Tag: Daniel Ek

Less Than Zero: The Significance of the Per Stream Rate and Why It Matters

Spotify’s insistence that it’s “misleading” to compare services based on a derived per-stream rate reveals exactly how out of touch the company has become with the very artists whose labor fuels its stock price. Artists experience streaming one play at a time, not as an abstract revenue pool or a complex pro-rata formula. Each stream represents a listener’s decision, a moment of engagement, and a microtransaction of trust. Dismissing the per-stream metric as irrelevant is a rhetorical dodge that shields Spotify from accountability for its own value proposition. (The same applies to all streamers, but Spotify is the only one that denies the reality of the per-stream rate.)

Spotify further claims that users don’t pay per stream but for access as if that negates the artist’s per stream rate payments. It is fallacious to claim that because Spotify users pay a subscription fee for “access,” there is no connection between that payment and any one artist they stream. This argument treats music like a public utility rather than a marketplace of individual works. In reality, users subscribe because of the artists and songs they want to hear; the value of “access” is wholly derived from those choices and the fans that artists drive to the platform. Each stream represents a conscious act of consumption and engagement that justifies compensation.

Economically, the subscription fee is not paid into a vacuum — it forms a revenue pool that Spotify divides among rights holders according to streams. Thus, the distribution of user payments is directly tied to which artists are streamed, even if the payment mechanism is indirect. To say otherwise erases the causal relationship between fan behavior and artist earnings.

The “access” framing serves only to obscure accountability. It allows Spotify to argue that artists are incidental to its product when, in truth, they are the product. Without individual songs, there is nothing to access. The subscription model may bundle listening into a single fee, but it does not sever the fundamental link between listener choice and the artist’s right to be paid fairly for that choice.

Less Than Zero Effect: AI, Infinite Supply and Erasing Artist

In fact, this “access” argument may undermine Spotify’s point entirely. If subscribers pay for access, not individual plays, then there’s an even greater obligation to ensure that subscription revenue is distributed fairly across the artists who generate the listening engagement that keeps fans paying each month. The opacity of this system—where listeners have no idea how their money is allocated—protects Spotify, not artists. If fans understood how little of their monthly fee reached the musicians they actually listen to, they might demand a user-centric payout model or direct licensing alternatives. Or they might be more inclined to use a site like Bandcamp. And Spotify really doesn’t want that.

And to anticipate Spotify’s typical deflection—that low payments are the label’s fault—that’s not correct either. Spotify sets the revenue pool, defines the accounting model, and negotiates the rates. Labels may divide the scraps, but it’s Spotify that decides how small the pie is in the first place either through its distribution deals or exercising pricing power.

Three Proofs of Intention

Daniel Ek, the Spotify CEO and arms dealer, made a Dickensian statement that tells you everything you need to know about how Spotify perceives their role as the Streaming Scrooge—“Today, with the cost of creating content being close to zero, people can share an incredible amount of content”.

That statement perfectly illustrates how detached he has become from the lived reality of the people who actually make the music that powers his platform’s market capitalization (which allows him to invest in autonomous weapons). First, music is not generic “content.” It is art, labor, and identity. Reducing it to “content” flattens the creative act into background noise for an algorithmic feed. That’s not rhetoric; it’s a statement of his values. Of course in his defense, “near zero cost” to a billionaire like Ek is not the same as “near zero cost” to any artist. This disharmonious statement shows that Daniel Ek mistakes the harmony of the people for the noise of the marketplace—arming algorithms instead of artists.

Second, the notion that the cost of creating recordings is “close to zero” is absurd. Real artists pay for instruments, studios, producers, engineers, session musicians, mixing, mastering, artwork, promotion, and often the cost of simply surviving long enough to make the next record or write the next song. Even the so-called “bedroom producer” incurs real expenses—gear, software, electricity, distribution, and years of unpaid labor learning the craft. None of that is zero. As I said in the UK Parliament’s Inquiry into the Economics of Streaming, when the day comes that a soloist aspires to having their music included on a Spotify “sleep” playlist, there’s something really wrong here.

Ek’s comment reveals the Silicon Valley mindset that art is a frictionless input for data platforms, not an enterprise of human skill, sacrifice, and emotion. When the CEO of the world’s dominant streaming company trivializes the cost of creation, he’s not describing an economy—he’s erasing one.

While Spotify tries to distract from the “per-stream rate,” it conveniently ignores the reality that whatever it pays “the music industry” or “rights holders” for all the artists signed to one label still must be broken down into actual payments to the individual artists and songwriters who created the work. Labels divide their share among recording artists; publishers do the same for composers and lyricists. If Spotify refuses to engage on per-stream value, what it’s really saying is that it doesn’t want to address the people behind the music—the very creators whose livelihoods depend on those streams. In pretending the per-stream question doesn’t matter, Spotify admits the artist doesn’t matter either.

Less Than Zero or Zeroing Out: Where Do We Go from Here?

The collapse of artist revenue and the rise of AI aren’t coincidences; they’re two gears in the same machine. Streaming’s economics rewards infinite supply at near-zero unit cost which is really the nugget of truth in Daniel Ek’s statements. This is evidenced by Spotify’s dalliances with Epidemic Sound and the like. But—human-created music is finite and costly; AI music is effectively infinite and cheap. For a platform whose margins improve as payout obligations shrink, the logical endgame is obvious: keep the streams, remove the artists.

  • Two-sided market math. Platforms sell audience attention to advertisers and access to subscribers. Their largest variable cost is royalties. Every substitution of human tracks with synthetic “sound-alikes,” noise, functional audio, or AI mashup reduces royalty liability while keeping listening hours—and revenue—intact. You count the AI streams just long enough to reduce the royalty pool, then you remove them from the system, only to be replace by more AI tracks. Spotify’s security is just good enough to miss the AI tracks for at least one royalty accounting period.
  • Perpetual content glut as cover. Executives say creation costs are “near zero,” justifying lower per-stream value. That narrative licenses a race to the bottom, then invites AI to flood the catalog so the floor can fall further.
  • Training to replace, not to pay. Models ingest human catalogs to learn style and voice, then output “good enough” music that competes with the very works that trained them—without the messy line item called “artist compensation.”
  • Playlist gatekeeping. When discovery is centralized in editorial and algorithmic playlists, platforms can steer demand toward low-or-no-royalty inventory (functional audio, public-domain, in-house/commissioned AI), starving human repertoire while claiming neutrality.
  • Investor alignment. The story that scales is not “fair pay”; it’s “gross margin expansion.” AI is the lever that turns culture into a fixed cost and artists into externalities.

Where does that leave us? Both streaming and AI “work” best for Big Tech, financially, when the artist is cheap enough to ignore or easy enough to replace. AI doesn’t disrupt that model; it completes it. It also gives cover through a tortured misreading through the “national security” lens so natural for a Lord of War investor like Mr. Ek who will no doubt give fellow Swede and one of the great Lords of War, Alfred Nobel, a run for his money. (Perhaps Mr. Ek will reimagine the Peace Prize.) If we don’t hard-wire licensing, provenance, and payout floors, the platform’s optimal future is music without musicians.

Plato conceived justice as each part performing its proper function in harmony with the whole—a balance of reason, spirit, and appetite within the individual and of classes within the city. Applied to AI synthetic works like those generated by Sora 2, injustice arises when this order collapses: when technology imitates creation without acknowledging the creators whose intellect and labor made it possible. Such systems allow the “appetitive” side—profit and scale—to dominate reason and virtue. In Plato’s terms, an AI trained on human art yet denying its debt to artists enacts the very disorder that defines injustice.

Missile Gap, Again: Big Tech’s Private Power vs. the Public Grid

If we let a hyped “AI gap” dictate land and energy policy, we’ll privatize essential infrastructure and socialize the fallout.

Every now and then, it’s important to focus on what our alleged partners in music distribution are up to, because the reality is they’re not record people—their real goal is getting their hands on the investment we’ve all made in helping compelling artists find and keep an audience. And when those same CEOs use the profits from our work to pivot to “defense tech” or “dual use” AI (civilian and military), we should hear what that euphemism really means: killing machines.

Daniel Ek is backing battlefield-AI ventures; Eric Schmidt has spent years bankrolling and lobbying for the militarization of AI while shaping the policies that green-light it. This is what happens when we get in business with people who don’t share our values: the capital, data, and social license harvested from culture gets recycled into systems built to find, fix, and finish human beings. As Bob Dylan put it in Masters of War, “You fasten the triggers for the others to fire.” These deals aren’t value-neutral—they launder credibility from art into combat. If that’s the future on offer, our first duty is to say so plainly—and refuse to be complicit.

The same AI outfits that for decades have refused to license or begrudgingly licensed the culture they ingest are now muscling into the hard stuff—power grids, water systems, and aquifers—wherever governments are desperate to win their investment. Think bespoke substations, “islanded” microgrids dedicated to single corporate users, priority interconnects, and high-volume water draws baked into “innovation” deals. It’s happening globally, but nowhere more aggressively than in the U.S., where policy and permitting are being bent toward AI-first infrastructure—thanks in no small part to Silicon Valley’s White House “AI viceroy,” David Sacks. If we don’t demand accountability at the point of data and at the point of energy and water, we’ll wake up to AI that not only steals our work but also commandeers our utilities. Just like Senator Wyden accomplished for Oregon.

These aren’t pop-up server farms; they’re decades-long fixtures. Substations and transmission are built on 30–50-year horizons, generation assets run 20–60, with multi-decade PPAs, water rights, and recorded easements that outlive elections. Once steel’s in the ground, rate designs and priority interconnects get contractually sticky. Unlike the Internet fights of the last 25 years—where you could force a license for what travels through the pipe—this AI footprint binds communities for generations; it’s essentially forever. So we will be stuck for generations with the decisions we make today.

Because China–The New Missle Gap

There’s a familiar ring to the way America is now talking about AI, energy, and federal land use (and likely expropriation). In the 1950s Cold War era, politicians sold the country on a “missile gap” that later proved largely mythical, yet it hardened budgets, doctrine, and concrete in ways that lasted decades.

Today’s version is the “AI gap”—a story that says China is sprinting on AI, so we must pave faster, permit faster, and relax old guardrails to keep up. Of course, this diverts attention from China’s advances in directed-energy weapons and hypersonic missiles which are here right now today and will play havoc in an actual battlefield—which the West has no counter to. But let’s not talk about those (at least not until we lose a carrier in the South China Sea), let’s worry about AI because that will make Silicon Valley even richer.

Watch any interview of executives from the frontier AI labs and within minutes they will hit their “because China” talking point. National security and competitiveness are real concerns, but they don’t justify blank checks and Constitutional-level safe harbors. The missile‑gap analogy is useful because it reminds us how a compelling threat narrative propaganda can swamp due diligence. We can support strategic compute and energy without letting an AI‑gap story permanently bulldoze open space and saddle communities with the bill.

Energy Haves (Them) and Have Nots (Everyone else)

The result is a two‑track energy state AKA hell on earth. On Track A, the frontier AI lab hyperscalers like Google, Meta, Microsoft, OpenAI & Co. build company‑town infrastructure for AI—on‑site electricity generation by microgrids outside of everyone else’s electric grid, dedicated interties and other interconnections between electric operators—often on or near federal land. On Track B, the public grid carries everyone else: homes, hospitals, small manufacturers, water districts. As President Trump said at the White House AI dinner this week, Track A promises to “self‑supply,” but even self‑supplied campuses still lean on the public grid for backup and monetization, and they compete for scarce interconnection headroom.

President Trump is allowing the hyperscalers to get permanent rights to build on massive parcels of government land, including private utilities to power the massive electricity and water cooling needs for AI data centers. Strangely enough, this is continuing a Biden policy under an executive order issued late in Biden Presidency that Trump now takes credit for, and is a 180 out from America First according to people who ought to know like Steve Bannon. And yet it is happening.

White House Dinners are Old News in Silicon Valley

If someone says “AI labs will build their own utilities on federal land,” that land comes in two flavors: Department of Defense (now War Department) or Department of Energy sites and land owned by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). This are vastly different categories.  DoD/DOE sites such as Idaho National Laboratory Oak Ridge Reservation, Paducah GDP, and the Savannah River Site, imply behind-the-fence, mission-tied microgrids with limited public friction; BLM land implies public-land rights-of-way and multi-use trade-offs (grazing, wildlife, cultural), longer timelines, and grid-export dynamics with potential “curtailment” which means prioritizing electricity for the hyperscalers. For example, Idaho National Laboratory (INL) as one of the four AI/data-center sites. INL’s own environmental reports state that about 60% of the INL site is open to livestock grazing, with monitoring of grazing impacts on habitat.  That’s likely over.

This is about how we power anything not controlled by a handful of firms. And it’s about the land footprint: fenced solar yards, switchyards, substations, massive transport lines, wider roads, laydown areas. On BLM range and other open spaces, those facilities translate into real, local losses—grazable acres inside fences, stock trails detoured, range improvements relocated.

What the two tracks really do

Track A solves a business problem: compute growth outpacing the public grid’s construction cycle. By putting electrons next to servers (literally), operators avoid waiting years for a substation or a 230‑kV line. Microgrids provide islanding during emergencies and participation in wholesale markets when connected. It’s nimble, and it works—for the operator.

Track B inherits the volatility: planners must consider a surge of large loads that may or may not appear, while maintaining reliability for everyone else. Capacity margins tighten; transmission projects get reprioritized; retail rates absorb the externalities. When utilities plan for speculative loads and those projects cancel or slide, the region can be left with stranded costs or deferred maintenance elsewhere.

The land squeeze we’re not counting

Public agencies tout gigawatts permitted. They rarely publish the acreage fenced, AUMs affected, or water commitments. Utility‑scale solar commonly pencils out to on the order of 5–7 acres per megawatt of capacity depending on layout and topography. At that ratio, a single gigawatt occupies thousands of acres—acres that, unlike wind, often can’t be grazed once panels and security fences go in. Even where grazing is technically possible, access roads, laydown yards, and vegetation control impose real costs on neighboring users.

Wind is more compatible with grazing, but it isn’t footprint‑free. Pads, roads, and safety buffers fragment pasture. Transmission to move that energy still needs corridors—and those corridors cross someone’s water lines and gates. Multiple use is a principle; on the ground it’s a schedule, a map, and a cost. Just for reference, a rule‑of‑thumb for acres/electricity produces is approximately 5–7 acres per megawatt of direct current (“MWdc”), but access roads, laydown, and buffers extend beyond the fence line.

We are going through this right now in my part of the world. Central Texas is bracing for a wave of new high-voltage transmission. These are 345-kV corridors cutting (literally) across the Hill Country to serve load growth for chip fabricators and data centers and tie-in distant generation (so big lines are a must once you commit to the usage). Ranchers and small towns are pushing back hard: eminent-domain threats, devalued land, scarred vistas, live-oak and wildlife impacts, and routes that ignore existing roads and utility corridors. Packed hearings and county resolutions demand co-location, undergrounding studies, and real alternatives—not “pick a line on a map” after the deal is done. The fight isn’t against reliability; it’s against a planning process that externalizes costs onto farmers, ranchers, other landowners and working landscapes.

Texas’s latest SB 6 is the case study. After a wave of ultra-large AI/data-center loads, frontier labs and their allies pushed lawmakers to rewrite reliability rules so the grid would accommodate them. SB 6 empowers the Texas grid operator ERCOT to police new mega-loads—through emergency curtailment and/or firm-backup requirements—effectively reshaping interconnection priorities and shifting reliability risk and costs onto everyone else. “Everyone else” means you and me, kind of like the “full faith and credit of the US”. Texas SB 6 was signed into law in June 2025 by Gov. Greg Abbott. It’s now in effect and directs PUCT/ERCOT to set new rules for very large loads (e.g., data centers), including curtailment during emergencies and added interconnection/backup-power requirements. So the devil will be in the details and someone needs to put on the whole armor of God, so to speak.

The phantom problem

Another quiet driver of bad outcomes is phantom demand: developers filing duplicative load or interconnection requests to keep options open. On paper, it looks like a tidal wave; in practice, only a slice gets built. If every inquiry triggers a utility study, a route survey, or a placeholder in a capital plan, neighborhoods can end up paying for capacity that never comes online to serve them.

A better deal for the public and the range

Prioritize already‑disturbed lands—industrial parks, mines, reservoirs, existing corridors—before greenfield BLM range land. Where greenfield is unavoidable, set a no‑net‑loss goal for AUMs and require real compensation and repair SLAs for affected range improvements.

Milestone gating for large loads: require non‑refundable deposits, binding site control, and equipment milestones before a project can hold scarce interconnection capacity or trigger grid upgrades. Count only contracted loads in official forecasts; publish scenario bands so rate cases aren’t built on hype.

Common‑corridor rules: make developers prove they can’t use existing roads or rights‑of‑way before claiming new footprints. Where fencing is required, use wildlife‑friendly designs and commit to seasonal gates that preserve stock movement.

Public equity for public land: if a campus wins accelerated federal siting and long‑term locational advantage, tie that to a public revenue share or capacity rights that directly benefit local ratepayers and counties. Public land should deliver public returns, not just private moats.

Grid‑help obligations: if a private microgrid islands to protect its own uptime, it should also help the grid when connected. Enroll batteries for frequency and reserve services; commit to emergency export; and pay a fair share of fixed transmission costs instead of shifting them onto households.

Or you could do what the Dutch and Irish governments proposed under the guise of climate change regulations—kill all the cattle. I can tell you right now that that ain’t gonna happen in Texas.

Will We Get Fooled Again?

If we let a hyped latter day “missile gap” set the terms, we’ll lock in a two‑track energy state: private power for those who can afford to build it, a more fragile and more expensive public grid for everyone else, and open spaces converted into permanent infrastructure at a discount. The alternative is straightforward: price land and grid externalities honestly, gate speculative demand, require public returns on public siting, and design corridor rules that protect working landscapes. That’s not anti‑AI; it’s pro‑public. Everything not controlled by Big Tech—will be better for it.

Let’s be clear: the data-center onslaught will be financed by the taxpayer one way or another—either as direct public outlays or through sweet-heart “leases” of federal land to build private utilities behind the fence for the richest corporations in commercial history. After all the goodies that Trump is handing to the AI platforms, let’s not have any loose talk of “selling” excess electricity to the public–that price should be zero. Even so, the sales pitch about “excess” electricity they’ll generously sell back to the grid is a fantasy; when margins tighten, they’ll throttle output costs, not volunteer philanthropy. Picture it: do you really think these firms won’t optimize for themselves first and last? We’ll be left with the bills, the land impacts, and a grid redesigned around their needs. Ask yourself—what in the last 25 years of Big Tech behavior says “trustworthy” to you?

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.

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.

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, Spotify layoffs, mechanical rate increase, FTC on copyright issues in AI

What Spotify needs is a good pandemic.  

Harsh?  Not really, at least not from a share price point of view. Spotify’s all time highest share price was during the COVID pandemic.

Spotify CEO Daniel Ek and the press tells us that Spotify is cutting 1,500 jobs which works out to about 17% of Spotify employees. Which works out to a pre-layoff workforce of 8,823.  So let’s start there—that workforce number seems very high and is completely out of line with some recent data from Statista which is usually reliable.

If Statista is correct, Spotify employed 5,584 as of last year. Yet somehow Spotify’s 2023 workforce grew to 9200 according to the Guardian, fully 2/3 over that 2022 level without a commensurate and offsetting growth in revenue. That’s a governance question in and of itself.

Why the layoffs? The Guardian reports that Spotify CEO Daniel Ek is concerned about costs. He says “Despite our efforts to reduce costs this past year, our cost structure for where we need to be is too big.” Maybe I missed it, but the only time I can recall Daniel Ek being vocally concerned about Spotify’s operating costs was when it came to paying royalties. Then it was full-blown poor mouthing while signing leases for very expensive office space in 4 World Trade Center as well as other pricy real estate, executive compensation and podcasters like Harry & Meghan.

Mr. Ek announced his new, new thing:

Over the last two years, we’ve put significant emphasis on building Spotify into a truly great and sustainable business – one designed to achieve our goal of being the world’s leading audio company and one that will consistently drive profitability and growth into the future. While we’ve made worthy strides, as I’ve shared many times, we still have work to do. Economic growth has slowed dramatically and capital has become more expensive. Spotify is not an exception to these realities.

Which “economic growth” is that?

But, he is definitely right about capital costs.

Still, Spotify’s job cuts are not necessarily that surprising considering the macro economy, most specifically rents and interest rates. As recently as 2018, Spotify was the second largest tenant at 4 WTC. Considering the sheer size of Spotify’s New York office space, it’s not surprising that Spotify is now subletting five floors of 4 WTC earlier this year. That’s right, the company had a spare five floors. Can that excess just be more people working at home given Mr. Ek’s decision to expand Spotify’s workforce? But why does Spotify need to be a major tenant in World Trade Center in the first place? Renting the big New York office space is the corporate equivalent of playing house. That’s an expensive game of pretend.

Remember that Spotify is one of the many companies that rose to dominance during the era of easy money in response to the financial crisis that was the hallmark of quantitative easing and the Federal Reserve’s Zero Interest Rate Policy beginning around 2008. Spotify’s bankers were able to fuel Daniel Ek’s desire to IPO and cash out in the public markets by enabling Spotify to run at a loss because money was cheap and the stock market had a higher tolerance for risky investments. When you get a negative interest rate for saving money, Spotify stock doesn’t seem like a totally insane investment by comparison. This may have contributed to two stock buy-back programs of $1 billion each, Spotify’s deal with Barcelona FC and other notorious excesses.

As a great man said, don’t confuse leverage for genius. It was only a matter of time until the harsh new world of quantitative tightening and sharply higher inflation came back to bite. For many years, Spotify told Wall Street a growth story which deflected attention away from the company’s loss making operations. A growth story pumps up the stock price until the chickens start coming home to roost. (Growth is also the reason to put off exercising pricing power over subscriptions.) Investors bought into the growth story in the absence of alternatives, not just for Spotify but for the market in general (compare Russell Growth and Value indexes from 2008-2023). Cutting costs and seeking profit is an example of what public company CEOs might do in anticipation of a rotational shift from growth to value investing that could hit their shares.

Never forget that due to Daniel Ek’s super-voting stock (itself an ESG fail), he is in control of Spotify. So there’s nowhere to hide when the iconography turns to blame. It’s not that easy or cheap to fire him, but if the board really wanted to give him the heave, they could do it.

I expect that Ek’s newly found parsimony will be even more front and center in renegotiations of Spotify’s royalty deals since he’s always blamed the labels for why Spotify can’t turn a profit. Not that WTC lease, surely. This would be a lot more tolerable from someone you thought was actually making an effort to cut all costs not just your revenue. Maybe that will happen, but even if Spotify became a lean mean machine, it will take years to recover from the 1999 levels of stupid that preceded it.

Hellooo Apple. One big thinker in music business issues calls it “Spotify drunk” which describes the tendency of record company marketers to focus entirely on Spotify and essentially ignore Apple Music as a distribution partner. If you’re in that group drinking the Spotify Kool Aid, you may want to give Apple another look. One thing that is almost certain is that that Apple will still be around in five years.

Just sayin.

Mechanicals on Physical and Downloads Get COLA Increase; Nothing for Streaming

Recall that the “Phonorecords IV” minimum mechanical royalties paid by record companies on physical and downloads increased from 9.1¢ to 12¢ with an annual cost of living adjustment each year of the PR IV rate period. The first increase was calculated by the Copyright Royalty Judges and was announced this week. That increase was from 12¢ to 12.40¢ and is automatic effective January 1, 2024.

Note that there is no COLA increase for streaming for reasons I personally do not understand. There really is no justification for not applying a COLA to a government mandated rate that blocks renegotiation to cover inflation expectations. After all, it works for Edmund Phelps.

The Federal Trade Commission on Copyright and AI

The FTC’s comment in the Copyright Office AI inquiry shows an interesting insight to the Commission’s thinking on some of the same copyright issues that bother us about AI, especially AI training. Despite Elon Musk’s refreshing candor of the obvious truth about AI training on copyrights, the usual suspects in the Copyleft (Pam Samuelson, Sy Damle, etc.) seem to have a hard time acknowledging the unfair competition aspects of AI and AI training (at p. 5):

Conduct that may violate the copyright laws––such as training an AI tool on protected expression without the creator’s consent or selling output generated from such an AI tool, including by mimicking the creator’s writing style, vocal or instrumental performance, or likeness—may also constitute an unfair method of competition or an unfair or deceptive practice, especially when the copyright violation deceives consumers, exploits a creator’s reputation or diminishes the value of her existing or future works, reveals private information, or otherwise causes substantial injury to consumers. In addition, conduct that may be consistent with the copyright laws nevertheless may violate Section 5.

We’ve seen unfair competition claims pleaded in the AI cases–maybe we should be thinking about trying to engage the FTC in prosecutions.

Just a Story: Netflix Corporate Biopic of Daniel Ek

FRANKIE FOUR FINGERS

It’s a nice story, but it’s just that. Just a story.

from Snatch, written by Guy Richie

You may have noticed that there is a multi-part Netflix miniseries called “The Playlist” that is based on this book:

“The Spotify Play: How CEO and Founder Daniel Ek Beat Apple, Google and Amazon in the race for audio dominance” is an English translation of Spotify Inifrån, the Swedish book that all of this is based on, which I understand is loosely translated as “Spotify Untold” or as the inside story of Spotify. How it got from “Spotify Untold” to a title straight out of a corporate comms department of failed English majors is anyone’s guess. But notice that the book has now been refocused on the really important story–ahem–of how Daniel Ek crushed the competition and secured his monopoly on global music, or as he calls it “audio”.

For these authors to refer to music as “audio” is very much in line with the story of Spotify’s business model that Daniel Ek tells to Wall Street (which is, in all likelihood, the important audience for all this from Spotify’s perspective). Listen to any Spotify earnings call and you’ll hear what I mean.

The somewhat maniacal focus on global dominance is also interesting when you think about the fact that Daniel Ek uses the 10:1 voting stock he retains to be in global control of music streaming which may explain why Spotify’s algorithms always seem to say “Bieber.” He might want to be a bit careful about the “dominance” word.

Just in time for the Netflix debut, Spotify’s stock has tanked. Which begs the question of why Spotify was ever a public company to begin with. But that’s a story for another day. Here’s what “beating” Apple, Google and Amazon looks like (the straight red line across the bottom of the chart is where Spotify closed on its first day of trading):

You’ll notice that this chart is the relative growth on a percentage basis of all these stocks measured over the same time period. Spotify briefly outperformed the others during COVID, but now is easy to find because it is the one with the minus sign in front of its growth rate.

The Publisher’s Weekly review of the book kind of sums it up:

The authors display more enthusiasm toward Ek than readers are likely to have (they call frequent lies in his personal life “entrepreneurial hustle,” and spend pages writing about the “headaches” behind his multimillion-dollar homes), and let some of his surprising claims slide as quirks, as with an account of Ek insisting Steve Jobs was calling him to breathe over the phone and intimidate him. 

I think if you do the timeline of this Steve Jobs anecdote, you will find it particularly odd because Steve was kind of busy at that time. He was busy dying. Which makes the anecdote both troubling and kind of sick.

I happened to have a chat with a Hollywood film executive–let’s call him/her “Bubba”–about the Netflix miniseries and the odd way that a book in Swedish was set up for production at Netflix at lightning speed without ever being on a best seller list or gaining an audience.

“Smell that?” said Bubba, doing an impression of Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now. “Nothing else in the world smalls like that. Smells like…astroturf.”

Really? I said. Which part?

“All of it,” Bubba said. “But look, it’s just a story. A bunch of workers got paid to tell a story that some rich guy wanted told a certain way. Those workers may go on to do something important like send their kid to college or write the next Citizen Kane or Chinatown. Or Dirty Harry for that matter. But this month they could pay for gas and their mortgage. Just another day in Hollywood. Let’s get the steak tartare.”

So lots of questions about how this book came to be written and miniseries came to be made. The solution is likely the same as it is for radio payola–disclosure.

Spotify’s ESG Fail: Social

Investopedia ESG criteria

[This is an extension of Spotify’s ESG Fail: Environment]

I started to write this post in the pre-Neil Young era and I almost feel like I could stop with the title. But there’s a lot more to it, so let’s look at the many ways Spotify is a fail on the Social part of ESG.

Before Spotify’s Joe Rogan problem, Spotify had both an ethical supply chain problem and a “fair wage” problem on the music side of its business, which for this post we will limit to fair compensation to its ultimate vendors being artists and songwriters. In fact, Spotify is an example to music-tech entrepreneurs of how not to conduct their business.

Treatment of Songwriters

On the songwriter side of the house, let’s not fall into the mudslinging that is going on over the appeal by Spotify (among others) of the Copyright Royalty Board’s ruling in the mechanical royalty rate setting proceeding known as Phonorecords III. Yes, it’s true that streaming screws songwriters even worse that artists, but not only because Spotify exercised its right of appeal of the Phonorecords III case that was pending during the extensive negotiations of Title I of the Music Modernization Act. (Title I is the whole debacle of the Mechanical Licensing Collective and the retroactive copyright infringement safe harbor currently being litigated on Constitutional grounds.)

The main reason that Spotify had the right to appeal available to it after passing the MMA was because the negotiators of Title I didn’t get all of the services to give up their appeal right (called a “waiver”) as a condition of getting the substantial giveaways in the MMA. A waiver would have been entirely appropriate given all the goodies that songwriters gave away in the MMA. When did Noah build the Ark? Before the rain. The negotiators might have gotten that message if they had opened the negotiations to a broader group, but they didn’t so now they’ve got the hot potato no matter how much whinging they do.

Having said that, you will notice that Apple took pity on this egregious oversight and did not appeal the Phonorecords III ruling. You don’t always have to take advantage of your vendor’s negotiating failures, particularly when you are printing money and when being generous would help your vendor keep providing songs. And Mom always told me not to mock the afflicted. Plus it’s good business–take Walmart as an example. Walmart drives a hard bargain, but they leave the vendor enough margin to keep making goods, otherwise the vendor will go under soon or run a business solely to service debt only to go under later. And realize that the decision to be generous is pretty much entirely up to Walmart. Spotify could do the same.

Is being cheap unethical? Is leveraging stupidity unethical? Is trying to recover the costs of the MLC by heavily litigating streaming mechanicals unethical (or unexpected)? Maybe. A great man once said failing to be generous is the most expensive mistake you’ll ever make. So yes, I do think it is unethical although that’s a debatable point. Spotify has not made themselves many friends by taking that course. But what is not debatable is Spotify’s unethical treatment of artists.

Treatment of Artists

The entire streaming royalty model confirms what I call “Ek’s Law” which is related to “Moore’s Law”. Instead of chip speed doubling every 18 months in Moore’s Law, royalties are cut in half every 18 months with Ek’s Law. This reduction over time is an inherent part of the algebra of the streaming business model as I’ve discussed in detail in Arithmetic on the Internet as well as the study I co-authored with Dr. Claudio Feijoo for the World Intellectual Property Organization. These writings have caused a good deal of discussion along with the work of Sharky Laguana about the “Big Pool” or what’s come to be called the “market centric” royalty model.

Dissatisfaction with the market centric model has led to a discussion of the “user-centric” model as an alternative so that fans don’t pay for music they don’t listen to. But it’s also possible that there is no solution to the streaming model because everybody whose getting rich (essentially all Spotify employees and owners of big catalogs) has no intention of changing anything voluntarily.

It would be easy to say “fair is where we end up” and write off Ek’s Law as just a function of the free market. But the market centric model was designed to reward a small number of artists and big catalog owners without letting consumers know what was happening to the money they thought they spent to support the music they loved. As Glenn Peoples wrote last year (Fare Play: Could SoundCloud’s User-Centric Streaming Payouts Catch On?,

When Spotify first negotiated its initial licensing deals with labels in the late 2000s, both sides focused more on how much money the service would take in than the best way to divide it. The idea they settled on, which divides artist payouts based on the overall popularity of recordings, regardless of how they map to individuals’ listening habits, was ‘the simplest system to put together at the time,’ recalls Thomas Hesse, a former Sony Music executive who was involved in those conversations.

In other words, the market centric model was designed behind closed doors and then presented to the world’s artists and musicians as a take it or leave it with an overhyped helping of FOMO.

As we wrote in the WIPO study, the market centric model excludes nonfeatured musicians altogether. These studio musicians and vocalists are cut out of the Spotify streaming riches made off their backs except in two countries and then only because their unions fought like dogs to enforce national laws that require streaming platforms to pay nonfeatured performers.

The other Spotify problem is its global dominance and imposition of largely Anglo-American repertoire in other countries. The company does this for one big reason–they tell a growth story to Wall Street to juice their stock price. In fact, Daniel Ek just did this last week on his Groundhog Day earnings call with stock analysts. For example he said:

The number one thing that we’re stretched for at the moment is more inventory. And that’s why you see us introducing things such as fan and other things. And then long-term with a little bit more horizon, it’s obviously international.

Both user-centric and market-centric are focused on allocating a theoretical revenue “pie” which is so tiny for any one artist (or songwriter) who is not in the top 1 or 5 percent this week that it’s obvious the entire model is bankrupt until it includes the value that makes Daniel Ek into a digital munitions investor–the stock.

Debt and Stock Buybacks

Spotify has taken on substantial levels of debt for a company that makes a profit so infrequently you can say Spotify is unprofitable–which it is on a fully diluted basis in any event. According to its most recent balance sheet, Spotify owes approximately $1.3 billion in long term–secured–debt.

You might ask how a company that has never made a profit qualifies to borrow $1.3 billion and you’d have a point there. But understand this: If Spotify should ever go bankrupt, which in their case would probably be a reorganization bankruptcy, those lenders are going to stand in the secured creditors line and they will get paid in full or nearly in full well before Spotify meets any of its obligations to artists, songwriters, labels and music publishers, aka unsecured creditors.

Did Title I of the Music Modernization Act take care of this exposure for songwriters who are forced to license but have virtually no recourse if the licensee fails to pay and goes bankrupt? Apparently not–but then the lobbyists would say if they’d insisted on actual protection and reform there would have been no bill (pka no bonus).

Right. Because “modernization” (whatever that means).

But to our question here–is it ethical for a company that is totally dependent on creator output to be able to take on debt that pushes the royalties owed to those creators to the back of the bankruptcy lines? I think the answer is no.

Spotify has also engaged in a practice that has become increasingly popular in the era of zero interest rates (or lower bound rates anyway) and quantitative easing: stock buy backs.

Stock buy backs were illegal until the Securities and Exchange Commission changed the law in 1982 with the safe harbor Rule 10b-18. (A prime example of unelected bureaucrats creating major changes in the economy, but that’s a story for another day.)

Stock buy backs are when a company uses the shareholders money to buy outstanding shares of their company and reduce the number of shares trading (aka “the float”). Stock buy backs can be accomplished a few ways such as through a tender offer (a public announcement that the company will buy back x shares at $y for z period of time); open market purchases on the exchange; or buying the shares through direct negotiations, usually with holders of larger blocks of stock.

Vox’s Matt Yglesias sums it up nicely:

A stock buyback is basically a secondary offering in reverse — instead of selling new shares of stock to the public to put more cash on the corporate balance sheet, a cash-rich company expends some of its own funds on buying shares of stock from the public.

Why do companies buy back their own stock? To juice their financials by artificially increasing earnings per share.

Spotify has announced two different repurchase programs since going public according to their annual report for 12/31/21:

Share Repurchase Program On August 20, 2021, [Spotify] announced that the board of directors [controlled by Daniel Ek] had approved a program to repurchase up to $1.0 billion of the Company’s ordinary shares. Repurchases of up to 10,000,000 of the Company’s ordinary shares were authorized at the Company’s general meeting of shareholders on April 21, 2021. The repurchase program will expire on April 21, 2026. The timing and actual number of shares repurchased depends on a variety of factors, including price, general business and market conditions, and alternative investment opportunities. The repurchase program is executed consistent with the Company’s capital allocation strategy of prioritizing investment to grow the business over the long term. The repurchase program does not obligate the Company to acquire any particular amount of ordinary shares, and the repurchase program may be suspended or discontinued at any time at the Company’s discretion. The Company uses current cash and cash equivalents and the cash flow it generates from operations to fund the share repurchase program.

The authorization of the previous share repurchase program, announced on November 5, 2018, expired on April 21, 2021. The total aggregate amount of repurchased shares under that program was 4,366,427 for a total of approximately $572 million.

Is it ethical to take a billion dollars and buy back shares to juice the stock price while fighting over royalties every chance they get and crying poor? I think not.