditional Mexican — cumbia, ranchera and the keyboard-heavy sound associated with Mexican romantic groups — to sophisticated pop, a duality the band uniquely achieved in its sphere.
Originally launched along with a cousin in the late 1970s as Grupo la Brisa, the group was always spearheaded by Adolfo, the budding keyboardist-composer who penned songs for his brother. Their romantic grupera musica was beginning to surge in Mexico, with dozens of romantic groups, including Los Bukis and Bronco, gaining traction. Los Temerarios had an additional asset: the entreprenurial Adolfo’s keen business sense.
He eventually changed the duo’s name to Los Temerarios and started releasing music on his own label, AFG Sigma Records, in 1989 while also promoting the band’s shows. That DIY approach served the group well. Save for a brief moment at the very beginning of Los Temerarios’ career, the brothers have always licensed albums as opposed to signing with a label, keeping the rights and control over their masters. As for Adolfo’s publishing catalog of hundreds of songs, it has always been administered by their own publisher, Virtus, the successor to an earlier company, ADF, set up in 1989. This year, the group is signing its first publishing administration deal, with Kobalt.
Twelve years ago, the brothers went completely independent, launching their own label, also named Virtus, and taking over their own promotion and marketing. Their cousin Mayra Alba, who has a master’s in music management from the University of California, Berkeley, has managed them since 1996.
“Their music doesn’t stop evolving,” Alba says. “As artists, they’ve done what they want yet have continued to be authentic, connecting with a multigenerational audience and reaching every possible milestone.”
The results speak for themselves. In addition to its record number of entries on Top Latin Albums, the band has placed 41 tracks on Hot Latin Songs since 1990. Of those, 17 went top 10 and four hit No. 1.
On Latin Airplay, the group has 15 top 10s and four No. 1s, and on Regional Mexican Albums, its 47 entries best those of any group. Los Temerarios is one of only five acts to have achieved eight No. 1s on Top Latin Albums. Only two acts, Marco Antonio Solís and Luis Miguel, have achieved more (12 and nine, respectively).
The steadiness of the group, which has been performing since 1980, made the news of its split even more surprising. And yet, so far, Los Temerarios’ farewell tour has been joyous — and has garnered an overwhelming response.
For these shows, Los Temerarios upgraded the production, adding sophisticated visuals, courtesy of longtime collaborator and video director Carlos Pérez. And aside from Gustavo’s vocals, Adolfo, for the first time, is also singing a short set of songs. It may be a harbinger of what’s to come.
“I’ve never been afraid of experimenting. Then all these energies come in and try to say no to you, but I never listen to that,” Adolfo tells Billboard. “I listen to my heart. I’ve discovered that’s the key: Listen to your heart.”
I would love to hear the story of how you got your first record deal as a teen.
Yes. It was a time of dreams. A time when you saw a lot of artists and groups that inspired and motivated you and you wanted to get to those same stages and take a positive message to the hearts of those who heard you. I went to every single label at the time, and they all said no. I would take our little demos, and they would all say, “This is all very good. Come back in February.”
And then it was March. So, since no one wanted us, we decided to make our own albums, using our gig money. I’d take [our own records] to the radio stations and say I was the radio promoter. I was a teenager. I’d sit there for hours, and sometimes they would see me, sometimes they wouldn’t. I’m not complaining. It’s part of something that now I understand had to happen.
I also took the records to the record store, on consignment. If they sold them, they paid me; if not, I had to pick them up. And when we started to sell 5,000 copies and I had to say, “Hey, send me another thousand,” the people from Sony — CBS then — came over and we signed a contract. Didn’t even look at it. Just said “Órale” [“OK”] and signed. That was around 1983.
You began your career by hustling and doing everything on your own, and now, as a superstar, you’re still independent.
Yes, and that has been important, positive for our career. It made us learn and took us down a road that has been a great gift. Because in the beginning, we knocked on doors and they’d say, “Come back next year.” Until I realized that we had to do it ourselves. And I did it.
Adolfo Ángel of Los Temerarios perform during their Hasta Siempre Tour at CDMX Arena in Mexico City on Feb. 17.
Virtus Music
Did you have a mentor?
No. It was always the desire to make it [that motivated me]. And I would look for the way. I’d pick up the phone and find the label, find the radio station. Then I would get in the pickup truck and drive wherever I had to go. And finally, it would happen. Little by little we became known, at least in our area.
But my dad was a very important example in my life. He still supports me. Without my dad, it would have been much harder, because he loves music. For example, when we had to work the fields and I didn’t want to go, I would pretend I was asleep. And when they were all gone, I’d go look for my music teacher in Fresnillo, Zacatecas, and the next day, my dad wouldn’t say anything. He allowed me those peccadillos. He bought me my first keyboard, a red organ. And then, when I outgrew it, he bought me the new model.
Early in your career you launched your own publishing company, and now you’re signing your first administration deal, with Kobalt. Have you considered selling your catalog?
No. My songs have a very special value. It’s not just the money. If I can take them by the hand the way I think is best — these songs that came from my heart — well, I’d rather do that than give them to someone in exchange for a check. That’s not what I want to do. At least not now.
A decade ago, you were on top of the world with chart success. You last released an album in 2015, then the pandemic interrupted your cycle. What did you do?
We were always doing something. Even though we haven’t released a full album of new songs since 2015, we have a few singles. I’ve always been patient in recording. We usually put out new albums every four, five years. I always thought the quicker you recorded, the quicker your fans got tired. I still think that, even in the era of TikTok. That’s why there’s so much space between albums. And resisting that pressure has given us results, even when people start to say things like, “Hey, I don’t hear your songs.”
The industry has changed, and now the cycle of releases is very fast. Did that worry you?
Some artists release songs every week, every two weeks, but I don’t think those songs transcend. They’re very ephemeral successes. I believe that if you give [the process] respect, if you take the time and make a great production and you feel satisfied with it, very great things can happen. Maybe something works on TikTok with the chorus for a little bit, but I don’t think that’s the path. I like things the old-fashioned way, where you go to the studio, you have a great console, you record a great production with the best engineers and the best musicians and not only with a computer. That’s the music I like to make, that lifts my soul.
Gustavo Ángel of Los Temerarios perform during their Hasta Siempre tour at Arena Monterrey in Monterrey on March 1.
Virtus Music
Your music is romantic by definition. Are you dismayed at how some artists today portray love in their lyrics?
Not dismayed, but I was surprised to hear how music is being used to denigrate women. That had a big impact on me because I do the opposite. I try to say beautiful things about the most beautiful being in the universe; or at least, in my universe. But I respect everyone, and every artist will do their own thing. Me, I’ll continue writing my love songs, and I prefer to make a woman feel like a queen or a princess rather than something else. Maybe I’m being cheesy, but I like that. But I’m not criticizing anyone. Everyone does their own thing.
You wrote a lot during the pandemic, and most of the songs haven’t been released. Now that you’re splitting up, what do you plan to do with them?
I wrote them for us, thinking of my brother, of course. Even when I write on the piano or guitar, I do so in my brother’s tone, which is a higher range than mine. Then, when my brother decided he no longer wanted to be in Temerarios, the songs were put on pause. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. But now, we’re going to finish this tour, everyone will go their own way, and I will always wish my brother the best in life. I think my brother is a very talented man, he has a lot of charisma, people love him a lot, we have had a great career together, and we have the affection of the audience, both of us. He’s going to do very well in whatever he decides to do, and I’ll continue making my songs as long as I can.
Are you working on a solo album?
I am not. I love to sing, but I never used to do so onstage. Because I always felt very comfortable behind my keyboards, with my brother in front. Behind the keyboards I can tell you a story, talk with you; it’s like a protective cape where you feel very comfortable. That’s the way it was, for decades. Then, on this tour, I said, “OK, I have to do it.” And I sing a set of three songs. The only intent is to respond to the audience’s love. And I liked it. A lot. Now I feel very comfortable. But, right now, I’m always writing. I feel most happy and comfortable writing for Temerarios. And if my brother isn’t there anymore, I’ll think about doing it for myself.
What would you like your legacy to be for Mexican music and Latin music overall?
I feel we’re leaving behind a beautiful message for everyone who has ever listened to us, and that’s enough for me.
This story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
In 1992, Maná scored a hit with “Vivir Sin Aire,” a love song that also served as a metaphor for the environment — and set the Mexican rock band down a path it still walks today. Not only has the group included one song inspired by environmental or social change on every album since, but in 1996, the band — comprising Fernando “Fher” Olvera, Alejandro González, Sergio Vallín and Juan Calleros — cemented its environmental commitment by launching the Selva Negra (Black Jungle) Ecological Foundation, which protects species, restores ecosystems and promotes environmental education.
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Nearly 30 years since its creation, Selva Negra has more than delivered on its mission. It has directly hatched and released 8 million sea turtles, planted over 800,000 trees, produced over 500,000 plants in its communal greenhouse and worked with the Interamerican Development Bank to help preserve Mexican forests and promote projects to raise consciousness on climate change, among many other actions. All the while, the foundation has promoted myriad social justice causes, including providing support and dignified living to immigrant communities in the United States, Mexico and Latin countries.
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Speaking from his home base of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico — and wearing a silver charm of a sea turtle, his favorite animal, around his neck — Maná frontman and Selva Negra president Olvera speaks on why the work is never over.
Fher Olvera (center) bagged saplings with the Selva Negra team.
Courtesy of Selva Negra
Several years ago, you spoke about a plan to develop an environmental curriculumfor schools. How is that coming along?
We do a lot of environmental education on the ground. But what’s most important, and what we tried to achieve with the previous governments, was making ecology a part of the core school curriculum like geography or math. It’s coming along, but our government doesn’t understand the environment. We’re trying to change that.
On the band’s last U.S. tour, you donated to many organizations that help migrants. What is your position on that issue?
More than a political position, it’s a humanitarian position. When we spent time with [President Barack] Obama in the White House, we weren’t supporting Democrats or Republicans — we were supporting the people who work, who put bread on the tables of American families. We are for human rights. The Latin community in the United States is so strong now that it can change an election, and presidents can no longer offend Latins so easily. Well, some can.
Tell us about Platanitos, the place where you have your turtle preserve.
It’s very close, in an area called Nayarit [Mexico]. Platanitos is an enormous beach where the government has an untouchable reserve, and we partnered with them to take care of the turtles. In Platanitos, we have a conservation station that houses the biologists and the team that takes care of the turtles. They collect the eggs, put them in a protected area. There they grow for a little over a month until they hatch, and they push the baby turtles to sea at night so no predators eat them. Last year, we liberated to sea almost 1 million baby turtles, our record. There are many turtle camps worldwide. It shows that man can do good with the same hand that does harm. We took a single species, but there are many more.
Do you feel artists have an obligation to promote social justice now more than ever?
If it comes from the heart, yes. If it’s not within them, and it’s against my principles to say this, they’re under no obligation. An artist’s obligation is to make good art — to give the best of themselves in their songs, their lyrics, the arrangements, everything that makes up the music. Now, if on top of that they want to talk about women’s rights, or education rights, or health, the environment, whatever, then that’s the cherry on the cake. I believe many people have been inspired by Maná to protect the environment — to think globally and act locally.
Fher Olvera releasing turtle with Selva Negra.
Courtesy Selva Negra
This story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
While accepting the Amplify Award at the 2024 Billboard Power 100 event in Los Angeles in February, the members of boygenius began their speech the same way they had started most shows on their 2023 tour. Lucy Dacus, standing alongside Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers, dedicated the moment to the elders and descendants of native peoples and also asked for action from the crowd — which happened to include the music industry’s most powerful executives.
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“We believe in land back,” Dacus said. “Which is also water back and air back. I encourage you to look into this if it’s a new concept for you. It’s not only a cause that centers Indigenous sovereignty, but the general well-being of the earth and all of its inhabitants.”
Welcome to Territory, also known as a land acknowledgment, is a formalized statement recognizing and respecting the relationship of Indigenous peoples and their traditional territories. Dacus noted that the band worked closely with the Pass the Mic (PTM) Foundation — which was founded by Portugal. The Man — on its tour to help organize such acknowledgments at each show. And while land acknowledgments have become standard practice for Portugal. The Man, with bands including NOFX also opting in, the foundation’s ultimate goal is to prevent invisibility and erasure of Indigenous peoples. Live music has offered an ideal setting to do so, and this past year, more artists — and fans — were eager to participate.
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“Concerts or festivals can be challenging to engage, but people attend them because they want to feel good,” says Múkaro Borrero, kasike (chief) of the Guainía Taíno tribe and president of the United Confederation of Taíno People. Borrero met Portugal. The Man in 2018 after participating in a group land acknowledgment at the band’s show, leading him to become a partner of the foundation. “Music can be a great equalizer, so attendees can be open to hearing some of these messages and learn more than they perhaps knew when they came to the venue.”
The PTM Foundation soft-launched in 2019 with help from executive director Logan Lynn, an artist and advocate who met Portugal. The Man through the Portland, Ore., music scene. After Lynn interviewed the band for his mental health-focused concert series, the group invited him on its 2018 summer tour, which served as a crash course in Portugal. The Man’s many philanthropic and community-focused efforts. “The only thing I can think of is a food court, where there were all these booths and it felt like a rock show,” Lynn recalls, “but it also felt like a place where all different kinds of community members were finding their people and finding a way to get involved.”
Land acknowledgments in particular are an easy, and affordable, foot in for artists and bands wanting to support community. And while Portugal. The Man was one of the first acts to make this its norm — where the group literally passes the microphone to local community members for a few minutes at the start of every set — Lynn noticed an increase in interest following the boygenius tour in particular. “It was so exciting because what [fans] were reposting was the video of the land acknowledgment and tagging the tribes and it felt like a wildfire,” he says. “Every day I was like, ‘Oh, my God, this is exactly the thing we were trying to do.’”
Múkaro Borrero (center) with boygenius backstage at Outlaw Field in Boise, Idaho, in 2023.
Courtesy of Pass the Mic
“One of the things we heard far and wide when we were starting all this was this idea that Indigenous peoples are historic. Like it’s an ancient thing. That Indigenous peoples aren’t your friends and neighbors still,” Lynn says. “It’s this weird thing. Part of what we wanted to do was just make sure people knew that these communities exist where you live.”
But, as he and the band stress, awareness alone isn’t enough. Every partner that engages in the PTM process receives an unrestricted $500 grant from the PTM Fund. Lynn says Portugal. The Man frontman John Gourley has always been committed to moving with meaning — and following a moment with action. “Land acknowledgments have been a mechanism to get people’s attention,” says Laura John, tribal consultant for the Blackfeet and Seneca Nations and PTM partner. “Providing space for [this] should be understood as a gesture of commitment to doing more,” such as providing resources to tribal communities.
As Borrero says, “The next step for someone who experiences a land acknowledgment is to be sure there is a next step … it is the fans that need to help sustain and expand the momentum [the PTM Foundation] has initiated.”
Laura John
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It comes down on venues and promoters, too. Last year, PTM partnered with AEG on its Re:SET traveling concert series, for which boygenius was a headliner. “I was prepared for it to be clunky and hard and like, ‘Who do I talk to?’ And it wasn’t,” Lynn says. “Everybody from the band to management is like, ‘This is important.’ ”
Borrero agrees, saying that despite some Indigenous peoples who “are not so impressed by land acknowledgments because they view them as performative,” he sees them as a positive beginning. “To go from [the] mainstream not seeing us at all to now normalizing acknowledgment of the original caretakers is, to me, significant,” he says. He also notes that the Taíno community in particular has been cited as extinct by some sources. “Being a partner helps us not only change that narrative but take our power back to tell our own story.”
“The goal has always been to make it commonplace, and it feels like we are moving in the right direction,” Gourley adds. “People show up and it’s expected at our shows now — we want it to become expected everywhere.”
This story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Christine Lepera might be one of the country’s top music litigators, but decades ago, she wasn’t even sure she still wanted to be a lawyer at all.
In 1986, just a few years after she graduated law school, she was working at a New York firm where she was “dissatisfied” and, like many young attorneys, faced existential questions about her chosen career path.
“I never intended to be a music lawyer, and after four years at a corporate firm on Wall Street, I was basically ready to quit the law entirely,” she recalls with a laugh.
Today, that’s hard to imagine. Lepera — who is chair of the music litigation group at Mitchell Silberberg & Knupp (MSK) — for years has been one of the music industry’s go-to trial lawyers.
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She handles many different types of cases, from representing Daryl Hall in last year’s headline-grabbing battle with longtime partner John Oates that’s still pending to Dr. Luke in his just-settled defamation case against Kesha. But her primary specialty is defending superstar artists against allegations that they’ve stolen their songs from someone else.
Over the past year, Lepera has handled such copyright cases for Dua Lipa, Jay-Z, Post Malone and others; previously, she has done similar work for Katy Perry, Ye (formerly known as Kanye West), Drake, Ludacris and many more. For Lepera, who herself plays piano, working those lawsuits is not just about the people involved, but about their music — and their right to create without facing needless lawsuits.
“What I get the most enjoyment from is servicing the music,” Lepera says. “In many of these cases, what you’re dealing with is people who have not stolen anything and have just used basic musical building blocks. And the other side is literally trying to monopolize music that they shouldn’t.”
In recognition of her achievements, Lepera has been named Billboard’s 2024 Lawyer of the Year. Fellow partners Eric German, Bradley Mullins and David Steinberg join her on the Top Music Lawyers list.
Facing an impasse in her young career, Lepera turned to Martin Silfen — her former law professor at New York Law School and a music attorney who represented clients like Blondie, LL COOL J and Aerosmith — for advice. Silfen connected her with Leonard Marks, a legendary New York music attorney who counted Billy Joel, The Beatles and Elton John as clients over his long career.
The timing was just right. At that point, Marks was getting plenty of litigation business sent his way from John Eastman, another powerful industry attorney who is best known for representing Paul McCartney in his wranglings with the other members of The Beatles (prompted by their association with manager Allen Klein). The late Marks, whom Lepera fondly recalls as an eccentric attorney with you-can’t-believe-he’s-a-lawyer vibes, brought her into his small firm and gave her a shot.
“Len hired me, I started doing lots of entertainment cases and everything changed,” Lepera says.
From left: Attorneys Christopher Buccafusco, Christine Lepera and Carla Miller discussed how copyright law affects creators at a 2019 panel at Cardozo Law School in New York.
Rob Kim/Getty Images
One of the first major cases she handled was a copyright lawsuit filed in 1990 against Broadway composer Andrew Lloyd Webber that accused him of stealing the title song from his smash hit The Phantom of the Opera from a Baltimore liturgical composer. The case dragged on for years, featuring countersuits, multiple appeals and an attempted appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court before ending in the late 1990s with a victory for Lloyd Webber in a high-profile jury trial.
The long-running lawsuit provided plenty of material for the young music litigator to cut her teeth. “It was a 10-year extravaganza,” Lepera says, laughing. “And we won everything at the end of the day.”
In the years that followed, big music cases kept coming. In 2006, Lepera won a jury verdict clearing Ye and Ludacris of allegations that they had based their 2003 Billboard Hot 100 No. 1 hit, “Stand Up,” on an earlier song. In 2015, she helped defeat a lawsuit claiming that Jay-Z and Timbaland had stolen material from an Egyptian composer for their 2000 smash “Big Pimpin’.” In 2017, Lepera won a ruling that Drake had made fair use of a spoken-word jazz track when he sampled it on his 2013 song “Pound Cake.”
The attorney’s trajectory culminated in 2022, when she won a federal appeals court decision that Perry’s 2013 single “Dark Horse,” another Hot 100 No. 1, had not infringed the copyright of an earlier song. It was not only a big win for the singer, overturning millions in damages, but also set an important legal precedent that individual songwriters cannot lock up simple musical “building blocks.”
For years, such lawsuits have been a source of anxiety for creators and companies alike, particularly in the wake of the controversial 2015 verdict that Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams’ “Blurred Lines” had infringed Marvin Gaye’s “Got To Give It Up.” In the years that followed, artists became more cautious about vetting their songs with musicologists, often preemptively offering writing credits to would-be accusers rather than risking a lawsuit.
But from Lepera’s perspective, song-theft lawsuits didn’t increase after the “Blurred Lines” verdict; rather, they’ve always just been an unfortunate byproduct of success. “You write a hit, you get a writ,” she jokes. In fact, she suggests the verdict had a positive impact: More artists are willing to fight back against questionable allegations and more courts are willing to scrutinize bad lawsuits.
“They’re going to fight and not give into this fear,” Lepera says of her clients and other modern artists. “Even though it’s a very draining, expensive, uncomfortable and uncertain process, I think we’re seeing very strong advocates turning around and deterring these kinds of cases.”
In the past year, Lepera fought battles inside and outside the copyright sector. She represented Lipa in two high-profile lawsuits that claimed the star had copied earlier songs when she wrote her megahit “Levitating.” In June, a federal judge dismissed one of them, agreeing with Lipa’s argument that she had never heard the song in question; the other case, where Lepera has made the same argument, is awaiting a decision. Lepera also won a ruling in September dismissing a lawsuit against Jay-Z, Timbaland and Ginuwine that claimed they had lifted material from an old soul tune for the songs “Paper Chase” and “Toe 2 Toe.”
Perhaps more notably, Lepera resolved the decadelong litigation by Dr. Luke against Kesha, in which her client claimed the pop star had defamed him when she accused him of rape in 2014. After years of litigation and appeals, a trial was set for July 2023; instead, a confidential settlement was reached in June. As part of the agreement, the two issued a joint statement in which Kesha said she “cannot recount everything that happened” while Dr. Luke maintained that he was “absolutely certain that nothing happened.”
The Dr. Luke v. Kesha case, which started years before the #MeToo movement and was heavily litigated throughout that period, sparked strong emotions on both sides and sometimes thrust Lepera herself into the spotlight. In deposition videos made public in 2019, Lady Gaga told her, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
When facing such situations as an attorney, Lepera says she sticks to the “facts and the law” of a given legal argument and is not intimidated by the celebrities involved or the PR dimensions that can accompany it.
“I can’t advocate a position unless I believe in it,” she says. “I have to truly believe in whatever it is I’m arguing. I’m not really emotional. I don’t have that trepidation of ‘Oh, look who I’m representing.’ ”
Another major 2023 case for Lepera was the public breakup of beloved duo Hall & Oates, in which she served as Hall’s lead counsel. In the dispute, which attracted heavy media attention thanks to sealed filings later becoming public, Hall accused Oates of violating their partnership agreement by unilaterally attempting to sell part of their joint entity to Primary Wave, a prominent music company that has acquired many catalogs in recent years.
As the case unfolded, it became clear the matter was deeply personal for Hall, who in legal filings called the alleged sale by Oates the “ultimate partnership betrayal” and said it specifically had been designed to hurt him after years of worsening relations between the duo. Oates later responded by calling the accusations “inflammatory, outlandish and inaccurate” and saying that they had left him “deeply hurt.”
In late November, after a climactic court hearing in Nashville, a judge sided with Hall and Lepera, putting the Primary Wave deal on hold and allowing an arbitrator time to decide Hall’s arguments against it. The dispute remains pending.
Due to the massive media attention, Lepera says the case has been “very painful, obviously, for both of them.” Bands, she says, are “almost like family,” and when things “fall apart at the seams” after a long career, there are bound to be intense feelings for all involved. After decades of handling such cases, she says the job of a good litigator is to understand and absorb that human dynamic, but also to channel it into a winning legal argument.
“My challenge is to be there to absorb and listen to that,” Lepera says, “but also to just cut through and get to the result that’s needed.”
This story originally appeared in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
After nearly 1,000 votes cast over three rounds of voting, Billboard Pro members selected Dina LaPolt, founder and owner of LaPolt Law, for the 2024 Top Music Lawyers Power Players’ Choice Award, which honors the attorney they believe had the most impact across the industry in the past year. With multiple industry roles — on […]
These days, Coldplay approaches touring “as a traveling R&D lab,” says longtime manager Phil Harvey — and the band’s ongoing Music of the Spheres tour does feel a bit like a stadium run as science experiment. There are compostable wristbands, biodegradable confetti and stationary bicycles that fans on the floor can ride mid-set to generate power to the production’s smaller C stage.
Five years ago, frontman Chris Martin declared that Coldplay would not tour until he could ensure the act’s stadium dates would “have a positive impact” on the environment. Now, thanks to the numerous green innovations put in place since Music of the Spheres began in 2022 — including not only the aforementioned measures but also renewable-resource batteries and routing that reduced air travel — the band achieved a 47% reduction in carbon emissions for the first year of touring, with a 50% reduction goal by the time it wraps in November.
Like an increasing number of artists, Coldplay relied on a team of scientific experts to devise a plan for a greener tour that would be both mammoth (7.7 million global tickets sold to date, according to Billboard Boxscore) and meaningful. “For the number of artists that we’ve been speaking to, the interest and appetite for understanding is pretty good and has exploded over the past three years,” says professor John E. Fernández, director of the Environmental Solutions Initiative (ESI) at MIT, who helped certify Coldplay’s carbon emission results and has also worked extensively with major dance act Above & Beyond.
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The band also connected with Luke Howell — a former solar engineer who founded British sustainability consulting firm Hope Solutions and previously worked with the Glastonbury Festival. Howell and his Hope team studied the band’s previous tours “to identify key areas where we could reduce emissions,” he says, then created a range of targets, while recommending emerging green tech for the trek. “We don’t always get it right,” Harvey says of Coldplay’s ongoing efforts, “but we pass on everything we learn so that other people can do it better next time.”
Ahead of the inaugural Music Sustainability Summit, held in Los Angeles in February, the ESI announced a comprehensive study on touring’s carbon footprint, expected to be completed this summer. Recommendations will be made — although Fernández says there’s still a long way to go. “I would characterize the music industry as risk-averse,” he says. “It’s a business, and artists are trying to make a living, so we’ve seen an enormous amount of concern over the risk entailed with making a commitment to reduce emissions.”
Prof. John E. Fernández
MIT
It’s one thing for a stadium act like Coldplay to make sustainability a prerequisite for playing live, but the majority of artists don’t have that financial luxury — or even a standardized emissions benchmark to shoot for. Michael P. Totten, who has served as a climate science adviser for Pearl Jam for over two decades, says, “The biggest problem we face is that [no artist] has control over everything” — in short, even one big act can’t cut through all the live-industry bureaucracy. “You’d love to work with green arenas,” he says, “but they’re owned by somebody else, they do a ton of events, and might say, ‘You should talk to the ticket sellers.’ ”
Thus, so far, the artists who effectively make their touring practices greener tend to be those who have the means and drive to do so — and whose tours also often leave the biggest footprints. Totten points out that Pearl Jam guitarist Stone Gossard helped drive the band’s pledge of donating $200 per ton of carbon on its tours — but did so based on scientific recommendations, not any law or industrywide objective.
Marcus Eriksen, a marine scientist who has worked with Jack Johnson to spread awareness of plastic pollution in the oceans, believes that change needs to start with more major artists demonstrating their awareness of various environmental issues. “You want to find influencers — people that can reach a much wider audience,” says Eriksen, who has led several ocean expeditions intended to help educate celebrities like Johnson about how much plastic exists in large bodies of water. Such in-person experiences can, he says, help attendees recognize an urgent issue and encourage them to spread the message back on land. “Getting folks out into the field for a direct experience — that can be transformative,” Eriksen says.
While standard green guidelines may not exist yet for the live industry, Howell says he would love to see more solar and renewable energy incorporated into touring, as well as “electric vehicles and fossil oil-free fuels for all trucking and freight.” Fernández also says the music industry must remain in close contact with the scientific community about the latest climate change projections to make any real progress. “Everyone in the music industry must accept the fact that we’re not going to stay [at] 1.5 degree C average surface warming,” he says, referencing the temperature threshold that was the original goal of the 2015 Paris Agreement. “So if you’re developing a climate plan to maintain that, you’re just going to have to rewrite that plan.”
With that in mind, Fernández stresses that artists must remain open to evolving information on climate change, even at the risk of reworking preexisting sustainability pledges. “This is not unique to the music industry — what we’re seeing is that some companies have made climate commitments, they don’t feel good about the inability to fulfill them, and then they go silent,” he says. “Artists can’t go in that direction. They have to be part of inspiring people to take action.”
This story will appear in the March 30, 2024, issue of Billboard.
