Would You Sell Your Song Catalogue?

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Would You Sell Your Song Catalogue?

Today, we hear another mega-star has sold their song catalogue. This time Neil Young has agreed a deal and sold 50% of the rights to his entire back catalogue. Hipgnosis Song Fund purchased 1,180 songs by the Canadian musician in a deal that is said to be worth an estimated $150 million (£110 million), according to the BBC.

The Young acquisition comes after the company acquired the rights to 100% of former Fleetwood Mac singer Lindsay Buckingham‘s back catalogue and 50% of his future work this week, as well as Jimmy Iovine’s worldwide producer royalties. “This is a deal that changes Hipgnosis forever,” Hipgnosis founder Merck Mercuriadis said of the Young deal.

Hipgnosis are known for turning royalties into a steady income stream – with the firm making money every time one of its songs is played on the radio or featured in a film/TV show. Other recent acquisitions by Hipgnosis include catalogues by the likes of Blondie, L.A. Reid, RZA and The-Dream. The company also purchased a publishing portfolio from Kobalt in September. The sale included songs by Fleetwood Mac, 50 Cent, Beyoncé and many others.

The Neil Young sale seems to be part of the growing trend of artists cashing in on their lifetimes work. Bob Dylan was reported in December 2020 as selling to Universal Music. According to the New York Times, the music icon has sold his back catalogue for an eye-watering $300 million (£225 million), giving Universal the ownership of over 600 songs spanning a period of almost six decades.

While the deal means that Universal now control one of the most celebrated back catalogues in history, Dylan is also listed as the principal songwriter on the vast majority of efforts – which means Universal does not have to share future revenues with any other songwriters.

In the same month, Stevie Nicks agreed a deal with Primary Wave for $100million, giving them 80% of her back catalogue which includes her 70's hit 'Dreams' just as it is making a Billboard comeback after going viral in the TikTok video of skateboarder Nathan Apodaca drinking Ocean Spray juice.

To make these kinds of figures, you have to have a catalogue which will give the buyer a payback, but with younger bands such as The Killers doing the same, is this the best way for songwriters, singers and bands to create certain income? With the poor payouts from the online streaming platforms, it makes good business sense, but only for those able to create enough desired material.

For those new and emerging creative stars, companies like www.jeeni.com and Patreon have been created to redress the balance, so revenue generated goes to the creators, not the suits and pen-pushers, meaning artists of the future will possibly be able to afford to create back catalogues and continue to benefit from them.

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03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

12
Mar

Live Virtual Gigs in the Gaming Metaverse

In November last year, a live virtual gig took place in the gaming Metaverse of world platforms. Rapper Lil Nas X took to the stage in Roblox, and performed in a free-to-view event, which broke all previous records to become one of the the most viewed concerts of all time, pulling in a worldwide record-breaking audience of over 35-million visits. Lil Nas X's Virtual Gig - Credit: Still Roblox is a platform of over 50-million user designed video games. The concert was their first, but they have also partnered with music label Monstercat and delivered an album release party for Ava Max. Could this collective gaming audience be the music world's perfect audience of the future? Taking inspiration from Lil Was X's videos and songs, various stages were created for in-game virtual performances using PBR rendering, lighting, shadowing and facial recognition technologies available on the Roblox platfom. Speaking ahead of his performance, Jon Vlassopulos, global head of music at Roblox, said: “We’re thrilled to partner with Columbia Records to bring Lil Nas X fans and the Roblox community together in an entirely new way.“This concert with Lil Nas X will transport players and their friends into the metaverse, and bring to life the future of what immersive, social experiences can look like.” The experience is a long way from the first pixelated forms of performers or being able to control Michael Jackson in the 1990's 'Moonwalker' whilst he rescues children to the sound of his hit 'Smooth Criminal'. However, the online gaming world became a far greater player when Grand Theft Auto realised the potential of licensed music. They allowed players to access perfectly curated radio stations whilst creating chaos and mayhem in the streets of Miami. Michael Jackson in the Moonwalker video game Roblox are not the only gaming platform to take on the music gig. Fortnite allowed Travis Scott to host a gig from a stage in the water off the resort of Sweaty Sands. People attended the concert from wherever they were in the game, as their personally created avatar, whilst they continued to fire at the people around them. Travis Scott's Virtual Gig in Fortnite The following concert was brief, just a 10-minute pop of Scott's hits, with incredible visual pyrotechnics. The world of Fortnite transformed kaleidoscopically around Scott and the artist came right up to the viewers, giving the sense of being able to reach out and touch him. One moment, fire poured from his body; the next, his face melted to reveal a robotic skull. According to developer Epic Games, more than 28m people watched the show. Gaming Metaverse platforms like Roblox, Minecraft and Fortnite are being chosen for these live virtual gigs because their worlds are moving into something beyond gaming. The platforms are used by kids wanting to hang out with their mates and socialise, a virtual environment which has become so relevant and meaningful to the users during the pandemic lockdowns.

10
Jun

Mel's bedtime story

Once upon a time, I created a platform called jeeni.com which is where independent artists perform their music in front of new fans, and get rewarded for their efforts. On a Saturday night we ran a live global music festival featuring 18 acts from both sides of the Atlantic. The oldest performer was over 70, the youngest was under 10. They were brilliant, each in their own way. We broadcast over social media and websites. There were no adverts, there were no fakes, there was no hype. It didn't cost us a penny to run. Everyone had a ball. We are part of a revolutionary process that is killing a corrupt and rotting music industry which has held both audience and performer to ransom since the 1890s. So if you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you how, and why ... I'm an old hoarder, I hoard old music recordings, and when I say old I mean really old. Upstairs, in what was once a studio but has turned into an Irish Setter leisure lounge, there are several hundred wax cylinders from the 1890s. Each cylinder is a unique recording from an age before duplication was possible. If Miss Florrie Forde wanted to sell a hundred copies of Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy to her adoring public, then she had to keep lubricated and trill the bloody thing into a brass horn a hundred times and record it onto wax in real time. But to me the beauty of these cylinders is not that each one is a unique recording, but that each one is mercifully short, rotating at 120 revolutions a minute and lasting a meagre two minutes, because that's all a wax cylinder can hold. And so the two minute pop single was born. At the start of the twentieth century discs replaced cylinders, but not a lot changed. I have another room full of shellac discs that spin at 78 revolutions a minute. When it came to pop singles from artists bringing joy to the world throughout the first half of the twentieth century, they had just under three minutes to do it in. And if they were any good, just under three minutes was plenty. I feel personally to blame for what happened next, because in the hour of my birth in 1948, the microgroove vinyl disc hit the market, spinning at what my Irish chums call dirty tree and a turd revolutions per minute. I have an entire wall of vinyl albums, with their glorious covers and sleeve notes. And yes, they are arranged in alphabetical order by artist and date-order of release. Their storage capacity is approximately twenty-five minutes a side, which is usually twenty-two minutes too long. And on the opposite wall is where all my CDs sulk, each one capable of storing seventy-four minutes of audio, and not one of them played since the turn of this century. Why? Because a hacker called SoloH went and ripped the source code of something called the Fraunhofer MP3 encoder and spread it all over the internet for free. Thanks to SoloH, I can not only digitise my entire collection of recorded music without any restrictions on playing time, I can access the entire library of everything that has ever been recorded, for ever. My phone weighs exactly the same as my 78rpm copy of Little Richard's single Tutti Frutti, which runs for two minutes 28 seconds of total perfection. My phone holds 21,417 tracks in MP3 format, some of them complete symphonies, which are pretty good, some of them prog-rock drum solos, as used by Viet Cong torturers to break the spirit of the enemy. My desktop hard drive and cloud-accounts contain too many tracks to keep track of. I declare that my motivation for amassing this ludicrous collection of music was that one day it would bring me comfort in my old age, when my body and brain become enfeebled and I feel the need to keep hold of past pleasures while dying. As it turns out, I started playing my collection early, during lockdown, and wished I was dead by the end of day three. The singles were great, but the albums were mostly insufferable. Which is when I realised that the music album is stone dead, and the nightmare of a lifetime of audio padding is finally over. Then the real truth hit me. The recorded music industry is dead too. Thanks to COVID19 there has been an explosion of new creativity. Everyone is now a record producer, anyone can run a broadcast music channel, and that's exactly what everyone and anyone seems to be doing, including me. The spongers and leeches and shysters have been exposed as completely unnecessary, as have most of the agents, publicists and managers. They are no longer able to milk performers in our new world of social distancing, because they have lost their power. It's the remote audience that now has the power, and this audience wants instant gratification, not a load of overhyped, overwrought, overlong, flimflam. Jeeni.com is my final project in a very long career. I'm giving my artists three minutes per track to nail it, because that's what my old hoard tells me is right. And I hope you agree that in order to shine, three minutes is all that anyone should ever need.

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