Category: Digital Services: Spotify

The Digital End-Cap: How Spotify’s Discovery Mode Turned Payola into Personalization

The streaming economy’s most controversial feature revives the old record-store co-op ad model—only now, the shelf space is algorithmic, the payments are disguised as royalty discounts, and the audience has no idea.

From End-Caps to Algorithms: The Disappearing Line Between Marketing and Curation

In the record-store era, everyone in the business knew that end-caps, dump bins, window clings, and in-store listening stations weren’t “organic” discoveries—they were paid placements. Labels bought the best shelf space, sponsored posters, and underwrote the music piped through the store’s speakers because visibility sold records.

Spotify’s Discovery Mode is that same co-op advertising model reborn in code: a system where royalty discounts buy algorithmic shelf space rather than retail real estate. Yet unlike the physical store, today’s paid promotion is hidden behind the language of personalization. Users are told that playlists and AI DJs are “made just for you,” when in fact those recommendations are shaped by the same financial incentives that once determined which CD got the end-cap.

On Spotify, nothing is truly organic; Discovery Mode simply digitizes the old pay-for-placement economy, blending advertising with algorithmic curation while erasing the transparency that once separated marketing from editorial judgment.

Spotify’s Discovery Mode: The “Inverted Payola”

The problem for Spotify is that it has never positioned itself like a retailer. It has always positioned itself as a substitute for radio, and buying radio is a dangerous occupation. That’s called payola.

Spotify’s controversial “Discovery Mode” is a kind of inverted payola which makes it seem like it smells less than it actually does. Remember, artists don’t get paid for broadcast radio airplay in the US so the incentive always was for labels to bribe DJs because that’s the only way that money entered the transaction. (At one point, that could have included publishers, too, back when publishers tried to break artists who recorded their songs.)

What’s different about Spotify is that streaming services do pay for their equivalent of airplay. When Discovery Mode pays less in return for playing certain songs more, that’s essentially the same as getting paid for playing certain songs more. It’s just a more genteel digital transaction in the darkness of ones and zeros instead of the tackier $50 handshake. The discount is every bit as much a “thing of value” as a $50 bill, with the possible exception that it goes to benefit Spotify stockholders and employees unlike the $50 that an old-school DJ probably just put in his pocket in one of those gigantic money rolls. (For games to play on a rainy day, try betting a DJ he has less than $10,000 in his pocket.)

Music Business Worldwide gave Spotify’s side of the story (which is carefully worded flack talk so pay close attention):Spotify rejected the allegations, telling AllHipHop: 

“The allegations in this complaint are nonsense. Not only do they misrepresent what Discovery Mode is and how it works, but they are riddled with misunderstandings and inaccuracies.”

The company explained that Discovery Mode affects only Radio, Autoplay and certain Mixes, not flagship playlists like Discover Weekly or the AI DJ that the lawsuit references.Spotify added: “The complaint even gets basic facts wrong: Discovery Mode isn’t used in all algorithmic playlists, or even Discover Weekly or DJ, as it claims.

The Payola Deception Theory

The emerging payola deception theory against Spotify argues that Spotify’s pay-to-play Discovery Mode constitutes a form of covert payola that distorts supposedly neutral playlists and recommendation systems—including Discover Weekly and the AI DJ—even if those specific products do not directly employ the “Discovery Mode” flag.

The key to proving this theory lies in showing how a paid-for boost signal introduced in one part of Spotify’s ecosystem inevitably seeps through the data pipelines and algorithmic models that feed all the others, deceiving users about the neutrality of their listening experience. That does seem to be the value proposition—”You give us cheaper royalties, we give you more of the attention firehose.”

Spotify claims that Discovery Mode affects only Radio, Autoplay, and certain personalized mixes, not flagship products like enterprise playlists or the AI DJ. That defense rests on a narrow, literal interpretation: those surfaces do not read the Discovery Mode switch. Yet under the payola deception theory, this distinction is meaningless because Spotify’s recommendation ecosystem appears to be fully integrated.

Spotify’s own technical publications and product descriptions indicate that multiple personalized surfaces— including Discover Weekly and AI DJ—are built on shared user-interaction data, learned taste profiles, and common recommendation models, rather than each using entirely independent algorithms. It sounds like Spotify is claiming that certain surfaces like Discover Weekly and AI DJ have cabined algorithms and pristine data sets that are not affected by Discovery Mode playlists or the Discovery Mode switch.

While that may be true, it seems like maintaining that separation would be downright hairy if not expensive in terms of compute. It seems far more likely that Spotify run shared models on shared data, and when they say “Discovery Mode isn’t used in X,” they’re only talking about the literal flag—not the downstream effects of the paid boost on global engagement metrics and taste profiles.

How the Bias Spreads: Five Paths of Contamination

So let’s infer that every surface draws on the same underlying datasets, engagement metrics, and collaborative models. Once the paid boost changes user behavior, it alters the entire system’s understanding of what is popular, relevant, or representative of a listener’s taste. The result is systemic contamination: a payola-driven distortion presented to users as organic personalization. The architecture that would make their strong claim true is expensive and unnatural; the architecture that’s cheap and standard almost inevitably lets the paid boost bleed into those “neutral” surfaces in five possible ways.

The first is through popularity metrics. As much as we can tell from the outside, Discovery Mode artificially inflates a track’s exposure in the limited contexts where the switch is activated. Those extra impressions generate more streams, saves, and “likes,” which I suspect feed into Spotify’s master engagement database.

Because stream count, skip rate, and save ratio are very likely global ranking inputs, Discovery Mode’s beneficiaries appear “hotter” across the board. Even if Discover Weekly or the AI DJ ignore the Discovery Mode flag, it’s reasonable to infer that they still rely on those popularity statistics to select and order songs. Otherwise Spotify would need to maintain separate, sanitized algorithms trained only on “clean” engagement data—an implausible and inefficient architecture given Spotify’s likely integrated recommendation system and the economic logic of Discovery Mode itself which I find highly unlikely to be the case. The paid boost thus translates into higher ranking everywhere, not just in Radio or Autoplay. This is the algorithmic equivalent of laundering a bribe through the system—money buys visibility that masquerades as audience preference.

The second potential channel is through user taste profiles. Spotify’s personalization models constantly update a listener’s “taste vector” based on recent listening behavior. If Discovery Mode repeatedly serves a track in Autoplay or Radio, a listener’s history skews toward that song and its stylistic “neighbors”. The algorithm likely then concludes that the listener “likes” similar artists (even if it’s actually Discover Mode serving the track, not user free will. The algorithm likely feeds those likes into Discover Weekly, Daily Mixes, and the AI DJ’s commentary stream. The user thinks the AI is reading their mood; in reality, it is reading a taste profile that was manipulated upstream by a pay-for-placement mechanism. All roads lead to Bieber or Taylor.

A third route is collaborative filtering and embeddings aka “truthiness”. As I understand it, Spotify’s recommendation architecture relies on listening patterns—tracks played in the same sessions or saved to the same playlists become linked in multidimensional “embedding” space. When Discovery Mode injects certain tracks into more sessions, it likely artificially strengthens the connections between those promoted tracks and others around them. The output then seems far more likely to become “fans of Artist A also like Artist B.” That output becomes algorithmically more frequent and hence “truer” or “truthier”, not because listeners chose it freely, but because paid exposure engineered the correlation. Those embeddings are probably global: they shape the recommendations of Discover Weekly, the “Fans also like” carousel, and the candidate pool for the AI DJ. A commercial distortion at the periphery thus is more likely to reshape the supposedly organic map of musical similarity at the core.

Fourth, the DM boost echoes through editorial and social feedback loops. Once Discovery Mode inflates a song’s performance metrics, it begins to look like what passes for a breakout hit these days. Editors scanning dashboards see higher engagement and may playlist the track in prominent editorial contexts. Users might add it to their own playlists, creating external validation. The cumulative effect is that an artificial advantage bought through Discovery Mode converts into what appears to be organic success, further feeding into algorithmic selection for other playlists and AI-driven features. This recursive amplification makes it almost impossible to isolate the paid effect from the “natural” one, which is precisely why disclosure rules exist in traditional payola law. I say “almost impossible” reflexively—I actually think it is in fact impossible, but that’s the kind of thing you can model in a different type of “discovery” being court-ordered discovery.

Finally, there is the shared-model problem. Spotify has publicly acknowledged that the AI DJ is a “narrative layer” built on the same personalization technology that powers its other recommendation surfaces. In practice, this means one massive model (or group of shared embeddings) generates candidate tracks, while a separate module adds voice or context.

If the shared model was trained on Discovery-Mode-skewed data, then even when the DJ module does not read the Discovery flag, it inherits the distortions embedded in those weights. Turning off the switch for the DJ therefore does not remove the influence; it merely hides its provenance. Unlike AI systems designed to dampen feedback bias, Spotify’s Discovery Mode institutionalizes it—bias is the feature, not the bug. You know, garbage in, garbage out.

Proving the Case: Discovery Mode’s Chain of Causation and the Triumph of GIGO

Legally, there’s a strong argument that the deception arises not from the existence of Discovery Mode itself but from how Spotify represents its recommendation products. The company markets Discover Weekly, Release Radar, and AI DJ as personalized to your taste, not as advertising or sponsored content. When a paid-boost mechanism anywhere in the ecosystem alters what those “organic” systems serve, Spotify arguably misleads consumers and rightsholders about the independence of its curation. Under a modernized reading of payola or unfair-deceptive-practice laws, that misrepresentation can amount to a hidden commercial endorsement—precisely the kind of conduct that the Federal Communications Commission’s sponsorship-identification rules (aka payola rules) and the FTC’s endorsement guides were designed to prevent.

In fact, the same disclosure standards that govern influencers on social media should govern algorithmic influencers on streaming platforms. When Spotify accepts a royalty discount in exchange for promoting a track, that arguably constitutes a material connection under the FTC’s Endorsement Guides. Failing to disclose that connection to listeners could transform Discovery Mode from a personalization feature into a deceptive advertisement—modern payola by another name. Why piss off one law enforcement agency when you can have two of them chase you around the rugged rock?

It must also be said that Discovery Mode doesn’t just shortchange artists and mislead listeners; it quietly contaminates the sainted ad product, too. Advertisers think they’re buying access to authentic, personalized listening moments. In reality, they’re often buying attention in a feed where the music itself is being shaped by undisclosed royalty discounts — a form of algorithmic payola that bends not only playlists, but the very audience segments and performance metrics brands are paying for. Advertising agencies don’t like that kind of thing one little bit. We remember what happened when it became apparent that ads were being served to pirate sites by you know who.

Proving the payola deception theory would therefore likely involve demonstrating causation across data layers: that the presence of Discovery Mode modifies engagement statistics, that those metrics propagate into global recommendation features, and that users (and possibly advertisers) were misled to believe those recommendations were purely algorithmic or merit-based. We can infer that the structure of Spotify’s own technology likely makes that chain not only plausible but possibly inevitable.

In an interconnected system where every model learns from the outputs of every other, no paid input stays contained. The moment a single signal is bought, a strong case can be made that the neutrality of the entire recommendation network is compromised—and so is the user’s trust in what it means when Spotify says a song was “picked just for you.”

What the Algocrats Want You to Believe: Weird Al’s Sandwich

There are five key assumptions that support the streamer narrative and we will look at them each in turn. I introduced assumption #1: Streamers are not in the music business, they are in the data business, and assumption #2 : Spotify crying poor. Today we’ll assess assumption #3–streaming royalties are fair no matter what the artists and songwriters say. Like Weird Al.

Assumption 3: The Malthusian Algebra Claims Revenue Share Royalty Pools Are Fair

A corollary of Assumption 2 is that revenue royalty share deals are fair.  The way this scam works is that tech companies want to limit their royalty exposure by allocating a chunk of cash that is capped and throwing that bacon over the cage so the little people can fight over it.  This produces an implied per-stream rate instead of negotiating an express per stream rate.  Why?  So they can tell artists–and more importantly regulators, especially antitrust regulators—all the billions they pay “the music business”, whoever that is.

And yet, very few artists or songwriters can live off of streaming royalties, largely because the “big pool” method of hyper-efficient market share distribution that constantly adds mouths to feed is a race to the bottom. The realities of streaming economics should sound familiar to anyone who studied the work of the British economist and demographer Thomas Malthus. Malthus is best known for his theory on population growth in his 1798 book “An Essay on the Principle of Population”. This theory, often referred to as the Malthusian theory (which is why I call the big pool royalty model the “Malthusian algebra”), posits that population growth tends to outstrip food production, leading to inevitable shortages and suffering because, he argued, while food production increases arithmetically, population grows geometrically.

Signally, the big pool model allows the unfettered growth in the denominator while slowing growth in the revenue to increase market valuation based on a growth story. And, of course, the numerator (the productive output of any one artist) is limited by human capacity.

Per-Stream Rate = [Monthly Defined Revenue x (Your Streams ÷ All Streams)]

If the royalty was actually calculated as a fixed penny rate (as is the mechanicals paid by labels on physical and downloads), no artist would be fighting against all other artists for a scrap. In the true Malthus universe, populations increase until they overwhelm the available food supply, which causes humanity’s numbers to be reversed by pandemics, disease, famine, war, or other deadly problems–a Malthusian race to the bottom. Malthus may have inspired Darwin’s theory of natural selection. As a side note, the real attention to abysmal streaming royalties came during the COVID pandemic–which Malthus might have predicted.

Malthus believed that welfare for the poor, inadvertently encouraged marriages and larger families that the poor could not support1. He argued that the only way to break this cycle was to abolish welfare and championed a welfare law revision in 1834 that made conditions in workhouses less appealing than the lowest-paying jobs. You know, “Are there no prisons?” (Not a casual connection to Scrooge in A Christmas Carol.)

Crucially, the difference between Malthusian theory and the reality of streaming is that once artists deliver their tracks, Daniel Ek is indifferent to whether the streaming economics causes them to “die” or retire or actually starve to actual death. He’s already got the tracks and he’ll keep selling them forever like an evil self-licking ice cream cone.

As Daniel Ek told MusicAlly, “There is a narrative fallacy here, combined with the fact that, obviously, some artists that used to do well in the past may not do well in this future landscape, where you can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough.” This is kind of like TikTok bragging about how few children hung themselves in the latest black out challenge compared to the number of all children using the platform. Pretty Malthusian. It’s not a fallacy; it’s all too true.

Crucially, capping the royalty pool allowed Spotify to also cap their subscription rates for a decade or so. Cheap subscriptions drove Spotify’s growth rate and that also droves up their stock price.  You’ll never get rich off of streaming royalties, but Daniel Ek got even richer driving up Spotify’s share price. Daniel Ek’s net worth varies inversely to streaming rates–when he gets richer, you get poorer.

Weird Al’s Streaming Sandwich: Using forks and knives to eat their bacon

This race to the bottom is not lost on artists.  Al Yankovic, a card-carrying member of the pantheon of music parodists from Tom Leher to Spinal Tap to the Rutles, released a hysterical video about his “Spotify Wrapped” account.  

Al said he’d had 80 million streams and received enough cash from Spotify to buy a $12 sandwich.  This was from an artist who made a decades-long career from—parody.  Remember that–parody.

Do you think he really meant he actually got $12 for 80 million streams?  Or could that have been part of the gallows humor of calling out Spotify Wrapped as a propaganda tool for…Spotify?  Poking fun at the massive camouflage around the Malthusian algebra of streaming royalties? Gallows humor, indeed, because a lot of artists and especially songwriters are gradually collapsing as predicted by Malthus.

The services took the bait Al dangled, and they seized upon Al’s video poking fun at how ridiculously low Spotify payments are to make a point about how Al’s sandwich price couldn’t possibly be 80 million streams and if it were, it’s his label’s fault.  (Of course, if you ever worked at a label you know that if you haven’t figured out how anything and everything is the label’s fault, you just haven’t thought about it long enough.)

Nothing if not on message, right? Even if by doing so they commit the cardinal sin—don’t try to out-funny a comedian.  Or a parodist. Bad, bad idea.  (Classic example is Lessig trying to be funny with Stephen Colbert.) Just because Mom laughs at your jokes doesn’t mean you’re funny. And you run the risk of becoming the gag yourself because real comedians will escalate beyond anywhere you’re comfortable.

Weird Al from UHF

It turns out that I have some insight into Al’s thinking and I can tell you he’s a very, very smart guy. The sandwich gag was a joke that highlights the more profound point that streaming sucks. Remember, Al’s the one who turned Dr. Demento tapes into a brand that’s lasted many years.  We’ll see if Spotify’s business lasts as long as Weird Al’s career.

I’d suggest that Al was making the point that if you think of everyday goods, like bacon for example, in terms of how many streams you would have to sell in order to buy a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs, a gallon of gasoline, Internet access, or a sandwich in a nice restaurant, you start to understand that the joke really is on us.

What the Algocrats Want You to Believe: Spotify Crying Poor

There are five key assumptions that support the streamer narrative and we will look at them each in turn. I introduced assumption #1: Streamers are not in the music business, they are in the data business. That shouldn’t be a controversial thought. Today we’ll assess assumption #2–streamers like Spotify can’t make a profit.

Assumption #2: Spotify can’t make a profit.

Spotify commonly tells you that they pay 70% of their “revenue” to “the music business” in the “big pool” royalty method.  The assumption they want you to make is that they pay billions and if it doesn’t trickle down to artists and songwriters, it’s not their fault.

Remember The Trichordist Streaming Price Bible? If you recall, the abysmal per-stream rates that made headlines were derived by “a mid-sized indie label with an approximately 350+ album catalog now generating over 1.5b streams annually.” Those penny rates were not the artist share, they were derived at the label level. The artist share had to be even worse. And those rates were in 2020–we’ve since had five years of the expansion of the denominator without an offsetting increase in revenues.

Streamers will avoid discussing penny rates like the plague because the rates are just so awful and paupering. They do this by gaslighting–not only artists and songwriters, but also gaslighting regulators. They will tell you that they pay billions “to the music industry” and don’t pay on a per-stream basis so nothing to see here. But they omit the fact that even if they make a lump sum payment to labels or distributors, those labels or distributors have to break down that lump sum to per stream rates in order to account to their artists. So even if the streamers don’t account on a per-stream basis, there is an implied per-stream rate that is simple to derive. Which brings us full-circle to the Streaming Price Bible no matter how they gaslight that supposed 70% revenue share.

And then there’s a remaining 30% because the “revenue” share would have to sum to 100%, right?.  That’s true if you assume that the company’s actual revenue is defined the same way as the “revenue” they share with “the music business”.  Is it?  I think not.  I think the actual revenue is higher, and perhaps much higher than the “revenue” as defined in Spotify’s licensing agreements.

Crucially, Spotify’s cash benefits exceed the “revenue” definition on which they account if you don’t ignore the stock market valuation that has made Daniel Ek a billionaire and many Spotify employees into millionaires.  Spotify throws off an awful lot of cash for millionaires and billionaires for a company that can’t make a profit.

Good thing that artists and songwriters got compensated for the value their music added to Spotify’s market capitalization and the monetization of all the fans they send to Spotify, right?  

Oh yeah. They don’t.

What the Algocrats Want You to Believe

There are five key assumptions that support the streamer narrative and we will look at them each in turn. Today we’ll assess assumption #1–streamers are not in the music business but they want you to believe the opposite.

Assumption 1:  Streamers Are In the Music Business

Streamers like Spotify, TikTok and YouTube are not in the music business.  They are in the data business.  Why?  So they can monetize your fans that you drive to them.

These companies make extensive use of algorithms and artificial intelligence in their business, especially to sell targeted advertising.  This has a direct impact on your ability to compete with enterprise playlists and fake tracks–or what you might call “decoy footprints”–as identified by Liz Pelly’s exceptional journalism in her new book (did I say it’s on sale now?).

Signally, while Spotify artificially capped its subscription rates for over ten years in order to convince Wall Street of its growth story, the company definitely did not cap its advertising rates which are based on an auction model like YouTube.  Like YouTube, Spotify collects emotional data (analyzing a user social media posts), demographics (age, gender, location, geofencing), behavioral data (listening habits, interests), and contextual data (serving ads in relevant moments like breakfast, lunch, dinner).  They also use geofencing to target users by regions, cities, postal codes, and even Designated Market Areas (DMAs). My bet is that they can tell if you’re looking at men’s suits in ML Liddy’s (San Angelo or Ft. Worth).

Why the snooping? They do this to monetize your fans.  Sometimes they break the law, such as Spotify’s $5.5 million fine by Swedish authorities for violating Europe’s data protection laws.

They’ll also tell you that streamers are all up in introducing fans to new music or what they call “discovery.” The truth is that they could just as easily be introducing you to a new brand of Spam. “Discovery” is just a data application for the thousands of employees of these companies who form the algocracy who make far more money on average than any songwriter or musician does on average.  As Maria Schneider anointed the algocracy in her eponymous Pulitzer Prize finalist album, these are the Data Lords.  And I gather from Liz Pelly’s book that it’s starting to look like “discovery” is just another form of payola behind the scenes.

It also must be said that these algocrats tend to run together which makes any bright line between the companies harder to define.  For example, Spotify has phased out owning data centers and migrated its extensive data operations to the Google Cloud Platform which means Spotify is arguably entirely dependent on Google for a significant part of its data business.  Yes, the dominant music streaming platform Spotify collaborates with the adjudicated monopolist Google for its data monetization operations.  Not to mention the Meta pixel class action controversy—”It’s believed that Spotify may have installed a tracking tool on its website called the Meta pixel that can be used to gather data about website visitors and share it with Meta. Specifically, [attorneys] suspect that Spotify may have used the Meta pixel to track which videos its users have watched on Spotify.com and send that information to Meta along with each person’s Facebook ID.”

And remember, Spotify doesn’t allow AI training on the music and metadata on its platform.  

Right. That’s the good news.

Does it have an index? @LizPelly’s Must-Read Investigation in “Mood Machine” Raises Deep Questions About Spotify’s Financial Integrity

Spotify Playlist Editors

If you don’t know of Liz Pelly, I predict you soon will. I’ve been a fan for years but I really think that her latest work, Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist, coming in January by One Signal Publishers, an imprint of Atria Books at Simon & Schuster, will be one of those before and after books. Meaning the world you knew before reading the book was radically different than the world you know afterward. It is that insightful. And incriminating.

We are fortunate that Ms. Pelly has allowed Harper’s to excerpt Mood Machine in the current issue. I want to suggest that if you are a musician or care about musicians, or if you are at a record label or music publisher, or even if you are in the business of investing in music, you likely have nothing more important to do today than read this taste of the future.

The essence of what Ms. Pelly has identified is the intentional and abiding manipulation of Spotify’s corporate playlists. She explains what called her to write Mood Machine:

Spotify, the rumor had it, was filling its most popular playlists with stock music attributed to pseudonymous musicians—variously called ghost or fake artists—presumably in an effort to reduce its royalty payouts. Some even speculated that Spotify might be making the tracks itself. At a time when playlists created by the company were becoming crucial sources of revenue for independent artists and labels, this was a troubling allegation.

What you will marvel at is the elaborate means Ms. Pelly has discovered–through dogged reporting worthy of the great deadline artists–that Spotify undertook to deceive users into believing that playlists were organic. And, it must be said, to deceive investors, too. As she tells us:

For years, I referred to the names that would pop up on these playlists simply as “mystery viral artists.” Such artists often had millions of streams on Spotify and pride of place on the company’s own mood-themed playlists, which were compiled by a team of in-house curators. And they often had Spotify’s verified-artist badge. But they were clearly fake. Their “labels” were frequently listed as stock-music companies like Epidemic, and their profiles included generic, possibly AI-generated imagery, often with no artist biographies or links to websites. Google searches came up empty.

You really must read Ms. Pelly’s except in Harper’s for the story…and did I say the book itself is available for preorder now?

All this background manipulation–undisclosed and furtive manipulation by a global network of confederates–was happening while Spotify devoted substantial resources worthy of a state security operation into programming music in its own proprietary playlists. That programmed music not only was trivial and, to be kind, low brow, but also essentially at no cost to Spotify. It’s not just that it was free, it was free in a particular way. In Silicon Valley-speak, Ms. Pelly has discovered how Spotify disaggregated the musician from the value chain.

What she has uncovered has breathtaking implications, particularly with the concomitant rise of artificial intelligence and that assault on creators. The UK Parliament’s House of Commons Digital, Culture, Media & Sport Committee’s Inquiry into the Economics of Music Streaming quoted me as saying “If a highly trained soloist views getting included on a Spotify “Sleep” playlist as a career booster, something is really wrong.” That sentiment clearly resonated with the Committee, but was my feeble attempt at calling government’s attention to then-only-suspected playlist grift that was going on at Spotify. Ms. Pelly’s book is a solid indictment–there’s that word again–of Spotify’s wild-eyed, drooling greed and public deception.

Ms. Pelly’s work raises serious questions about streaming payola and its fellow-travelers in the annals of crime. The last time this happened in the music business was with Fred Dannen’s 1991 book called Hit Men that blew the lid off of radio payola. That book also sent record executives running to unfamiliar places called “book stores” but for a particular reason. They weren’t running to read the book. They already knew the story, sometimes all too well. They were running to see if their name was in the index.

Like the misguided iHeart and Pandora “steering agreements” that nobody ever investigated which preceded mainstream streaming manipulation, it’s worth investigating whether Spotify’s fakery actually rises to the level of a kind of payola or other prosecutable offense. As the noted broadcasting lawyer David Oxenford observed before the rise of Spotify:

The payola statute, 47 USC Section 508, applies to radio stations and their employees, so by its terms it does not apply to Internet radio (at least to the extent that Internet Radio is not transmitted by radio waves – we’ll ignore questions of whether Internet radio transmitted by wi-fi, WiMax or cellular technology might be considered a “radio” service for purposes of this statute). But that does not end the inquiry. Note that neither the prosecutions brought by Eliot Spitzer in New York state a few years ago nor the prosecution of legendary disc jockey Alan Fried in the 1950s were brought under the payola statute. Instead, both were based on state law commercial bribery statutes on the theory that improper payments were being received for a commercial advantage. Such statutes are in no way limited to radio, but can apply to any business. Thus, Internet radio stations would need to be concerned.

Ms. Pelly’s investigative work raises serious questions of its own about the corrosive effects of fake playlists on the music community including musicians and songwriters. She also raises equally serious questions about Spotify’s financial reporting obligations as a public company.

For example, I suspect that if Spotify were found to be using deception to boost certain recordings on its proprietary playlists without disclosing this to the public, it could potentially raise issues under securities laws, including the Sarbanes-Oxley Act (SOX). SOX requires companies to maintain accurate financial records and disclose material information that could affect investors’ decisions.

Deceptive practices that mislead investors about the company’s performance or business practices could be considered a violation of SOX. Additionally, such actions could lead to investigations by regulatory bodies like the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and potential legal consequences.

Imagine that risk factor in Spotify’s next SEC filing? It might read something like this:

Risk Factor: Potential Legal and Regulatory Actions

Spotify is currently under investigation for alleged deceptive practices related to the manipulation of Spotify’s proprietary playlists. If these allegations are substantiated, Spotify could face significant legal and regulatory actions, including fines, penalties, and enforcement actions by regulatory bodies such as the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and the Federal Trade Commission (FTC). Such actions could result in substantial financial liabilities, damage to our reputation, and a loss of user trust, which could adversely affect our business operations and financial performance.

Let’s not do this again, shall we? Did Daniel Ek become a billionaire because of Spotify’s revenue or profit or because of his stock?

Digital Music News reports “Spotify CEO Daniel Ek Is Richer Than Any Musician—Yes, Even Taylor Swift.” Did that just sneak up or is it really Groundhog Day? Maybe it’s groundhog day in Sweden.

Let’s try this again. Remember that artists and labels get paid a revenue share from Spotify. (So do songwriters, but that’s a whole other conversation.) Before you go any farther, getting a share of revenue is for chumps. But what does that mean, this “revenue”. Consider the definition of “gross revenue” that is common in the negotiated version of these deals:

“Gross Revenues” means, with respect to audio and video streams, all gross revenues directly related to the Services, including but not restricted to (i) all revenues attributable to text and/or graphic display, rich media and “in-stream” advertising revenues (i.e., audio, visual or audiovisual advertisements exhibited before, during or after a stream containing any Label Materials) generated from software client interfaces, widgets or properties through which the Services are made available; (ii) all revenues attributable to CPC-, CPM- and CPA-based advertising, e-commerce and “referral fees”/bounties (including non-refundable advances and guarantees, however characterized) generated via the Services, whether structured as a one-time payment or as a recurring revenue share, but specifically excluding e-commerce, “referral fees”/bounties and like revenue generated from sales of permanent audio and video downloads; (iii) all sponsorships sold by Company or its agents; (iv) solely with respect to the Subscription Services, all subscription income; and (v) any share of traffic or tariff charges for delivery of the Services that Company may be able to secure from telecommunications partners, and (vi) all revenues derived from the sale of data related to End Users and their use of the Services [then less a bunch of deductions]”

Now you can just tell that some smart lawyers somewhere sat down to try to think of all the ways that Spotify could earn revenue so they could include those sources in their deal. What did they miss out?

The stock.

In fairness, they didn’t miss out the stock entirely, they just missed it out from the deal that all the artists got paid on. The stock was dealt with in another contract not connected to the main sound recording license and never the twain shall meet.

But what this approach misses entirely is that once you have sold the stock in a stock grant, you’re done being a shareholder. Unless you get another stock grant, which we will assume hasn’t happened.

Leave aside the issue of trading stock for lower royalties, because it’s actually worse that that–it’s trading a one-time stock bump for a lower long term royalty rates set at a price point you have to keep digging out of.

I’m just a country lawyer from Texas and I’m not as smart as the city fellers, but it seems to me that if you knew going in that the big money was in the stock, why wouldn’t you get some measurement of the increase in the net worth of Daniel Ek or some comparable metric as a money factor in the revenue calculation? Getting a one time stock grant isn’t really the same thing. And I say using Ek’s net worth as a bogey only slightly facetiously. That is a little specific, but let’s be honest. It’s Ek’s net worth that really pisses people off, right? And if our Spotify earnings increased in some relationship to his increase in wealth, we’d all probably feel at least less screwed if not actually better about the whole thing.

But even if you didn’t use that metric but knew and acknowledged that the real value was in the stock and the increase in market capitalization due to artists and songwriters, why would you ever allow yourself to get snowed by Spotify’s poor mouthing about they can’t make a profit when it should have been obvious for the last 10-plus years that Spotify didn’t care about making a profit?

The saving grace is, of course, that it’s a damn good thing we’re never going to let another MTV build a business on our backs.

On the Internet, “Partners” Don’t Hear You Scream: Daniel Ek Makes a “Bundle” From the Value He Won’t Share

Here’s a quote for the ages:

MICHAEL BURRY

One of the hallmarks of mania is the rapid rise and complexity
of the rates of fraud. And did you know they’re going up?

The Big Short, screenplay by Charles Randolph and Adam McKay, based on the book by Michael Lewis

I have often said that if screwups were Easter eggs, Daniel Ek would be the Easter bunny, hop hop hopping from one to the next. I realize that is not consistent with his press agent’s pagan iconography, but it sure seems true to many.

The Bunny’s Bundle

This week was no different. Mr. Ek evidently has a “10b5-1 agreement” in place with Spotify, a common technique for insiders, especially founders, who hold at least 10% of the company’s shares to cash out and get the real money through selling their stock. The agreement establishes predetermined trading instructions for company stock (usually a sale and not a buy so not trading the shares) consistent with SEC rules under Section 10b5 of the Securities and Exchange Act of 1934 covering when the insider can sell. Why does this exist? The rule was established in 2000 to protect Silicon Valley insiders from insider trading lawsuits. Yep, you caught it–it’s yet another safe harbor for the special people.

As MusicBusinessWorldWide reported (thank you, Tim), Mr. Ek sold $118.8 million in shares of Spotify at roughly the same time that Spotify was planning to change the way the company paid songwriters on streaming mechanicals by claiming that its recent audiobook offering made it a “bundle” for purposes of the statutory mechanical rate. That would be the same rate that was heavily negotiated in 2021-22 at great expense to all concerned, not to mention torturing the Copyright Royalty Judges. The rates are in effect for five years, but the next negotiation for new rates is coming soon (called Phonorecords V or PR V for short). We’ll get to the royalty bundle but let’s talk about the cash bundle first.

As Tim notes in MBW, Mr. Ek has had a few recent sales under his 10b5-1 agreement: “Across these four transactions (today’s included), Ek has cashed out approximately $340.5 million in Spotify shares since last summer.” Rough justice, but I would place a small wager that Ek has cashed out in personal wealth all or close to all of the money that Spotify has paid to songwriters (through their publishers) for the same period. In this sense, he is no different that the usual disproportionately compensated CEOs at say Google or Raytheon.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge Mr. Ek the opportunity to be a billionaire. I don’t at all. But I do begrudge him the opportunity to do it when the government is his “partner” as it is with statutory mechanical royalties, he benefits from various other safe harbors, has had his lobbyists rewrite Section 115 to avoid litigation in a potentially unconstitutional reach back safe harbor, and he hired the lawyer at the Copyright Office who largely wrote the rules that he’s currently bending. Yes, I do begrudge him that stuff.

And here’s the other thing. When Daniel Ek pulls down $340.5 million as a routine matter, I really don’t want to hear any poor mouthing about how Spotify cannot make a profit because of the royalty payments it makes to artists and songwriters. (Or these days, doesn’t make to some artists.) This is, again, why revenue share calculations are just the wrong way to look at the value conferred by featured and nonfeatured artists and songwriters on the Spotify juggernaut. That’s also the point we made in some detail in the paper I co-wrote with Professor Claudio Feijoo for WIPO that came up in Spain, Hungary, France, Uruguay and other countries.

The Malthusian Algebra Strikes Again

It’s not solely Mr. Ek who is the problem child here, it’s partly the fault of industry negotiators who bought into the idea that what was important was getting a share of revenue based on a model that was almost guaranteed to cause royalties to decline over time. This would be getting a share of revenue from someone who purposely suppressed (and effectively subsidized) their subscription pricing for years and years and years. (See Robert Spencer’s Get Big Fast.). If I were a betting man, I would bet that the reason they subsidized the subscription price was to boost the share price by telling a growth story to Wall Street bankers (looking at you, Goldman Sachs) and retail traders because the subsidized subscription price increased subscribers.

Just a guess.

Now about this bundled subscription issue. One of the fundamental points that I think gets missed in the statutory mechanical licensing scheme is the scheme itself. The fact that songwriters have a compulsory license forced on them for one of their primary sources of income is a HUGE concession that songwriters have been asked to agree to since 1909. That’s right–for over 100 years. A decision that seemed reasonable 100 years ago really doesn’t seem reasonable at all today in a networked world. So start there as opposed to streaming platforms are doing us a favor by paying us at all, Daniel Ek saved the music business, and all the other iconography.

Has anyone seen them in the same room at the same time?

The problem that I have with the Spotify move to bundled subscriptions is that it can happen in the middle of a rate period and at least on the surface has the look of a colorable argument to reduce royalty payments. I think if you asked songwriters what they thought the rule was, to the extent they had focused on it at all after being bombarded with self-congratulatory hoorah, they probably thought that the deal wasn’t change rates without renegotiating or at least coming back and asking.

And they wouldn’t be wrong about that, because it is reasonable to ask that any changes get run by your, you know, “partner.” Maybe that’s where it all goes wrong. Because let me suggest and suggest strongly that it is a big mistake to think of these people as your “partner” if by “partner” you mean someone who treats you ethically and politely, reasonably and in good faith like a true fiduciary.

They are not your partner. Stop using that word.

A Compulsory License is a Rent Seeker’s Presidential Suite

But let’s also point out that what is happening with the bundle pricing is a prime example of the brittleness of the compulsory licensing system which is itself like a motel in the desolate and frozen Cyber Pass with a light blinking “Vacancy: Rent Seekers Wanted” surrounded by the bones of empires lost. Unlike the physical mechanical rate which is a fixed penny rate per transaction, the streaming mechanical is a cross between a Rube Goldberg machine and a self-licking ice cream cone.

The Spotify debacle is just the kind of IED that was bound to explode eventually when you have this level of complexity camouflaging traps for the unwary written into law. And the “written into law” part is what makes the compulsory license process so insidious. When the roadside bomb goes off, it doesn’t just hit the uparmored people before the Copyright Royalty Board–it creams everyone.

Helienne Lindvall, David Lowery and Blake Morgan tried to make this point to the Copyright Royalty Judges in Phonorecords IV. They were not confused by the royalty calculations–they understood them all too well. They were worried about fraud hiding in the calculations the same way Michael Burry was worried about fraud in The Big Short. Except there’s no default swaps for songwriters.

Here’s how the Judges responded, you decide if it’s condescending or if the songwriters were prescient knowing what we know now:

While some songwriters or copyright owners may be confused by the royalties or statements of account, the price discriminatory structure and the associated levels of rates in settlement do not appear gratuitous, but rather designed, after negotiations, to establish a structure that may expand the revenues and royalties to the benefit of copyright owners and music services alike, while also protecting copyright owners from potential revenue diminution. This approach and the resulting rate setting formula is not unreasonable. Indeed, when the market itself is complex, it is unsurprising that the regulatory provisions would resemble the complex terms in a commercial agreement negotiated in such a setting.

PR IV Final Rule at 80452 https://app.crb.gov/document/download/27410

It must be said that there never has been a “commercial agreement negotiated in such a setting” that wasn’t constrained by the compulsory license so I’m not sure what that reference even means. But if what the Judges mean is that the compulsory license approximates what would happen in a free market where the songwriters ran free and good men didn’t die like dogs, the compulsory license is nothing like a free market deal. If they are going to allow services to change their business model in midstream but essentially keep their music offering the same while offloading the cost of their audiobook royalties onto songwriters (and probably labels, too, although maybe not) through a discount in the statutory rate, then there should be some downside protection or another bite at the apple.

Unfortunately, there are neither, which almost guarantees another acrimonious, scorched earth lawyer fest in PR V coming soon to a charnel house near you.

Eject, Eject!

This is really disappointing because it was so avoidable if for no other reason. It’s a great time for someone…ahem…to step forward and head off the foreseeable collision on the billable time highway. I actually think the Judges know that the rate calculation is a farce but are dealing with people who have made too much money negotiating it to ever give it up willingly. If they are looking for a way off the theme park ride run by the evil clown, grab my hand on the next pass and I’ll try to pull you out of the centrifugal force. It won’t be easy.

This inevitable dust up means other work will suffer at the CRB. It must be said in fairness that the Judges seem to find it hard enough to get to the work they’ve committed to according to a recent SoundExchange filing in a different case (SDARS III remand from 2020) brought to my attention by Mr. George Johnson.

That’s not uncharitable–I’m merely noting that when dozens of lawyers in Phonorecords proceedings engage in what many of us feel are absurd discovery excesses, you are–frankly–distracting the Judges from doing their job by making them focus on, well, bollocks. We’ll come back to this issue in future, but I think all members of the CRB bar–the dozens and hundreds of those putting children through college at the CRB bar–need to take a breath and realize that judicial resources at the CRB are a zero sum game. This behavior isn’t fair to the Judges and it’s definitely not fair to the real parties in interest–the songwriters.

Tell the Horse to Open Wider

The answer isn’t to get the judges more money, bigger courtroom, craft services and massages, like a financial printer. Some of that would be nice but it doesn’t solve what I think is the real problem. I’d say that the answer is that the participants remember that the main this is that the main thing has to be the main thing. Ultimately, it’s not about us in the phonorecords proceedings, it’s about the songwriters. How are they served?

A compulsory license in stagflationary times is an incredibly valuable gift, and when you not only look the gift horse in the mouth but ask that it open wide so you can check the molars, don’t be surprised if one day it kicks you.

Chronology: The Week in Review: Are Speculative Tickets Already Illegal? Daniel Ek tries to pass himself off as a man of the people; What is Spotify’s contractual basis for their modernized free goods program?

Speculative ticketing is the practice of selling an option to maybe buy a popular ticket (often at an insane price) before the ticket goes on sale. You may not realize you are not buying a real ticket, although these tickets often come with fine print, and as Tom Waits tells us, the large print giveth and the small print taketh away.

There is an effort going on to specifically ban speculative ticketing at the state level which I applaud as I think speculative ticketing should be a crime. One reason I think this is because I think it already is a crime in most if not all states and possibly under federal law as well.

Think about it–do you think that if you before Blackstone and said to Sir William, My Lord, the defendant sold me a famous cow he didn’t own at a price he invented and promised to deliver the cow on law day. He took my money but delivered no cow (or delivered a different and unfamous cow). And the defendant said, perfectly legal My Lord.

What do you think My Lord Blackstone would say?

What would Billy do?

I don’t think the English common law would have just let the defendant walk out without at least compensating the buyer. Therefore, there’s probably a case that can be made out of existing law for selling stolen or counterfeit goods, or a host of other common law derivatives that would violate the charter of the land.

So as we try to get specific legal action to deal with speculative tickets, let’s not allow the lobbyists for Stubhub to negotiate the punishment that they want rather than the punishment that already applies under existing state civil or criminal law.

Ek’s New Iconography: Will the real Daniel Ek please stand up?

MTP readers will no doubt remember when Daniel Ek refused to be deposed in the latest Nashville case against Spotify for copyright infringement (Eight Mile Style). He eventually was deposed where he tried to say that he had no first hand knowledge of the facts or publishing practices at Spotify. Others did that for him after they got finished peeling his pears.

Ryan Hogg, writing in Fortune, published what I can only think is a puff piece on Ek trying to pass him off as a man of the people with a management style of just one of the team. Worth over a billion dollars and controlling voting stock.

And then there’s this:

What is Spotify’s contractual basis for their modernized free goods program?

There’s been a lot of discussion about Spotify’s new “modernized” free goods program aka Track Monetization Eligibility. It does raise the question of how they are getting away with this. Free goods, after all, were based on contract terms that the artist got to negotiate (and which, by the way, was passed along to songwriters through the artist’s controlled compositions clause for anyone not on a pure statutory rate and still is.

Who agreed to this? And why aren’t they stepping forward to claim their genius?

Chronology: The Week in Review: Could Spotify Extend Stream Discrimination to Songs, the No AI Fraud Act, Chairman Issa Has Questions on MLC Investment Policy

Spotify has announced they are “Modernizing Our Royalty System.” Beware of geeks bearing “modernization”–that almost always means they get what they want to your disadvantage. Also sounds like yet another safe harbor. At a minimum, they are demonstrating the usual lack of understanding of the delicate balance of the music business they now control. But if they can convince you not to object, then they get away with it.

Don’t let them.

An Attack on Property Rights

There’s some serious questions about whether Spotify has the right to unilaterally change the way it counts royalty-bearing streams and to encroach on the private property rights of artists. 

Here’s their plan: Evidently the plan is to only pay on streams over 1,000 per song accruing during the previous 12 months. I seriously doubt that they can engage in this terribly modern “stream discrimination” in a way that doesn’t breach any negotiated direct license with a minimum guarantee (if not others). 

That doubt also leads me to think that Spotify’s unilateral change in “royalty policy” (whatever that is) is unlikely to affect everyone the same. Taking a page from 1984 newspeakers, Spotify calls this discrimination policy “Track Monetization Eligibility”. It’s not discrimination, you see, it’s “eligibility”, a whole new thing. Kind of like war is peace, right? Or bouillabaisse.

According to Spotify’s own announcement this proposed change is not an increase in the total royalty pool that Spotify pays out (God forbid the famous “pie” should actually grow): ”There is no change to the size of the music royalty pool being paid out to rights holders from Spotify; we will simply use the tens of millions of dollars annually [of your money] to increase the payments to all eligible tracks, rather than spreading it out into $0.03 payments [that we currently owe you].” 

Yep, you won’t even miss it, and you should sacrifice for all those deserving artists who are more eligible than you. They are not growing the pie, they are shifting money around–rearranging the deck chairs.

Spotify’s Need for Living Space

So why is Spotify doing this to you? The simple answer is the same reason monopolists always use: they need living space for Greater Spotify. Or more simply, because they can, or they can try. They’ll tell you it’s to address “streaming fraud” but there are a lot more direct ways to address streaming fraud such as establishing a simple “know your vendor” policy, or a simple pruning policy similar to that established by record companies to cut out low-sellers (excluding classical and instrumental jazz). But that would require Spotify to get real about their growth rates and be honest with their shareholders and partners. Based on the way Spotify treated the country of Uruguay, they are more interested in espoliating a country’s cultural resources than they are in fairly compensating musicians.

Of course, they won’t tell you that side of the story. They won’t even tell you if certain genres or languages will be more impacted than others (like the way labels protected classical and instrumental jazz from getting cut out measured by pop standards). Here’s their explanation:

It’s more impactful [says who?] for these tens of millions of dollars per year to increase payments to those most dependent on streaming revenue — rather than being spread out in tiny payments that typically don’t even reach an artist (as they do not surpass distributors’ minimum payout thresholds). 99.5% of all streams are of tracks that have at least 1,000 annual streams, and each of those tracks will earn more under this policy.

This reference to “minimum payout thresholds” is a very Spotifyesque twisting of a generalization wrapped in cross reference inside of spin. Because of the tiny sums Spotify pays artists due to the insane “big pool” or “market centric” royalty model that made Spotify rich, extremely low royalties make payment a challenge. 

Plus, if they want to make allegations about third party distributors, they should say which distributors they are speaking of and cite directly to specific terms and conditions of those services. We can’t ask these anonymous distributors about their policies if we don’t know who they are. 

What’s more likely is that tech platforms like PayPal stack up transaction fees to make the payment cost more than the royalty paid. Of course, you could probably say that about all streaming if you calculate the cost of accounting on a per stream basis, but that’s a different conversation.

So Spotify wants you to ignore the fact that they impose this “market centric” royalty rate that pays you bupkis in the first place. Since your distributor holds the tiny slivers of money anyway, Spotify just won’t pay you at all. It’s all the same to you, right? You weren’t getting paid anyway, so Spotify will just give your money to these other artists who didn’t ask for it and probably wouldn’t want it if you asked them.

There is a narrative going around that somehow the major labels are behind this. I seriously doubt it–if they ever got caught with their fingers in the cookie jar on this scam, would it be worth the pittance that they will end up getting in pocket after all mouths are fed? The scam is also 180 out from Lucian Grange’s call for artist centric royalty rates, so as a matter of policy it’s inconsistent with at least Universal’s stated goals. So I’d be careful about buying into that theory without some proof.

What About Mechanical Royalties?

What’s interesting about this scam is that switching to Spotify’s obligations on the song side, the accounting rules for mechanical royalties say (37 CFR § 210.6(g)(6) for those reading along at home) seem to contradict the very suckers deal that Spotify is cramming down on the recording side:

Royalties under 17 U.S.C. 115 shall not be considered payable, and no Monthly Statement of Account shall be required, until the compulsory licensee’s [i.e., Spotify’s] cumulative unpaid royalties for the copyright owner equal at least one cent. Moreover, in any case in which the cumulative unpaid royalties under 17 U.S.C. 115 that would otherwise be payable by the compulsory licensee to the copyright owner are less than $5, and the copyright owner has not notified the compulsory licensee in writing that it wishes to receive Monthly Statements of Account reflecting payments of less than $5, the compulsory licensee may choose to defer the payment date for such royalties and provide no Monthly Statements of Account until the earlier of the time for rendering the Monthly Statement of Account for the month in which the compulsory licensee’s cumulative unpaid royalties under section 17 U.S.C. 115 for the copyright owner exceed $5 or the time for rendering the Annual Statement of Account, at which time the compulsory licensee may provide one statement and payment covering the entire period for which royalty payments were deferred.

Much has been made of the fact that Spotify may think it can unilaterally change its obligations to pay sound recording royalties, but they still have to pay mechanicals because of the statute. And when they pay mechanicals, the accounting rules have some pretty low thresholds that require them to pay small amounts. This seems to be the very issue they are criticizing with their proposed change in “royalty policy.”

But remember that the only reason that Spotify has to pay mechanical royalties on the stream discrimination is because they haven’t managed to get that free ride inserted into the mechanical royalty rates alongside all the other safe harbors and goodies they seem to have bought for their payment of historical black box.

So I would expect that Spotify will show up at the Copyright Royalty Board for Phonorecords V and insist on a safe harbor to enshrine stream discrimination into the Rube Goldberg streaming mechanical royalty rates. After all, controlled compositions are only paid on royalty bearing sales, right? And since it seems like they get everything else they want, everyone will roll over and give this to them, too. Then the statutory mechanical will give them protection.

To Each According to Their Needs

Personally, I have an issue with any exception that results in any artist being forced to accept a royalty free deal. Plus, it seems like what should be happening here is that underperforming tracks get dropped, but that doesn’t support the narrative that all the world’s music is on offer. Just not paid for.

Is it a lot of money to any one person? Not really, but it’s obviously enough money to make the exercise worthwhile to Spotify. And notice that they haven’t really told you how much money is involved. It may be that Spotify isn’t holding back any small payments from distributors if all payments are aggregated. But either way it does seem like this new new thing should start with a clean slate–and all accrued royalties should be paid.

This idea that you should be forced to give up any income at all for the greater good of someone else is kind of an odd way of thinking. Or as they say back in the home country, from each according to their ability and to each according to their needs. And you don’t really need the money, do you?

By the way, can you break a $20?

The NO AI Fraud Act

Thanks to U.S. Representatives Salazar and Dean, there’s an effort underway to limit Big Tech’s AI rampage just in time for Davos. (Remember, the AI bubble got started at last year’s World Economic Forum Winter Games in Davos, Switzerland).

Chairman Issa Questions MLC’s Secretive Investment Policy for Hundreds of Millions in Black Box

As we’ve noted a few times, the MLC has a nontransparent–some might say “secretive”–investment policy that has the effect of a government rule. This has caught the attention of Chairman Darrell Issa and Rep. Ben Cline at a recent House oversight hearing. Chairman Issa asked for more information about the investment policy in follow-up “questions for the record” directed to MLC CEO Kris Ahrend. It’s worth getting smart about what the MLC is up to in advance of the upcoming “redesignation” proceeding at the Copyright Office. We all know the decision is cooked and scammed already as part of the Harry Fox Preservation Act (AKA Title I of the MMA), but it will be interesting to see if anyone actually cares and the investment policy is a perfect example. It will also be interesting to see which Copyright Office examiner goes to work for one of the DiMA companies after the redesignation as is their tradition.