The Tug-of-War Over Master Recordings - Taylor Swift’s battle over her early music illuminates the complex dynamics of the music industry
Taylor Swift’s recent outcry over the control of her early masters highlights a lesser-known, yet crucial aspect of the music business: the power dynamics between artists and record labels.
In the history of the music business, many artists have not had control over their own careers. What has recently made the topic into major news is that Taylor Swift has discussed her torrid experience in the industry. The pop star has a long record of challenging the powers that be, and while her latest battle is unlikely to end in victory, she has shone a light on one of the less understood aspects of how artists and record labels interact.
At the heart of Ms. Swift’s discontent is the sale of her master recordings, which now fall into the hands of someone she neither likes nor trusts. This saga began when she was just 15, signing away her masters for the chance at fame.
The gist of Ms Swift’s complaint, which she posted on social media on June 30th, is that someone she does not like or trust is taking ownership of her master recordings—the tapes or digital files from which albums are pressed and released—and they are free to do with them as they please. Ms Swift was 15 when she signed to Big Machine, an independent label set up by Scott Borchetta in 2005. Her contract ceded ownership of her masters to the label.
Record labels argue that owning the masters is necessary to recoup their investment. They liken themselves to pharmaceutical companies, which spend fortunes on research and development, knowing that many projects won’t pan out. This model is not without its controversies, as it often leaves artists feeling estranged from their own creations.
A label owning an artist’s master recordings is commonplace. Record companies operate in a similar way to pharmaceutical companies. Both spend fortunes on research and development, and in both cases most of the expenditure does not result in revenue. Pharma companies patent their drugs so they can make the money that feeds future research. Similarly, labels own recordings in exchange for the investment they have made not just in that artist—it can cost up to $1m to take an act from signing to their first release, with no guarantee of a hit—but also to fund new artists, of whom between one in four and one in ten will become successful.
While some artists manage to negotiate terms to retain or eventually reclaim their masters, the majority find themselves in a perpetual struggle for control over their music, underscoring the imbalance of power inherent in the industry.
Often, powerful artists will regain control of their masters. When a contract is due to expire, a label might offer ownership of past recordings as an incentive to sign a new one. But not always: Prince became The Artist Formerly Known as Prince in protest at Warner Brothers’ ownership of his recordings, and his catalogue is now bafflingly split: Warner owns everything released before 1996, Sony everything after.
In wrapping up our discussion, the situation is layered with complexities that extend far beyond the superficial narrative of artists versus corporate giants. Record labels indeed guard their investments fiercely. As for Taylor Swift, her vocal battles against industry norms serve both as a beacon for artist rights and a clever maneuver within her own narrative of personal and creative autonomy.
Ms Swift’s distrust of Mr Braun appears to be as much personal as professional. As she is one of the biggest pop stars around, there is plenty of incentive for Mr Braun to try to generate as much revenue as possible from her Big Machine recordings, from which Ms Swift will continue to receive her contractual share. Still, all this is not quite as simple as the Big Bad Music Industry exploiting the poor, innocent artist. If it were, then no one would ever sign away their masters—but they do.
This tussle over master recordings, often dramatized as a clear-cut case of artistic victimhood, subtly underscores the sophisticated dance of interests that defines the music business. Swift’s narrative isn’t merely about loss and recovery; it’s a finely-tuned performance in personal branding within the complex concert of industry economics. As the lines between business decisions and personal battles blur, we find a narrative rich with strategy, emotion, and, yes, a touch of theatricality—a reminder that in the music industry, the show always goes on, both on and off stage.