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

Inside Royalty Audits with Keith Bernstein: Lessons from Chris Castle’s Music Contracts & AI Class at UT Law

Let’s face it: Audit rights are only as good as your auditor.

In this ARI Artist Financial Education session—recorded for Chris Castle’s music business and AI class at the University of Texas School of Law—we got a gem. Keith Bernstein, one of the top royalty auditors in the music business, joins Chris for a practical discussion of DSP and royalty audits. As the force behind Royalty Review Council and Crunch Digital, and its proprietary clearance tool Tempo, Keith has spent decades uncovering how royalties are reported, misreported, and contested.

Keith walks us through how audits actually work, contract limitations on audit rights, where discrepancies tend to surface, and why leverage often matters more than contract language. After decades in the field, Keith has seen where the money goes and where it doesn’t. This conversation cuts through the theory and gets into how audits really work, where the gaps are, and why audit rights only matter if you can enforce them.

Watch the video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cirxW12BS2k

Background reading: Donald S. Passman, All You Need to Know About the Music Business 11th Edition, 54–55, 70, 313, 408.

by Trichordist Editor

@hypebot: Jay Gilbert, Ryan Vaughn, & Benji Stein Share Expert Tips for Artist Growth in 2026

Check out a great discussion from our friends at Hypebot: The latest panel from MusicPro ’26 offers a useful snapshot of where “artist growth” advice stands heading into 2026—and where it may still be missing the mark.

In this Hypebot discussion, Jay Gilbert, Ryan Vaughn, and Benji Stein walk through the evolving toolkit for independent artists: data, audience development, and the growing skepticism around social media metrics. The throughline is clear—streams and followers don’t build careers; real fans do. The panel repeatedly returns to the importance of identifying and nurturing “actionable” fans over vanity metrics. 

But the more interesting takeaway may be what sits beneath that advice. As platforms flood artists with data, the real advantage increasingly lies in owning the relationship through email lists, direct engagement, and signals that actually convert into tickets, merch, and sustained attention. (And in our experience, owning the relationship is the one thing Spotify doesn’t want you to do.)

The result is a subtle but important shift: away from platform-defined success, and toward artist-controlled audience infrastructure.

The question, of course, is whether the current system actually rewards that shift—or quietly undermines it.

Read the post on Hypebot

by Trichordist

Chris Cooke: SoundExchange boss says all EU countries must change copyright rules so European radio royalties flow to American performers #IRespectMusic

Ireland Leads the Way: A Step Toward Fair Radio Royalties for American Artists in Europe

For years, American artists have been told that the global royalty system is just “complicated”—a patchwork of treaties, local rules, and reciprocal deals that somehow always seem to leave U.S. performers on the short end of the stick. But as this new report highlighted by CMU makes clear, what’s really at issue isn’t complexity. It’s discrimination dressed up as policy.

At the center of the debate is a simple principle: national treatment—the idea that countries should pay foreign creators the same royalties they pay their own. That principle is already embedded in international law and reinforced by recent European court decisions. And yet, across much of Europe, American performers still don’t get paid when their recordings are played on terrestrial radio, even while European artists are paid at home and abroad.

Now, SoundExchange is turning up the pressure, arguing that every EU member state must finally align its laws with that principle and unlock hundreds of millions in unpaid royalties.

This is exactly what our friend Blake Morgan and the #IRespectMusic campaign have been fighting for over the past decade—fair pay for performers wherever their music is used. And it’s another reminder that we join with the MusicFirst Coalition in demanding that the U.S. should lead by example: passing the American Music Fairness Act would strengthen hand of America’s creators globally and help ensure U.S. artists are paid both at home and abroad.

This isn’t just a technical copyright dispute. It’s a global trade and fairness issue—one that goes directly to how countries value music as an export, and whether creators are treated as partners in that economy or just inputs to be exploited.

Read Chris Cooke’s excellent explainer in Complete Music Update

The boss of US collecting society SoundExchange has welcomed a change to Irish copyright law which means radio royalties collected in Ireland can now flow to American performers when their music gets airplay in the country. Even though no radio royalties flow in the other direction to European performers, because radio stations in the US don’t have to pay any money to any artists or labels. 

That change to Irish law was the result of a ruling in the European Union courts which, SoundExchange CEO Michael Huppe insists, also obligates other EU countries to implement similar changes, so that more radio royalties flow to the US. “Implementation isn’t optional – it’s a legal obligation”, Huppe says, adding, “creators everywhere deserve to be paid when their music is used, no matter their nationality”. 

by Trichordist

California Takes a Step Toward Ending Speculative Ticketing

One of the most frustrating tricks in the ticket resale business is something called speculative ticketing. That’s when someone lists a ticket for sale before they actually have the ticket. We’ve discussed the problem many times, but Kid Rock brought it to a head recently during a hearing on Capitol Hill.

If you haven’t run across spec ticking before, here it is: The seller is essentially betting they will be able to obtain the ticket later. If they succeed, they deliver the ticket to the buyer. If they don’t, the buyer often ends up with a refund—or a replacement ticket of uncertain quality—instead of the seat they thought they purchased.

For fans and artists, the bigger problem is what speculative listings do to the market before the onsale even begins.

When fans check resale marketplaces and see hundreds of tickets already listed—often at inflated prices—it creates the impression that tickets are already scarce or sold out. That perception alone can push fans to panic-buy at higher prices, even when the actual ticket inventory hasn’t even been released yet.

In other words, speculative listings can make the market look hotter and tighter than it really is.

Ironically, most of the major resale platforms already say this practice is prohibited on their service. Their terms of service typically ban selling tickets that the seller does not actually possess.

Yet those same marketplaces often display large numbers of listings that appear to be exactly that: tickets offered for sale before the seller could reasonably have them in hand.

California is now attempting to address this problem directly. A new proposal would make it clear that selling tickets you do not possess—or do not have the legal right to sell—is a deceptive practice under consumer protection law. It would also allow state and local authorities to enforce those rules, rather than leaving fans to fight the battle on their own.

That proposal is California Assembly Bill 1349 (AB 1349).

AB 1349 aims to close the gap between what resale platforms claim to prohibit and what actually happens in the marketplace. The basic principle is simple: if a ticket is listed for sale, it should be a real ticket controlled by the seller, not a speculative promise that may or may not be fulfilled later.

The bill will not fix every problem in the ticketing ecosystem. But it represents an important step toward restoring a basic level of honesty to the resale market. After all, if the platforms themselves say you shouldn’t sell a ticket you don’t have, putting that rule into law should not be controversial.

For artists and fans alike, the idea behind AB 1349 comes down to something pretty straightforward:

You shouldn’t be able to sell a ticket you don’t actually own.

by Trichordist

Say No to Suno

Late last year, thieves disguised as construction workers broke into the Louvre during broad daylight, grabbed more than $100 million worth of crown jewels, and roared off on their motorbikes into the busy streets of Paris. While some of those thieves were later arrested, the jewelry they stole has yet to be recovered, and many fear those historic works of artistry have already been recut, reset, and resold.

Closer to home, but no less nefarious, is the brazen rip-off of artists enabled by irresponsible AI, whose profiteers are recutting, remixing, and reselling original works of artistry as something new.  The hijacking of the world’s entire treasure-trove of music floods platforms with AI slop and dilutes the royalty pools of legitimate artists from whose music this slop is derived. 

Meanwhile, those who are promoting this new business model are operating in broad daylight, too – minus the yellow safety vests.  That is AI music company Suno, the brazen “smash and grab” platform whose “Make it Music” ad campaign suggests that the most personal and meaningful forms of music can now be fabricated by their unauthorized AI platform machinery trained on human artists’ work. 

How significant is this activity?  Publicly revealed data says Suno is used to generate 7 million tracks a day, a massive quantity that suggests a dominant market share of AI tracks.  According to recent reports, Deezer “deems 85% of streams of fully AI-generated tracks [on its service] to be fraudulent,” and that such tracks include outputs from major generative models.  As JP Morgan’s analysts said, Deezer’s data “should be indicative of the broader market.”  Suno has yet to demonstrate persuasively that its platform does not, in practice, serve as a scalable input into streaming-fraud schemes — raising a serious concern that Suno has, in effect, become a fraud-fodder factory on an industrial scale.

In a February 2 LinkedIn post, Paul Sinclair, Suno’s Chief Music Officer, claims that his company’s platform is about “empowerment” that enables “billions of fans to create and play with music.”  He argues that closed systems are “walled gardens” that deny people access to the full joy of music.

Ironically, Sinclair’s choice of analogy undermines his own argument.  Ask yourself: just why are most gardens surrounded by fences or walls?  To keep out rabbits, deer, raccoons and wild pigs seeking a free lunch.  We cultivate, nurture and protect our gardens precisely because that makes them much more productive over the long run.

While Sinclair may be loath to admit it, AI is fundamentally different from past disruptive innovations in the music industry.  The phonograph, cassettes, CDs, MP3s, downloads, streaming – all these technologies were about the reproduction and distribution of creative work.  By contrast, irresponsible AI like Suno appropriates and plunders such creative work while undermining the commercial ecosystem for artists.

Think back to the days of Napster.  What brought the music industry back from the ruinous abyss of unfettered digital piracy?  It was the very “closed systems” that Sinclair derides as exclusionary.  At least streaming platforms maintain access controls and content management systems that enable creator compensation, even if the economic outcomes for many creators remain inadequate.  Should we be against Apple Music, Spotify, Deezer, YouTube Music, and Amazon Music?  What about Netflix, Disney+ and HBO, too, while we’re at it?

At its core, Sinclair’s argument is just a tired remix of the old trope that “information wants to be free.”  What that really means is: “We want your music for free.”

Artists need to understand Suno’s game.  They are not putting technology in the service of artists; they are putting artists in the service of their technology.  Every time artists’ creations are used by the platform, those creations have just unwittingly been contributed to the creation of endless derivatives of artists’ own work, not to mention AI slop, with limited or no remuneration back to the human creators.  Suno built its business on our backs, scraping the world’s cultural output without permission, then competing against the very works exploited.

It’s also important to keep in mind that using Suno to generate audio output calls into question the copyrightability of whatever Suno creates.  Most countries around the world including the US Copyright Office have been clear that generative AI outputs are largely ineligible for a copyright – meaning the economic value of the Suno creation lies solely with Suno, not with the artist using it.  The only ones gaining empowerment from Suno are Suno themselves.

Many in our community are embracing responsible AI as a tool for creation, and as a means for fans to explore and interact with our artistry.  That’s wonderful.  But it’s not the same as creating an environment where AI-generated works sourced from our music are mass distributed to dilute our royalties or, worse yet, reward those actively seeking to commit fraud.  Artists need to know the difference – all AI platforms are not the same, and Suno, which is being sued for copyright infringement, is not a platform artists should trust.

Responsible AI-generated music must evolve within a framework that respects and remunerates artists, enhances human creativity rather than supplants it, and empowers fans to engage with the music they love.  At the same time, AI services must preclude mass distribution of slop and prevent fraudsters from destroying the very ecosystem that has been built to reward and sustain artists and audiences alike.

All of us, including billions of music fans, share an urgent, deep and abiding interest in protecting and rewarding human genius, even as AI continues to change our industry and the world in unimaginable ways.  So in 2026, even as the Louvre continues to revamp its own approach to security, we in the arts must rise to confront those who would “smash-and-grab” our creativity for their own benefit.

Together, while embracing innovation, we must work to establish more effective safeguards – both legal and technological – that better promote and protect all creative artists, our intellectual property, and the spark of human genius.

Say no to Suno. Say yes to the beauty and bounty of the gardens that feed us all.

Signed: 

Ron Gubitz, Executive Director, Music Artist Coalition

Helienne Lindvall, Songwriter and President, European Composer and Songwriter Alliance

David C. Lowery, Artist and Editor The Trichordist

Tift Merritt artist, Practitioner in Residence, Duke University and Artist Rights Alliance Board Member

Blake Morgan, artist, producer, and President of ECR Music Group.

Abby North, President, North Music Group

Chris Castle, Artist Rights Institute

by Trichordist Editor

Synthetic Emotion from The Music Department: Suno’s Unsettling Ad Campaign and the Return of Orwell’s Machine-Made Culture from 1984

In George Orwell’s 1984, the “versificator” was a machine designed to produce poetry, songs, and sentimental verse synthetically, without human thought or feeling. Its purpose was not artistic expression but industrial-scale cultural production—filling the air with endless, disposable content to occupy attention and shape perception. Nearly a century later, the comparison to modern generative music systems such as Suno is difficult to ignore. While the technologies differ dramatically, the underlying question is strikingly similar: what happens when music is produced by machines at scale rather than by human experience?

Orwell’s versificator was built for scale, not meaning (reminding you of anyone?). It generated formulaic songs for the masses, optimized for emotional familiarity rather than originality. Suno, by contrast, uses sophisticated machine learning trained on vast corpora of human-created music to generate complete recordings on demand that would be the envy of Big Brother’s Music Department. Suno can reportedly generate millions of tracks per day, a level of output impossible in any human-centered musical economy. When music becomes infinitely reproducible, the limiting factor shifts from creation to distribution and attention—precisely the dynamic Orwell imagined.

Nothing captures the versificator analogy more vividly than Suno’s own dystopian-style “first kiss” advertisingcampaign. In one widely circulated spot, the product is promoted through a stylized, synthetic emotional narrative that emphasizes instant, machine-generated musical cliche creation untethered from human musicians, vocalists, or composers. The message is not about artistic struggle, collaboration, or lived expression—it is about mediocre frictionless production. The ad unintentionally echoes Orwell’s warning: when culture can be manufactured instantly, expression becomes simulation. And on top of it, those ads are just downright creepy.

The versificator also blurred authorship. In 1984, no individual poet existed behind the machine’s output; creativity was subsumed into a system. Suno raises a comparable question. If a system trained on thousands or millions of human performances produces a new track, where does authorship reside? With the user who typed a prompt? With the engineers who built the model? With the countless musicians whose expressive choices shaped the training data? Or nowhere at all? This diffusion of authorship challenges long-standing cultural and legal assumptions about what it means to “create” music.

Another parallel lies in standardization. The versificator produced content that was emotionally predictable—pleasant, familiar, subservient and safe. Generative music systems often display a similar gravitational pull toward stylistic averages embedded in their training data that has been averaged into pablum. The result can be competent, even polished output that nevertheless lacks the unpredictability, risk, and individual voice associated with human artistry. Orwell’s concern was not that machine-generated culture would be bad, but that it would be flattened—replacing lived expression with algorithmic imitation. Substitutional, not substantial.

There is also a structural similarity in scale and economics. The versificator’s value to The Party lay in its ability to replace human labor in cultural production and to force the creation of projects that humans would find too creepy. Suno and similar systems raise analogous questions for modern musicians, particularly session players and composers whose work historically formed the backbone of recorded music. When a single system can generate instrumental tracks, arrangements, and stylistic variations instantly, the economic pressure on human contributors becomes obvious. Orwell imagined machines replacing poets; today the substitution pressure may fall first on instrumental performance, arrangement, sound designer, and production roles.

Yet the comparison has limits, and those limits matter. The versificator was a tool of centralized control in a dystopian state, designed to narrow human thought. Suno operates in a pluralistic technological environment where many artists themselves experiment with AI as a creative instrument. Unlike Orwell’s machine, generative music systems can be used collaboratively, interactively, and sometimes in ways that expand rather than suppress creative exploration. The technology is not inherently dystopian; its impact depends on how institutions, markets, and creators choose to shape it.

A deeper difference lies in intention. Orwell’s versificator was never meant to create art; it was meant to simulate it. Modern generative music systems are often framed as tools that can assist, augment, or inspire human creativity. Some artists use AI to prototype ideas, explore unfamiliar styles, or generate textures that would be difficult to produce otherwise. In these contexts, the machine functions less like a replacement and more like a new instrument—one whose cultural role is still evolving.

Still, Orwell’s versificator is highly relevant to understanding Suno’s corporate direction. When cultural production becomes industrialized, quantity can overwhelm meaning. The risk is not merely that machine-generated music exists, but that its scale reshapes attention, value, and recognition. If millions of synthetic tracks flood listening environments as is happening with some large DSPs, the signal of individual human expression may become harder to perceive—even if human creativity continues to exist beneath the surface.

The comparison between Suno and the versificator symbolizes the moment when technology challenges the boundaries of authorship, creativity, and cultural labor. Orwell warned of a world where machines produced endless culture without human voice. Today’s question is subtler: can society integrate generative systems in ways that preserve the distinctiveness of human expression rather than dissolving it into algorithmic slop?

The answer will not come from technology alone. It will depend on choices—legal, cultural, and economic—about how machine-generated music is labeled, valued, and integrated into the broader creative ecosystem. Orwell imagined a future where the machine replaced the poet. The task now is to ensure that, even in an age of generative AI, the humans remains audible.

by Trichordist