Yes, it really is a data center next to the Nashville Zoo

The proposal to build a massive data center adjacent to the Nashville Zoo raises a simple question: Have we completely lost our sense of priorities?

Nashville’s zoo exists to provide education, conservation, recreation, and a rare connection between people and animals. Families bring children to experience living animals, open space, and a respite from the relentless industrialization that increasingly consumes American communities. Yet now residents are being told that one of the city’s most treasured public assets should coexist with an industrial-scale computing facility whose primary purpose is to feed the endless demand for artificial intelligence, cloud computing, and speculative digital services. This is insane and it is exactly backward.

The burden of proof should not fall on citizens to explain why they do not want a hyperscale data center next to a zoo. The burden should fall on developers to explain why a project requiring enormous quantities of electricity, water, backup generation, transmission infrastructure, truck traffic, and round-the-clock industrial operations and both light and noise pollution belongs there in the first place.

The economic promises attached to these projects are increasingly difficult to take seriously as has been demonstrated by a recent study of data center job impact in Texas. Across the country, data center developers routinely advertise billions of dollars in investment while generating surprisingly few permanent jobs. Independent research has repeatedly found that many large data centers produce limited long-term employment relative to their physical footprint, utility demands, and public subsidies. Communities are often left with the costs while investors and distant technology companies capture the benefits.

Meanwhile, the impacts are immediate and local.

Residents face years of construction activity, noise, traffic, and visual blight. Wildlife habitats are disrupted. Open space disappears. Transmission lines, substations, backup generators, and supporting infrastructure permanently alter the character of surrounding neighborhoods. Once built, these facilities are effectively impossible to remove. They become permanent industrial fixtures.

The Nashville Zoo should not become collateral damage in the AI arms race.

Even more troubling is the uncertainty surrounding the long-term economics of artificial intelligence itself. Technology companies are spending hundreds of billions of dollars based on forecasts that extend years into the future. Yet many of the underlying assumptions remain unproven. No one can say with confidence what demand for AI services will look like five, ten, or twenty years from now. If those forecasts prove wrong, communities could be left staring at the digital equivalent of abandoned factories—massive, energy-hungry facilities built for demand that never materialized.

The risk is not theoretical. Economists have a name for this phenomenon: stranded assets.

A zoo is a long-term civic investment. It creates educational, environmental, and cultural value that can endure for generations. A speculative AI data center is a bet on future demand forecasts generated in corporate boardrooms and venture-capital presentations.

When those two visions collide, the choice should not be difficult.

Nashville should protect its zoo, its surrounding communities, and its quality of life. There are countless locations better suited for industrial-scale computing infrastructure. A zoo is not one of them.

Some places should remain places for people, families, wildlife, and conservation. Not every acre of land needs to be sacrificed to the next technological gold rush.

The Nashville Zoo deserves better than becoming the neighbor of a machine. And believe me, if they’ll do it in Nashville they’ll do it anywhere. The Zoo has a Change.org petition you can sign if you agree.

by Trichordist Editor

As Suno Celebrated a $5.4 Billion Valuation, Artists Took Their Message Directly to Wall Street

SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA – JUNE 03: A mobile billboard sponsored by Human Artistry protesting Suno’s use of AI is pictured on display during Suno’s annual meeting on June 03, 2026 in Santa Monica, California. (Photo by Anna Webber/Getty Images for Human Artistry Campaign)

On June 3, 2026, as investors and technology executives gathered at the UBS AI in Entertainment Summit at Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica, a plane circled overhead carrying a simple message: “SAY NO TO SUNO.” A second banner could just as easily have read, “Stealing Music Is Bad Karma.” The scene was more than a protest against a single AI music company. It was a reminder that technology itself is neither good nor evil; what matters is how humans choose to use it. Throughout history, some of the most transformative technologies have been driven by the same motivations that power every bully: greed and fear. Fear of being left behind. Fear of missing out. Greed for market share, dominance, and wealth and crushing anyone who gets in the way. The generative AI race increasingly appears to be driven—and corroded—by both.



That is why the protest above Santa Monica was about more than music. It connected directly to a broader national backlash against the infrastructure being built to support the AI economy. Across the United States, communities are fighting data centers, transmission lines, water consumption, tax subsidies, and industrial development projects that many believe are being imposed without meaningful public consent. Residents from Texas to Georgia to Louisiana are asking the same basic question: who benefits, and who pays the price?

In the case of generative AI, artists argue that they are among those paying the price.

The Human Artistry Campaign demonstration took place on the same day that Suno announced a funding round exceeding $400 million at a valuation of approximately $5.4 billion. Let it not be said that music has no value and that Suno is not free riding on a thriving market to extract their absurd valuation.

While Silicon Valley investors celebrated another milestone in AI’s rapid expansion, the protest highlighted an uncomfortable reality: much of the value being created by generative AI companies originates from extracting human expression while paying no regard whatsoever to those humans. Whether the source material is music, visual art, photography, authors, voice performances, or other creative works, creators continue to ask how their contributions found their way into commercial AI systems and demand the right to say no to Suno.

SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA – JUNE 03: A plane sponsored by Human Artistry protesting Suno’s use of AI is pictured on display during Suno’s annual meeting on June 03, 2026 in Santa Monica, California. (Photo by Anna Webber/Getty Images for Human Artistry Campaign)

The narrative that the AI labs want you to focus on is often framed as a conflict between innovation and regulation. That framing misses the point. The real question is whether innovation requires the abandonment of consent, compensation, and accountability. Human Artistry’s message was not anti-technology. Rather, it was that technology should serve human beings rather than treating them as raw material for extraction.

That concern increasingly links artist-rights advocates with communities opposing AI infrastructure projects using eminent domain powers to seize homes and compel residents to acept 765kV transmission lines. Both groups are confronting different manifestations of the same phenomenon: the concentration of economic gains among a relatively small number of companies while costs are dispersed across creators, workers, taxpayers, ratepayers, and local communities. One side sees its creative works absorbed into training datasets. The other sees land, water, energy resources, and public subsidies redirected toward facilities designed to power those systems.

Viewed through that lens, the protest at Shutters on the Beach becomes part of a much larger story. The controversy surrounding generative AI is no longer confined to copyright litigation or entertainment-industry politics. It now reaches questions of energy policy, infrastructure planning, local governance, environmental impact, and economic fairness.

The image of a protest banner flying above an investor summit captures that convergence perfectly. Below, financiers discussed the future of artificial intelligence and celebrated millions of dollars in new investment while licking their IPO chops in drooling anticipation of getting richer still on the backs of humanity. Above, artists and advocates posed a simpler question: if the future is being built on human creativity, shouldn’t the humans who created it have a meaningful voice in how that future is constructed?


That question is impossible to ignore. As billions continue to flow into AI companies and the infrastructure supporting them, the debate is no longer merely about technology. It is about power, consent, and who gets to decide how the benefits of human creativity and expression are captured by the Big Tech kleptocrats.

by Trichordist

@musicFIRST: Pass the American Music Fairness Act

For decades, AM/FM radio stations in the United States have paid songwriters and publishers when music is played on the air, but not the performers, musicians, producers, or record labels behind the sound recordings themselves.

The bipartisan American Music Fairness Act would finally close that loophole by requiring terrestrial radio broadcasters to pay artists for the use of their recordings — just like streaming services, satellite radio, and digital platforms already do. The bill also includes protections for small and local broadcasters and public radio.

Artists deserve to be paid when billion-dollar radio companies profit from their work. Please sign the letter here.

by Trichordist Editor

The Growing Backlash Against AI Data Centers: Local Resistance and the Infrastructure Crunch

As we’ve reported many times, communities across the US are increasingly pushing back against the explosive growth of AI-driven data centers. Major concerns include skyrocketing electricity demand, massive water consumption for cooling, noise pollution from giant fans, loss of prime agricultural and residential land, and rising utility bills passed on to local residents. As of May 2026, independent trackers report approximately 69–78 U.S. jurisdictions that have enacted bans, restrictions, or moratoriums on new data centers. Many of these measures also target the new high-voltage transmission lines required to power them.

This wave of resistance highlights a deepening tension between the rapid expansion of AI infrastructure and local priorities around quality of life, sustainability, and community control.

1. Michigan: The Epicenter of Local Moratoriums

I think you could safely say that Michigan currently leads the nation in local opposition to data center construction, largely triggered by the controversial $16+ billion OpenAI-Oracle Stargate AI data center project in Saline Township, Washtenaw County. Despite a 4-1 township planning commission vote against rezoning and strong resident protests, the Stargate construction project advanced through legal channels, igniting widespread defensive actions across the state.

  • More than 50 communities (cities and townships) have enacted temporary moratoriums, covering roughly 1,500 square miles — an area comparable to the size of Rhode Island.
  • Between 25 and 51 active local moratoriums are in place as of early 2026.
  • State lawmakers have introduced bills (HB 5594–5596) calling for a one-year statewide pause on new hyperscale data centers, along with stricter rules on water and electricity connections.
  • Some utilities, such as Ypsilanti, have imposed their own 12-month bans on water hookups for large AI facilities—but that will eventually expire.

Key issues in Michigan should sound familiar: massive water usage, strain on the electrical grid, and the loss of local zoning authority.

2. Virginia: Transmission Line Battles in “Data Center Alley”

Virginia is home to the highest concentration of data centers in the United States (over 550 facilities), particularly in Northern Virginia. Opposition here focuses heavily on both the data centers and the extensive transmission lines needed to support them.

  • Strong protests in Loudoun, Prince William, Hanover, and other counties against new projects and expansions.
  • Major conflicts over high-voltage lines such as the Valley Link and Joshua Falls projects, which cross multiple counties and impact neighborhoods, historic sites, and conserved rural land.
  • Dominion Energy has faced repeated legal and community challenges regarding route selections.
  • Legislative debates continue over ending billions in tax incentives and studies projecting residential electricity rate increases of up to $37 per month by 2040.
Breakfast at Buck’s of Woodside—if you’re not at the table you are on the menu

3. Georgia: Statewide Pause Efforts Amid High Project Volume

Georgia has seen hundreds of announced data center projects, prompting both local and statewide responses.

  • Bills such as HB 1059 and HB 1012 propose temporary statewide pauses on new permitting (potentially until 2027–2028) to allow time for impact studies.
  • Several counties, including DeKalb and Camden, have passed moratoriums ranging from several months to a year while updating zoning ordinances.
  • Residents voice concerns about energy costs, water consumption, loss of land, and whether tax incentives truly benefit local communities.

Georgia’s combination of legislative proposals and county-level actions reflects growing resistance in a rapidly developing market.

4. North Carolina: Rising Local and Policy Pushback

North Carolina ranks among the top states for new moratorium activity as data center developers expand beyond traditional East Coast hubs.

  • Multiple counties and municipalities have passed restrictions or temporary moratoriums citing infrastructure strain, zoning issues, and community impacts.
  • Policy proposals such as HB 1063 seek to require hyperscale developers to fully cover the costs of power, water, and grid upgrades rather than passing them to ratepayers.
  • Growing focus on the environmental and visual effects of both data centers and supporting transmission lines.

North Carolina represents an emerging hotspot where early local actions may shape future statewide policy.

5. Indiana: County-Level Resistance and High-Stakes Conflicts

Indiana has seen intense localized opposition, particularly in rural counties.

  • Counties such as White and Fulton have enacted 6-to-12-month moratoriums to study impacts and strengthen local ordinances.
  • Trackers show at least 6 formal actions, with several others in discussion.
  • Primary concerns include the conversion of prime agricultural land, rising utility rates, and the industrialization of rural communities.

Indiana illustrates how even mid-sized proposals can trigger strong community responses and political tension.

Broader Implications and the Path Forward

The five most active states — Michigan, Virginia, Georgia, North Carolina, and Indiana — capture the national picture. Resistance is bipartisan, spans urban and rural areas, and increasingly includes opposition to the massive transmission lines that accompany data center projects.

Common themes include fears that data centers consume disproportionate amounts of power and water while shifting costs onto existing residents. Proponents argue these facilities bring jobs, tax revenue, and are essential for America’s AI competitiveness. Critics insist that growth must be responsible, with full cost recovery, better siting practices, efficiency standards, and genuine community input.

As AI demand continues to surge, this local “revolt” tests whether the physical infrastructure can scale fast enough without compromising quality of life and environmental goals. I think the national consensus is a big no.

Expect more moratoriums, ballot initiatives, legal battles, and negotiations in the coming months. The outcome will significantly influence not only the future of AI but also national energy policy and land-use planning for years to come.

by thetrichordist

A Subtle Shift in US AI Policy and Why Artists Should Pay Attention

Something is moving in Washington.

A recent report suggests that the Trump administration is considering a new executive order on artificial intelligence. On its face, that might sound like more of the same—another round of AI policy chatter promoted by David Sacks, the Silicon Valley lobbyist and billionaire investor who has been pushing a “don’t slow it down” approach.

But this time feels different.

Sacks appears to have gotten pushed out at least a bit. Don’t count the chickens just yet. But the shift in tone matters. And the timing matters even more. The order is reportedly being weighed ahead of Trump’s visit to China, where AI development has become a central axis of geopolitical competition.

That context changes the story. For the past several years, the dominant policy posture around AI has been simple: don’t slow down innovation. Because China.

That argument has been doing a lot of work. It has been used to wave away concerns about training data, to discourage state and local oversight of data center buildouts, and to greenlight massive infrastructure commitments—including dedicated nuclear power for AI campuses run by Google, Microsoft, Meta, and Amazon.

In other words: build the machine first. Deal with the consequences later.

Artists have been the raw material for that strategy.

Musicians, book authors, visual artists—these are not just inputs. They are the training ground for systems that are now capable of producing substitutive outputs that overwhelm creators and flood markets. And until now, the White House policy conversation has largely treated that massive theft as an acceptable cost of staying ahead led by David Sacks, R Street Institute and the hyperscalers.

What makes this potential executive order interesting is that it suggests a shift away from that posture. If the administration is preparing to meet with China on AI, it has an incentive to show that the United States takes control, governance, and strategic resources seriously. And in this context, creative works start to look less like “free fuel” and more like national assets.

That may matter for artists.

Because once you recognize that AI systems derive value from the signals embedded in creative works—voice, tone, style, expression—you start to see those works differently. They are not just content. They are repositories of identity and cultural value.

And they are being extracted at scale.

A more protective policy framework—whether it focuses on model review, training data standards, or provenance—creates an opening. It creates space for the idea that artists are not just upstream contributors, but stakeholders whose work underpins the entire system.

This doesn’t mean the executive order, if it comes, will solve the problem. It won’t.

But it could mark an inflection point.

If policymakers begin to treat AI not just as a technology race but as a resource competition, then the role of creators becomes harder to ignore. You can’t claim to lead in AI while simultaneously disregarding the human material that makes those systems work.

That contradiction is starting to surface. The industry allowed artists and even copyright itself to be lumped in with zoning boards as “bureaucracy” which in turn allowed David Sacks and his ilk to try to create an alternate universe where “innovation” ran wild to “beat China” while also selling chips to China out the back door.

For artists, the takeaway is simple: pay attention to the shift in tone. Policy signals often precede legal ones. What gets framed as a national priority today can become a regulatory framework tomorrow.

For the first time in a while, there are signs that the conversation may be moving—however slightly—toward recognizing the value that artists bring to the AI ecosystem.

Sacks may not be gone. Silicon Valley rarely loses outright, just look at the MLC. But even a partial shift away from the “move fast and ingest everything” playbook is meaningful.

Because for artists, the question has never been whether AI will be built.

The question is whether it will be built on you or with you.

by Trichordist

Know Your MLC: Highest Compensated Employees 2024 #TheReup

The MLC, Inc. has to disclose its “highest compensated” employees on its nonprofit Form 990 tax return for 2024. The Copyright Office has spent that last two years reviewing public comments on whether the MLC, Inc. should be renewed for another five years—that’s right, two of the five year renewal period. Maybe they forgot to let us know their decision? The party is obviously still going strong.

by Trichordist Editor

Phonorecords V and the “39 Steps” Problem: Time for the CRB to Fix Streaming Mechanicals

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking, everybody knows that the captain lied….
Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen

We are now well into the next Phonorecords proceeding at the Copyright Royalty Board (CRB) where the government sets mechanical royalty rates for songwriters. Readers may remember that the last rate-setting was Phonorecords IV where Trichordist helped spread the word about the attempted end run around songwriters to freeze physical rates (vinyl & downloads) at 9.1¢ for another five years but instead resulted in an increase to 12¢ plus a cost of living adjustment which has now increased to 13.1¢. (In a demonstration of humility and lack of pomposity, these proceedings are given Roman numerals like the Super Bowl, so the current example of gladiatorial combat is titled Phonorecords V.)

Inside the years-long litigation-like proceeding, there is an issue hiding in plain sight inside the existing and ancient streaming mechanical royalty rate structure that we fondly call “the 39 steps” in honor of John Buchan, Alfred Hitchcock and Richard Hannay. Despite the blood lust for complexity from the ancien régime that clings to its one sided royalty pool, there is one part of this unfair business practice that the CRB can and should address this time around.

Start with the basics. The streaming mechanical formula—the so-called “39 steps”—is built on a simple premise: we are calculating royalties for the use of musical works protected by the Copyright Act. The inputs and deductions in that formula are not abstract accounting categories. They are supposed to reflect real payments for real statutory rights.

That premise is now under pressure because of…wait for it…artificial intelligence and the AI slop that is flooding the market.

The rise of generative AI has introduced a new category of output that does not fit neatly within the Copyright Act. The U.S. Copyright Office has made clear that works generated entirely by AI are not copyrightable, and that protection exists only to the extent of meaningful human authorship in a proportion yet to be determined. (Courts have moved in the same direction, and the Supreme Court’s denial of cert in Thaler v. Perlmutter leaves that framework intact.)

Yet the streaming mechanical formula has no explicit mechanism to deal with AI slop. That creates a risk on two fronts.

We have to consider the royalty pool itself. The compulsory mechanical license applies when the exclusive rights of a copyright owner in a musical work are implicated. If a so-called “AI track” is not a protected musical work, then there is a serious question whether it belongs in the section 115 system at all. Treating non-copyrightable output as if it were a statutory musical work risks diluting the pool for actual rightsholders.

And then, of course, we have the Step 2 deduction for performance royalties. The regulation allows services to subtract payments for the public performance of musical works before calculating the payable pool. But what happens if a service characterizes payments to a platform like AIMPRO as “performance royalties”? If those payments are not, in fact, for the public performance of a copyrightable musical work, they should not reduce the pool. Otherwise, the 39 steps formula starts to leak money, and eventually leak in a big way.

Not only that, but if the U.S. Copyright Office ultimately articulates a workable “human authorship” framework for AI-assisted works during the Phonorecords V rate period, the downstream impact on the Copyright Act section 115 system could be profound: for the first time, the “39 steps” calculation may have to accommodate fractional copyrightability within a single work. Instead of treating a musical work as an either/or, services and the MLC could be forced to parse which portions of a track are attributable to human authorship and therefore eligible for royalties, and which are not. That would introduce a new layer of allocation on top of an already complex formula—effectively embedding micro-level authorship determinations into macro-level royalty calculations—and raising the administrative, evidentiary, and dispute-resolution burdens across the entire system.

The key point is that the CRB does not need to resolve all questions of AI copyrightability to act here for purposes of the 39 Steps. It can simply clarify what is already in the statute and the regulation: The formula applies only to payments that correspond to rights in nondramatic musical works, and deductions are limited to payments that genuinely compensate the public performance of such works. That is not a policy innovation outside the scope of the CRB’s mandate from Congress. It is a classification rule.

If there is doubt about whether a category of material such as purely generative AI output qualifies as a “musical work” for these purposes, that is a question the CRB can refer to the Register of Copyrights in a pinch. But the CRB should not leave the door open for the mechanical royalty pool to be diluted by payments for things that fall outside the Copyright Act altogether. If you get a paycheck every week this may not be that important to you, but if you live off of royalties it damn sure is.

This may also be the moment to ask a more fundamental question: whether the industry should abandon the “39 steps” construct altogether. Whatever its historical justification—particularly in Phonorecords I back in 2009, where publishers were trying to shield early services like MusicNet from crushing retroactive exposure—the current formula has outlived its usefulness. Today, it functions less as a fair pricing mechanism and more as a constraint, allowing services to use their complementary oligopoly market power to effectively cap mechanical royalties by anchoring them to a royalty pool determined in part based on what labels get paid. The result is a structurally odd feedback loop in which sound recording deals influence the value of adjacent musical works. A cleaner alternative would be a flat, escalating penny-rate framework, like what the Judges adopted for both physical and downloads as well as webcasting royalties—simpler, more transparent, and far less susceptible to strategic manipulation.

We have been here before. The history of section 115 is, in many ways, the history of closing gaps between statutory language and market behavior.

Phonorecords V presents another such moment.

The CRB should take it.

by Trichordist

Kafka’s Hypothetical Market Strikes Again: The DSPs’ Latest Move to Silence Songwriters by Throwing GMR Out of Phonorecords V

If you want to understand how the streaming services really view songwriters, look no further than their joint motion to exclude Global Music Rights (GMR) from Phonorecords V. It is not subtle. It is not principled. It is an attempt to narrow the field to those voices the services already know how to manage. (All of these services are being investigated by the Texas Attorney General “over alleged payola schemes in which they accept bribes to artificially promote certain songs, artists, or content.”)

Services’ Joint Motion to Exclude GMR (For Filing)Download

The Services—Spotify, Apple, Amazon, Pandora, and Google—argue that GMR lacks a “significant interest” because it licenses performance rights rather than mechanical rights. That argument is technically obvious and substantively hollow, a mile wide and an inch deep, if that. GMR represents songwriters whose mechanical royalties are directly at issue in this proceeding. The idea that those songwriters somehow lose their “significant interest” because their representative also licenses performance rights is not just formalism. It is exclusion by design.

Let’s be clear about what is at stake. GMR affiliates include some of the most commercially significant songwriters in the world—writers like Drake, Bruno Mars, The Weeknd, Pharrell Williams, Nicki Minaj, Post Malone, Pearl Jam, Prince, and Tyler, the Creator. Nobody else in this proceeding speaks for them. Not the NMPA, which represents publishers. Not the services, who are adverse. And certainly not a system that already tilts toward the parties who can afford to litigate at scale.

When songwriters affiliated with Global Music Rights made a choice about how to license their work, they chose a free market model. They chose to be represented by GMR and to negotiate performance royalties directly with users, in arm’s-length, private negotiations reflecting real-world value. That decision matters. It reflects a preference for market pricing over regulatory pricing, and for merit over compulsion.

But the moment you shift from performance rights to mechanical rights, that choice disappears. Why?

Well, that’s a good question, but the answer for now is that under section 115 of the Copyright Act, those same songwriters are forced into a compulsory license regime administered in large part through the CRB which sets the rates. They cannot opt out. They cannot negotiate freely. Instead, their work is swept into a statutory system where rates are set through a complex, expensive, and heavily lawyered process that bears little resemblance to a functioning market. It is a hypothetical market.

So we end up in a strange place, a Kafkaesque place. The same songwriter who can negotiate directly for the public performance of their work is denied that freedom when it comes to the reproduction and distribution of that same work. One side of the market is competitive and arms length. The other is managed and hypothetical.

That is not a neutral design choice. It is a structural constraint—one that continues to shape outcomes in favor of the services.

The Services claim that GMR lacks a “direct financial interest” in the outcome. That is a remarkable position. The entire proceeding is about setting the value of musical works in streaming. If the rate goes down, songwriters get paid less. If the rate goes up, they get paid more. That is the definition of a direct financial interest. The Services’ attempt to redefine “direct” to exclude the very creators whose works are being priced is not statutory interpretation. It is outcome engineering.

The Services also argue that GMR’s interest is merely “indirect” or “attenuated.” This requires ignoring the bargaining power of the songwriters who effectively are GMR. But this is the same playbook the services have used for years: isolate each rights silo, then argue that no one outside the narrowest licensing box is entitled to speak. The result is a fragmented system where the only voices that remain are those structurally aligned with the services’ preferred outcome.

Then there is the efficiency argument—the Services’ claim that allowing GMR to participate would make the proceeding “lengthy, complex, and expensive.” As opposed to what? Nasty, brutish and short?

That would be more persuasive if it were not coming from the very companies that have turned CRB proceedings into multi-year, multi-million-dollar wars of attrition. These are the largest corporations in commercial history (at least one of which is an adjudicated monopoly) arguing that the problem is too many songwriters having a voice.

Let’s call this what it is: a coordinated effort by a handful of dominant platforms to use their collective market power—and their litigation budgets—to shape the CRB process in their favor. The same companies that work relentlessly to drive down the royalties paid to songwriters are now trying to limit who is allowed to advocate for those songwriters to get fair treatment in the first place.

And here is the practical reality the Services are ignoring: even if the Judges exclude GMR, they are not solving the problem. They are postponing it. When the decision is released for public comment, the absence of these voices will not go unnoticed. It will be exposed—and it will undermine the legitimacy of the outcome. Because they’ll be back for comments which will attack the entire proceeding as arbitrary.

The CRB process already leans heavily toward those who can afford to participate. That is a structural fact. But actively excluding a representative of major songwriters—on the theory that those songwriters do not have a “significant interest” in how their own royalties are set—crosses a different line.

The Judges should reject this motion out of hand.

Because if the people who write the songs do not have a seat at the table, then whatever this process is—it is not a willing buyer, willing seller marketplace. Excluding GMR would raise the question of whether it was ever intended to be one.

by Trichordist Editor

Mýa Backs AMFA as Momentum Builds for Fair Pay for Radio Play

L-R: SX CEO Mike Huppe, Mya, House Minority Leader Rep. Hakeem Jeffries

Momentum around the American Music Fairness Act is building, and that’s a good thing. When Michael Huppe says artists not being paid for terrestrial radio airplay is “flat out wrong,” he’s right. The American Music Fairness Act (AMFA) closes the loop on Congress’s work beginning in 1995 to create a digital performance right in sound recordings. It extends that framework to terrestrial radio, ensuring artists and sound recording owners are paid consistently across platforms while preserving protections for small and local broadcasters.

The U.S. remains an outlier globally, denying performers a basic neighboring right recognized nearly everywhere else. Mýa’s presence underscores what’s at stake: real artists, real livelihoods. AMFA is about correcting a structural imbalance—one that has allowed broadcasters to monetize recordings without compensating those who made them. We appreciate the growing number of leaders in Congress working to get this right.

For more information on the American Music Fairness Act and the broader policy effort to align U.S. law with global norms, see the musicFIRST Coalition. They track the legislation, outline the issues, and provide a way to stay informed or engage if you choose.

by thetrichordist

@RonanFarrow and @AndrewMarantz: Sam Altman May Control Our Future—Can He Be Trusted?

Ronan Farrow and Andrew Marantz investigate Sam Altman’s leadership of OpenAI, based on internal documents and more than 100 interviews. They center on a core tension: Altman has positioned himself as a steward of humanity’s most powerful technology, yet many colleagues and insiders question whether he can be trusted with that responsibility. Internal memos compiled by senior figures—including chief scientist Ilya Sutskever—allege a pattern of misleading statements and evasiveness, particularly around AI safety and governance.  Shocking, ain’t it?

The piece traces OpenAI’s evolution from a nonprofit founded to prioritize safety over profit into a commercially driven company pursuing massive scale and valuation. Along the way, Altman is portrayed as highly ambitious, politically savvy, and willing to push boundaries—sometimes at the expense of transparency or institutional safeguards. 

It also situates these concerns within the broader stakes of artificial general intelligence: if such systems emerge, the individuals controlling them could wield unprecedented global power. The article ultimately raises an unresolved question—whether the rapid centralization of technological authority in a single leader and company is compatible with the level of trust and accountability that such power demands.

Read it on the New Yorker.

by thetrichordist