Category: artist rights

StubHub’s FIFA Ticket Debacle Is Different This Time

For years, critics of the secondary ticketing industry (including us) have warned about the dangers of speculative ticket sales, hidden fees, and platforms that profit whether fans ultimately get through the gate or not. Those warnings were often dismissed as the complaints of disgruntled consumers.

The FIFA World Cup ticket controversy suggests those critics may have been right all along. As reported in Business Insider:

Countless World Cup fans are discovering that their tickets have gone poof, and they’re left scrambling to decide whether to buy new, pricier ones or simply give up on their World Cup dreams. They’re asking themselves how this could happen, since many people don’t realize it’s even a possibility.

The answer lies in the peculiar structure of secondary ticket marketplaces. Sites such as StubHub don’t actually sell tickets, much like eBay or Facebook Marketplace, they just connect buyers and sellers. This setup relies on sellers to come through with the tickets they say they have, essentially rendering it an honor system. Companies often don’t require sellers to upload their tickets immediately or provide proof of purchase. Many platforms give sellers until the day of the event to hand over the tickets.

It’s impossible to know the explanation for each individual situation, but one potential culprit is speculative ticketing, which I coined “ghost ticketing” last year. In these scenarios, resellers list tickets on StubHub or SeatGeek that they don’t yet have, hoping they’ll eventually secure them (for a lower price than they offered) and send them along.

FIFA warns fans about such practices:

You can transfer your tickets using the Ticket Transfer feature on the FIFA Resale/Exchange Marketplace. The marketplace is accessible via FIFA.com/tickets.

Please note: Transferring tickets to third-party platforms or accounts is discouraged as it may result in issues, including the inability to cancel or accept transfers. To ensure a secure and valid transfer process, please use the Ticket Transfer feature between FIFA accounts.

Fans reportedly purchased World Cup tickets through StubHub, booked flights, hotels, and vacations around those purchases, only to discover that tickets never arrived, could not be transferred, or could not be honored. In many cases, the offered remedy was a refund.

Business Insider reports that:

A SeatGeek spokesperson said in an email that [a fan’s] letdown “fell short” of the experience the company aims to provide and said they’d apologized to him and were working on a resolution. “We continue to invest significant resources in monitoring World Cup orders and supporting fans attending matches,” they said.

But a refund is not a remedy when the one-time event is over. An “apology” maybe very Internet (“we said we were sorry [for fill in the blank obvious scummy and shady behavior]”) but it ain’t going to cut it.

A World Cup match is not a toaster. Consumers are not merely purchasing a product; they are purchasing an experience tied to a specific place and time. Once the match is over, no amount of reimbursement can recreate the opportunity, no apologies will make the fan whole.

The deeper problem is that these incidents expose the fundamental flaw in speculative ticketing. In many cases, tickets appear—to be more fair than they deserve— to have been offered for sale before sellers possessed transferable inventory or before they could demonstrate a present ability to deliver what they were selling. Consumers were effectively asked to assume the risk that the ticket would eventually materialize. This kind of thing is often called “fraud” in the trade.

Imagine a securities market where brokers could freely sell commodities they did not possess and buyers discovered on settlement day that the shares or options never existed. Regulators would never tolerate such a system. Yet in secondary ticketing markets, similar concerns have persisted for years and nobody has gone to jail.

Longtime critics of the speculative ticketing industry may experience a sense of déjà vu.

As recently as 2024, plaintiffs in Kaiser v. StubHub advanced allegations that sound remarkably familiar: tickets to Hotspurs game allegedly offered for sale that sellers did not possess, consumers induced to purchase based on representations about availability, and a platform collecting fees while bearing relatively little delivery risk. The complaint included civil RICO allegations before being referred to arbitration, meaning many of the underlying claims were ruled on in private (secret) arbitration and never tested through a public merits determination.

Kaiser v stubhubDownload

The significance of Kaiser is not whether every allegation was ultimately proven. The significance is that the core complaints sound strikingly similar to those now emerging from the FIFA World Cup controversy. If the allegations prove accurate, critics will understandably ask why the same concerns appear to be resurfacing only two years later on a much larger stage.

Another uncomfortable question concerns StubHub’s longstanding reliance on mandatory arbitration clauses and class-action waivers contained in its consumer terms of service. Historically, those provisions have helped channel disputes into private proceedings, limiting public discovery and reducing the risk of large-scale class litigation. Indeed, in Kaiser, the court referred even the plaintiffs’ civil RICO claims to arbitration—a result that many consumer advocates viewed as troubling public policy because allegations involving potentially systemic marketplace practices were removed from public judicial scrutiny.

It must be said that StubHub is hardly alone in trying to stretch consumer arbitration provisions beyond what most consumers would reasonably expect. Disney drew national criticism when it initially sought to invoke a Disney+ arbitration clause in a wrongful-death case arising from an allergic-reaction death at Disney Springs. The Happiest Place on Earth later backed down, but the episode illustrates the same broader problem: companies increasingly treat arbitration clauses as all-purpose liability shields, even when the dispute bears little resemblance to the ordinary consumer transaction that supposedly created consent.

The FIFA controversy may test the limits of that strategy. When alleged consumer harm spans multiple countries, major sporting events, and potentially thousands of affected purchasers, the practical, political, and regulatory pressures become much harder to contain through private arbitration. More importantly, arbitration clauses do not bind government regulators. A consumer may be forced into arbitration, but the FTC is not. Nor are state attorneys general, foreign regulators, or other enforcement authorities. In that sense, arbitration may reduce private litigation exposure, but it provides little protection against the type of regulatory scrutiny that often follows high-profile consumer failures.

The larger the FIFA controversy becomes, the less likely it is that StubHub can resolve it behind closed doors. Plus, it makes America look bad and we can think of at least one person who might get really pissed about that.

The FIFA controversy is also notable because the underlying conduct is not universally accepted as a legitimate market practice. In the United Kingdom, the unauthorized resale of football tickets is heavily restricted and, in many circumstances, prohibited outside approved channels established by clubs and governing bodies. That issue surfaced in Kaiser, where plaintiffs alleged sales occurring outside authorized distribution systems and when the plaintiff showed up at Hotspurs World, it became apparent that the plaintiff was the only one not in on the joke. In other words, at least some jurisdictions have already concluded that unrestricted secondary-market sales of football tickets create risks significant enough to warrant legal restrictions.

The timing could hardly be worse for StubHub.

The company recently resolved an FTC enforcement action involving allegedly deceptive pricing practices and so-called “junk fees.” The FTC accused StubHub of using drip-pricing tactics that advertised one price while revealing mandatory fees later in the purchasing process. The resulting settlement required changes to pricing disclosures and a $10 million payment.

But hidden fees were only part of the story.

The FTC’s broader rulemaking record also discussed speculative ticketing as a potentially deceptive practice under the same rule. In fact, commenters specifically raised concerns that platforms were facilitating the sale of tickets that sellers did not actually possess or could not yet transfer. The Commission cited those concerns in its rulemaking discussion, recognizing that speculative ticketing may present consumer-protection issues distinct from hidden fees alone. Numerous states have outlawed speculative ticketing outright, concluding that selling tickets you do not possess is not innovation—it’s such serious consumer harm they outlaw the practice.

That point deserves emphasis. Critics of speculative ticketing were not simply complaining on social media or filing isolated lawsuits. They participated in the federal rulemaking process itself. The concerns raised in litigation such as Kaiser and in comments submitted to the FTC were sufficiently significant that the Commission expressly addressed them when adopting its junk-fee framework. The FIFA controversy therefore does not emerge from nowhere. It arrives against a backdrop of years of consumer complaints, litigation, regulatory comments, and public warnings that the industry has largely resisted.

If a platform represents inventory as available when the seller lacks the present ability to transfer or deliver it, the issue extends beyond pricing disclosures and into the integrity of the marketplace itself. That distinction is significant because it supports expansion of available legal prosecutions.

A civil RICO plaintiff would likely argue that repeated electronic communications marketing unavailable or non-transferable tickets constitute a pattern of wire fraud. And that puts you squarely in racketeering land. Whether such a claim could succeed would depend heavily on evidence of knowledge, intent, and the scale of the conduct. But the FIFA controversy inevitably invites the question raised in Kaiser: at what point does a recurring business practice stop looking like isolated misconduct and start looking systemic?

No one should assume that a criminal RICO case is around the corner. Federal prosecutors would need far stronger evidence and proof of knowing participation in criminal conduct. Yet once allegations involve recurring speculative inventory, consumer deception, electronic communications, and a potentially nationwide pattern of conduct, the discussion inevitably broadens from customer service to compliance and governance. The FTC has been partway down this path before with StubHub—while FTC can’t bring a criminal prosecution, it’s a short stop to a Department of Justice referral, Especially if you know who gets involved.

And that is what makes this episode different.

For years, StubHub could treat these controversies as disputes with unhappy customers. Today, StubHub is a public company. It has benefited from access to public capital markets and the confidence of public investors. With that status comes heightened expectations regarding compliance systems, risk management, internal controls, and regulatory oversight.

Angry fans are one thing. Invited guests in our country are another thing entirely, as are regulators, institutional investors, securities lawyers, and the SEC.

The problem for StubHub is not merely that critics predicted these issues. The problem is that critics raised them in court, raised them before federal regulators, and saw those concerns acknowledged in the FTC’s own rulemaking record—yet the complaints continue to surface.

The problem for StubHub is not that critics are saying something new. The problem is that critics appear to be saying the same thing they were saying in Kaiser—only now the whole world is watching.

If the FIFA complaints ultimately prove as widespread as it appears, investors may begin asking uncomfortable questions that go well beyond customer service. Is speculative ticketing a disclosed business risk? Is it primarily a compliance problem? Or is it so deeply embedded in the economics of the marketplace that meaningful reform would materially affect revenue and growth? And, as they say, “have a materially adverse affect on StubHub’s business.”

Those are not questions typically asked by disappointed fans on social media. They are the kinds of questions asked by regulators, analysts, institutional investors, auditors, and securities lawyers.

The secondary ticketing industry has spent years arguing that it provides efficiency and liquidity. Governor Polis defended the practices as an “innovative online ticket waiting service” (yes, he really said that). The FIFA fiasco suggests something different: a system that privatizes gains, socializes risk, and too often leaves consumers holding the bag.

SB23-060 Veto Letter-1Download

For a public company operating under the gaze of both the FTC and the SEC, that should no longer be good enough.

Because the real risk for StubHub may not be the next user lawsuit, the next consumer arbitration demand, or even the next FTC inquiry. The real risk is that investors begin to conclude that what defenders have long described as isolated incidents are, in fact, permanent features of the unsavory business model itself.

by Trichordist

Don’t Freeze Mechanicals Again

The compulsory mechanical license was created by Congress in the Copyright Act of 1909 as a response to the rise of player pianos and piano rolls, which threatened to place control of a new music reproduction technology in the hands of a few dominant companies. To prevent monopoly control, Congress established a compulsory license allowing anyone to reproduce a musical composition upon payment of a statutory royalty. That royalty was set at 2 cents per song. Remarkably, the 2-cent rate remained unchanged for nearly seven decades, surviving the birth of commercial radio, records, tapes, and the modern recording industry until the Copyright Act of 1976. Given that the dominant music users are either monopolies themselves or effectively monopolies (Google, Amazon, Spotify), the entire purpose of the compulsory license seems laughable today, but oh, well—they’re from Washington and they’re here to help.

The Copyright Act of 1976 did more than end the 2-cent mechanical royalty freeze. It established a framework for periodic review of statutory rates so that songwriters would not again be trapped for generations at a rate set by Congress decades earlier. Over time, Congress refined that system, eventually replacing ad hoc adjustment proceedings with the modern Copyright Royalty Board (CRB). Today, the CRB conducts recurring rate-setting proceedings that evaluate economic conditions and marketplace developments. While the process is often contentious, the result has generally been upward movement in mechanical royalties, reflecting inflation, changing markets, and the enduring value of musical works.

USCO Mechanical Rates -w- SupplementDownload

The next mechanical royalty rate-setting hearings before the Copyright Royalty Board are upon us (called “Phonorecords V” follow it here). Like so many other aspects of the CRB, it seems that awareness of the hearing varies inversely to its economic importance for songwriters—meaning that the more it affects your pocketbook, the fewer people appear to know about it. Let’s see if we can change that dynamic.

The CRB will set rates for streaming mechanicals, a whole saga unto itself, but the Board also sets rates for the sale of physical records like vinyl and permanent downloads. It was these rates that created a dust up the last time around in Phonorecords IV, because the first tentative settlement was rejected by the Judges. Had the Judges not rejected the first settlement, the insiders would have frozen the physical/download rates for another five years in addition to the freeze that was already in place since 2006 for a total of 21 years.

The PR V resolution should be simple: whatever inflation-adjusted rate that is in effect at the end of the Phonorecords IV rate period should become the starting point for the next rate period in Phonorecords V. Why? Because the CRJs proposed the 12¢ PR IV base reference rate (plus COLA) as a compromise recognizing that the statutory rate had not been adjusted for inflation from 2006 through 2023. Having adopted an actual inflation-adjusted rate through a revised settlement in PR IV, choosing to revert to 12¢ in 2026 for PR V would effectively disregard the very rationale that justified the compromise in the first place. There’s nothing economically magical about a 12¢ rate in 2022 that should inform a new rate in 2028.

Yet there is a risk that some stakeholders may argue that the 12¢ reference rate established in Phonorecords IV should remain the permanent benchmark and that future proceedings should effectively restart from that 12¢ figure even though they know that the real rate is actually the inflation adjusted rate. This is the kind of thing lawyers come up with and is completely divorced from reality.

We explain the frozen mechanicals crisis from 2022

If the CPI-adjusted rate reaches approximately 13.6¢ by 2027, as current inflation projections suggest, such a 12¢ approach would amount to an immediate reduction in songwriter and publisher compensation. Rough justice, that 12¢ rate would actually be worth around 11¢ today, so asking for a 12¢ reference rate is like saying would you take 11 which would be roughly a 20% reduction. That would make little sense economically, legally, or as a matter of regulatory policy.

The key point is that the annual CPI adjustments adopted in Phonorecords IV are not temporary bonuses. They are part of the rate structure. The Judges did not establish a 12¢ rate and then provide a series of discretionary supplements. Rather, they established a rate that increases annually according to a defined formula. The resulting rate is the actual statutory royalty rate in effect at the time. If the rate reaches 13.6¢ in 2027, then 13.6¢ is the reference rate for PR V.

Resetting the benchmark to 12¢ would create a downward ratchet unlike anything that participants in a functioning market would expect not to mention in the post-1978 history of the Copyright Act. Songwriters and publishers would receive annual increases throughout the rate period only to see those increases erased at the start of the next one. Such a result would be arbitrary and would undermine confidence in the stability of the statutory license.

For years, the mechanical royalty remained frozen at 9.1¢ while inflation steadily eroded its economic value. Phonorecords IV represented an acknowledgment that perpetual freezes are difficult to justify in a modern economy. It would be strange indeed if the solution to one rate freeze were simply to create another.

There is also a practical problem. If the statutory rate can be reset downward whenever a new proceeding begins, then the annual CPI adjustment becomes less meaningful. Parties will spend years litigating a rate structure only to find that the resulting increases can be wiped away at the start of the next cycle. That is not how durable rate regulation is supposed to work.

The cleaner approach is the obvious one. The final rate in effect during one period should become the reference rate for the next period unless the evidentiary record demonstrates that a different rate is warranted. This is how the rate was set from 1978 to 2006 and how most regulated systems operate. The existing rate serves as the baseline, and adjustments are made from there.

The issue is ultimately one of continuity. The statutory mechanical royalty should evolve through evidence-based proceedings, not through accounting tricks that erase previously awarded increases. If the rate reaches 13.6¢ in 2027, then 13.6¢ should become the starting point for the next rate period.

The rate clock should move forward, not backward. A songwriter named Hoyt Axton worked his tail off getting the rate on a track to increase with the passing of the 1976 Copyright Act. And I for one will never forget him.

[A version of this post first appeared on MusicTechPolicy]

by thetrichordist

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

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

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