The Court Cases That Defined The Music Industry


This week, a potential landmark case in the music industry was filed against Universal Music Group for allegedly withholding over $750 million of royalties from its artists over streams. Meanwhile, in Fulton County, a recording artist who was included in a gang indictment using his lyrics as evidence will face the legal fight of his life later this month, while his record label lies in ruins as a result.

It’s clear that, when the law crosses paths with the business of making and selling music, the course of one or the other can shift dramatically. In response to Young Thug’s case above, several states have introduced bills protecting artists’ freedom of speech whose lives and livelihoods can be wrecked by overeager prosecutors looking to score political points. Meanwhile, if Black Sheep’s class action suit against UMG proceeds, it could change the way streaming profits are shared with musicians, effecting broad-ranging changes in the way labels do business.

There have been plenty of other court cases that defined the course of the music industry. Some were copyright fights that caused new rules to be adopted — whether formally or informally — about how artists use and credit past works. Others are legal fights between artists and their labels, which prompted the latter to work out new types of deals in efforts to protect profits and attract savvier recording partners. And at least one seemed to be about artists and labels against the oncoming seismic shift caused by new technology. Here are ten of the court cases that defined the music industry.

1944 — Olivia de Havilland vs. Warner Bros. Pictures

One of the court cases that had the biggest impact on the recording industry wasn’t even about music. In 1944, actress Olivia de Havilland sued Warner Bros. Pictures after the term of her seven-year contract with the studio expired. However, much like with record contracts today, back then, actors signed to studios for a certain number of “pictures” over the course of a given term, and if they didn’t deliver, they couldn’t leave.

However, de Havilland argued that this was a violation of California labor law and that seven years means seven years. The courts agreed, forcing WB to release her; since then, numerous recording artists have used the same statute to end contracts they deem unfair, from Courtney Love and Metallica to Luther Vandross and most recently, HER. Even Kanye cited the rule during his feud with EMI and Roc-A-Fella, although a 1980s amendment allows labels to sue artists for damages if they don’t deliver the full number of contracted albums — even after seven years.

1960s — Chuck Berry vs. The Beach Boys

When the California rock band The Beach Boys basically plagiarized Chuck Berry’s 1958 “Sweet Little Sixteen” to create their 1963 hit “Surfin’ USA” (an event that was parodied in the 2006 adaptation of Dreamgirls), they inadvertently kicked off what nearly became the first copyright lawsuit in recording industry history. Although a lawsuit was never actually filed, all the royalties for “Surfin’ USA” go to Berry’s publisher Arc Music after the Beach Boys’ manager Murray Wilson struck a deal.

1990 — Queen vs. Vanilla Ice

This infamous case wound up being settled out of court, but it also laid the groundwork for future cases in which older artists expressed resentment for hip-hop’s proclivity for sampling their past hits. In 1990, upstart white rapper Vanilla Ice lifted the bassline from Queen’s 1981 song “Under Pressure.” The resulting single, “Ice Ice Baby,” became a monster hit and was hugely profitable, despite its later reputation as a novelty song.

However, the British band wasn’t too happy about it and sued Vanilla Ice over the song. Years later, it was revealed that the rapper paid for part of the publishing rights for “Under Pressure,” while giving credit to the original writers. Although he claims he bought the rights from the band outright, they refuted it, saying that a profit-sharing agreement was reached.

1990 — Roy Orbison vs. 2 Live Crew

Another landmark case revolving around the use of sampling in hip-hop, this one went all the way to the Supreme Court before all was said and done, and laid down some ground rules about how sampling can work. After requesting the rights for Roy Orbison’s “Oh Pretty Woman” and being denied, the group went ahead and released their parody track, “Pretty Woman” anyway in 1989. 2 Live Crew argued that their version constituted “fair use” which allows for parody.

After going through a federal district court and an appeals court, the Supreme Court ruled that 2 Live’s “Pretty Woman” does fall under fair use. However, not many artists have tried to use this defense in the years since — in part because parody tracks have fallen out of favor in hip-hop (although Weird Al is still cranking them out) and in part, because no one really wants the headache.

1990 — 2 Live Crew vs. Decency

Poor Uncle Luke. The 2 Live Crew spent a massive part of their early career battling legal enemies when they should have been enjoying the sort of debauchery that defined much of their creative output. In this case, the Broward County Sheriff’s Office had issued an edict that any stores selling 2 Live’s 1989 album As Nasty As They Wanna Be would face arrest on the grounds of obscenity. 2 Live fought back, filing suit in federal district court. Although an initial judge agreed with the Sheriff, an appeals court overturned the ruling, and the Supreme Court backed it up by refusing to hear a second appeal. Despite the raunchy material, the appeals court decided that the music itself had artistic value and that the band being “nasty” wasn’t enough to ban them outright.

1994 — Tupac Goes To Prison

This was impactful less as a matter of how it changed the rules of the game and more as how it changed the substance — even if indirectly. When Tupac was sentenced to 18 months in prison on rape charges (he eventually served just eight), he became something of a folk hero to a fanbase that felt he was railroaded by a racist system, emerging from prison more popular than ever. This set a precarious precedent in hip-hop, but it also helped to solidify what the genre looked like and represented. “Thug life” more or less became the default expression of the art form and Tupac became its avatar.

So many artists now have at least a little of his DNA in their flow, business moves, and public personas and this was arguably the start of his iconic status. After his prison stint, fans were so ravenous for new music that his final two albums, released during and after his sentence, both went No. 1 after he’d previously only managed to peak at No. 24. We certainly see echoes of that in artists such as 21 Savage and the support for Young Thug.

1994 — Prince Vs. Warner

Also in 1994, Prince waged his infamous one-man war on his label, Warner, for control over his music. By now, you’ve undoubtedly heard of how he changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol in an attempt to free himself from his contract, or how he wrote “Slave” on his face to protest his inability to release music how and when he wanted under those contract terms. Ever since then, artists have spoken out about how they disagree with label practices — whether they’re practical or not — and ownership of their creative output, and any number of them, from Kanye to Megan Thee Stallion to New Jersey rapper Russ, have taken the Prince route to freeing themselves from the constraints of the major system.

2000 — Metallica vs. Napster

The first case of an artist suing a peer-to-peer file-sharing company, Metallica’s victory over Napster not only effectively ended Napster’s reign over the distribution of music, it basically opened the door for the whole streaming era in which we currently find ourselves. P2P sharing was never effectively ended, but it was forced underground, eventually evolving into the download sites that fueled the so-called “blog era.” It also demonstrated the viability of digital distribution, first in the form of .mp3s, and later, as streams, as fans had demonstrated that they were willing to adopt the new technology in lieu of only purchasing physical media.

2000s — MusicNet and PressPlay

Of course, the above transition wasn’t quite as smooth as that sentence may have made it out to be. In the early 2000s, the labels’ early attempts to get into the music-streaming game, MusicNet and PressPlay, weren’t quite as user-friendly as Spotify and Tidal would later turn out to be. But that wasn’t the only problem. The US Justice Department investigated the apps for antitrust violations, suspecting that the labels were suppressing competition and inflating the price of downloads.

Once iTunes hit the scene, though, the labels closed up shop on MusicNet and PressPlay, instead shifting their business models from trying to dominate the streaming space with their own propriety platforms in favor of partnering with tech companies who could do the concept justice.

2014 — Marvin Gaye Estate vs. Robin Thicke & Pharrell Williams

In a case that changed the standards for just what constitutes copyright infringement, the estate of Marvin Gaye alleged that Robin Thicke’s Pharrell-produced hit “Blurred Lines” illegally reproduced Gaye’s 1977 soul staple “Got To Give It Up.” A court agreed that, even without direct plagiarism of sheet music or lyrics, the later song certainly reproduces a lot of the sound of the original — enough that $5.3 million and 50 percent of all future royalties of the song were awarded to the Gaye estate.

This opened the door (and a couple of windows) for all kinds of copyright cases, with everyone from upstart rappers to established producers alleging plagiarism for even the slightest similarities in tone, style, lyrics, or instrumentation. And while a significant portion of those is getting chucked out, they’re likely to keep coming until another ruling draws firmer boundaries around what’s protected and what isn’t.

Some artists covered here are Warner Music artists. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

Brian Eno Has Some Actual Good News


Rain noises for sleeping, chill beats for studying, spacey melodies for getting stoned: The ecosystem of sounds known as ambient music excels at blocking out the world. But Brian Eno, the man who named the genre, has spent a life recording songs that reflect the reality around him. In the 1970s, the drab bustle of an airport terminal and the ruckus of New York City helped inspire him to use then-novel synthesizer technology to paint pastoral soundscapes: the yin to the yang of modern life.

On the new album FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE, the 74-year-old Eno now reacts to the global climate crisis—and uses his own voice for urgent purposes. Blending ambient music and operatic pop for his first vocals-driven solo album in 17 years, he croons about ominous visions in a tone that’s notably lower than he sounded in his early days as a rock-and-roll frontman. “I found a new voice, and with it a new way to sing,” Eno wrote in an email after we chatted on Zoom last month. “And with that, a new set of feelings that suddenly became singable … regret mixed with joy, or melancholy with resignation.”

On a 2021 podcast episode, Eno—whose résumé also includes playing keyboards in Roxy Music and producing for Coldplay and U2—said that he often dislikes when lyricists strain to fit important messages into their music. But when I spoke with him, he wasn’t shy about conveying a political agenda. At one point, he got up to show me a T-shirt he’d had printed with an environmentalist slogan: WE’RE ON THE SAME SIDE. (Last year, he founded EarthPercent, a nonprofit to make the music industry greener.) Bespectacled and sporting a neat, white beard, he also fulfilled his reputation as an artist-intellectual, pausing after each question before giving a considered, forceful answer.

This conversation has been edited and condensed.


Spencer Kornhaber: In the past, you’ve expressed some ambivalence about how lyrics work on the listener. What is the role of lyrics?

Brian Eno: So many of the songs that I’ve loved all my life, I still don’t know what the fuck they’re about. For me, lyrics are as impressionistic as any other aspect of the sound. I resist saying “This is what this song is about,” because if that was really all that it was about, I would’ve just written the lyrics down and put them in an envelope and sent it to somebody.

Kornhaber: This is your environmentally themed album, so you do have a message here. What’s the likelihood of that message making change?

Eno: One of the things that art does is it suggests things that you might pay attention to. It’s a way of saying, “Why don’t you look at this?”

I’ve been thinking about the word propaganda. I came up with another word a few years ago, which is prop-agenda. Propaganda is easy to detect and defend against because we recognize it. Prop-agenda is what our governments do now. They put something else on the agenda, misdirecting you away from what people would prefer you didn’t think about. It’s the essential ambiance of commercial life, really: that we keep your mind preoccupied with shit.

What are the chances of changing anything? Well, things do change, and they always are changing. I’d like to give people the feeling that they could be included in this process. All the decisions you make as a consumer and as a parent and as a worker are part of the machinery of how the world changes. So saying to people, “You’re already an agent of change. Are you conscious of that? And would you like to take more control of that?” That’s the first message for me.

For big social movements like the climate-change movement, the critical moment is when people [within it] start to realize how big it is. At the moment, we’re still acting like we’re the embattled resistance fighting against huge forces like the market and corporations. But in fact, everything’s on our side, except a few intransigent systems that certain people—by and large, rich people—have a huge interest in maintaining.

Kornhaber: Do you want to be making prop-agenda? Is it okay for your music to be thought of that way?

Eno: The agenda is currently dominated by the usual preoccupations of the media, which is bad news. What I would like to say is that there’s actually a lot of good news, but it is not dramatic. Mostly it’s to do with things like technical changes in solar panels. Within every field that I know anything about—arts, sciences, economics, government, politics, and so on—I can see movements that are all preparing for a different future. We’re making progress. There’s this huge root system growing underneath our feet. I would really love to make people more aware of that.

Kornhaber: That’s an interesting way of framing the new album, which, to me, is a little devastating. There’s an apocalyptic mood. How does that fit with this desire to kind of wake people up to the positive?

Eno: I think there’s only a couple of places where it’s quite gloomy.

Kornhaber: Maybe those hit me more. Like “Garden of Stars.” That’s a very powerful song; it’s scary.

Eno: Oh, yes, yes. Well, that’s the gloomiest one. But do you know what I was thinking about when I wrote it? These people who believe the universe is a game that’s been constructed by some other being. Like, if you were now playing World of Minecraft, in that little world you are a god because you can change the rules. So the supposition, which apparently Elon Musk believes in, is that the universe is a generative world and we happen to be living in it.

I was just writing that song as though that were true. The I in the song is the person building the world. And that person can switch the world off if they want to. They can gleefully watch it collapse under its own internal forces and contradictions. If you’re a simulationist, you can find that acceptable and quite amusing. We’re just an accident of the design.

Kornhaber: In the music of the album, there are a lot of low, groaning, distorted sounds that are really remarkable. What am I hearing?

Eno: Partly because I don’t have bass and drums on there, there’s a lot of space for those kinds of sounds. Often when I’m making a piece, I’m thinking like a painter: I need more shadow here in order for this brightness to shine.

One of the catastrophes of recording lately—not so much now; people got wise to it—but there was a period when people wanted every instrument to be at the front of the mix. I call those “cocaine mixes,” because they often seem to accompany the ingestion of lots of cocaine. Everything is brightened up and sharpened up and pushed to the front of the mix. Of course, that means that everything is in the same place, essentially. You start to realize after a while that in order for something to appear bright, there has to be something dark beside it. And vice versa.

So just from a purely painterly point of view, those [low] sounds are counterpoint to the higher, brighter sounds that I’m using. I want to make universes that seem credible, which means that they have threat as well as joy in them. Even the one song you’re talking about, “Garden of Stars,” has joy to it. It’s slightly manic, because the guy [who runs the simulation] is rubbing his hands and therefore sounds quite dangerous.

Kornhaber: Making art that considers the end of the world is an ancient preoccupation. What is your relationship with that history?

Eno: I have a resistance to it because of its religious connotations—and the notion that within religion, apocalypse is sort of welcomed. I would do everything in my power to prevent [apocalypse] if I could. I don’t see any redemption in it. I just see a nasty, messy end with no winners, except the animal kingdom. They might be very happy to see us enraptured.

Kornhaber: Ambient music in the early days was meant to push back against oversaturated capitalism. How do you think that has panned out as the influence of ambient music has moved through the culture?

Eno: Well, I think it does make a difference. Somebody I think is very disruptive, in a good way, is Marie Kondo, and her message is similar. She’s saying, “Do you really want that much? Wouldn’t you actually enjoy it more if there were less of it?” Ambient music is music that leaves a lot of things out. It’s doing the opposite of what a lot of entertainment music is doing, which is trying to keep your attention, catch it and tweak it at every bar. This is saying, and she’s saying, “What about a world in which the most active thing is your own thought?”

Those things have made a huge difference to what people think their lives are for and what they should find enjoyable. Of course, the rest of the culture still goes on. It’s not all going to suddenly disappear because Marie Kondo and a few ambient records come out. But I think it does give people an alternative way of thinking about who they are.

Kornhaber: It’s interesting that minimalism has become a rich person’s aesthetic in some ways. What do you make of that?

Eno: It is partly because they have the luxury of asking themselves the question “What do I really like? And can I have it?” If you find out that what you really like is peacefulness, not a continuous, hectic barrage of exhortations to buy things, then if you’re rich enough, you can insulate yourself from all of those things. Wealth is insulation really. You can’t blame people who can afford it for following [minimalism]. But, of course, music is quite cheap.

Kornhaber: On Spotify, utilitarian mood music, such as rain noises for sleep, is so popular. What do you make of its ubiquity now?

Eno: It tells you what people want in their lives, doesn’t it? It tells you that people think they’re not getting enough of that, whatever that is.

I was wondering the other day why, in a lot of music, the reverbs keep getting longer and longer. And I thought, well, it’s because big reverbs give you a sense of a big space. That’s not something that most of us have. Fifty percent of all humans now live in cities, and the numbers are going up all the time. A lot of our evolutionary history was spent in big, open spaces, and so we obviously still have a hankering for those. So we choose them in virtual ways. That music you’re describing to me sounds like a virtual countryside.

Kornhaber: There’s birdsong on this album. What’s interesting about birdsong to you?

Eno: Its suggestion of the outside. Music is nearly always an inside activity, and one of the main things I wanted to do with ambient music is to say “I’m not telling you where the edges of this music are.” In quite a lot of my ambient records I’ve included deliberately nonmusical sounds at the edges of the mix to blur the boundary between the music and the rest of the world. It’s embracing everything and saying “Think of all of that as music.”

That’s one of the reasons that people like ambient music when they’re working. The rest of the world no longer seems like harsh pokes and jabs into your concentration. Now it all seems to belong under one umbrella. Birdsong is another of those edge-blurring sounds because it says to you, you’re outside, or at least your window is open. It says you’re not stuck in a small room, though in fact you may well be.

Kornhaber: That idea of everything being music—there’s also an environmental subtext to it. Is that part of the goal?

Eno: Yes. Ecosystems aren’t bounded. A lot of the mess that we’re in comes from the idea that systems are separate from each other—that we can suck up resources of the Earth and chuck the trash back, and that’s outside. There is no outside. That’s what we have to remember.



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Leslie Jordan did not expect to have a career in country music | Entertainment




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Leslie Jordan did not expect to have a career in country music | Entertainment News


Leslie Jordan did not expect to have a career in country music.

The ‘Will and Grace’ actor tragically died whilst driving in Los Angeles this week at the age of 67 but collaborated with the likes of Dolly Parton and Brandi Carlile on the album ‘Company’s Comin’ in 2021 and explained that the shift in vocation was “unexpected” in what became his final interview.

He said: ” So unexpected just to happen in my 60s – I’m a country music singer now! I love Nashville and the way that Nashville embraced me, you know, and to be taken kind of serious, and to have made an album with Dolly Parton, Chris Stapleton, Brandi Carlile? That’s something!”

Leslie entered the music industry after Instagram videos showing him singing garnered him six million followers during the pandemic and at the time joked that the spread of COVID-19 had allowed him to “flourish”.

During an appearance on ‘CBS Mornings’ just two weeks before his death, he added: “I blew up. Give me a good pandemic and I flourish! I was just thinking, ‘My gosh who are these people that want to hear what I have to say?’ It was just the innocence of it I guess!”

The ‘American Horror Story’ star was reportedly en route to film ‘Call Me Kat’ when at the wheel of his car on Monday morning (24.10.22) and while a cause of death has not been established by the coroner as of yet, TMZ reports that investigators suspect it was a heart attack.

Production on the sitcom ‘Call Me Kat’ – in which Leslie played the role of Phil – has been put on hold following his passing.

His co-star Mayim Bialik was among the many celebrities and friends to pay tribute to Leslie online.

She wrote: “They broke the mold when they made Leslie Jordan. He was a dear mentor and a beloved friend. I will miss him so much – it’s unimaginable that he’s gone. Rest well, sweet buddy.”





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