How the streaming-music boom is screwing over recording artists

$0.000014 per song? Sign me up!

Musician David Lowrey, formerly of the bands Cracker and Camper Van Beethoven, has been on the warpath against the modern music industry – that of Spotify, Pandora and iTunes – for a while now. His blog, the Trichordist, catalogues the exploitation of artists by the new overlords, and acts as a call to arms.

But sometimes, that exploitation is less severe than it looks on first glance.

Yesterday, Lowrey posted a piece titled "My Song Got Played On Pandora 1 Million Times and All I Got Was $16.89, Less Than What I Make From a Single T-Shirt Sale!". It recounts Lowrey's quarterly earnings for the song "Low", a 1993 hit by Cracker which has had an unexpected renaissance due to being featured in the Emma Watson film The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

From Sirius, 179 plays netted him $181.94; FM/AM radio paid him $1373.78 for 18,797 plays; Spotify gave him $12.05 for 116,260 plays; YouTube gave him $1.95 for 152,900 plays; and Pandora paid $16.89 for 1,159,000 plays.

That's a massive difference for Pandora, and it's no wonder that Lowrey writes angrily that:

Right now Pandora plays one minute of commercials an hour on their free service. Here’s an idea! Play two minutes of commercials and double your revenue!

But the story is actually more complicated than that. For one thing, as Lowrey writes, he only owns 40 per cent of "Low", so the numbers are artificially, er, not-high. For another, the royalties schemes Lowrey is discussing only cover songwriting credits. The performance royalties come through a different channel, and can be quite a bit higher.

But the most important difference is that, although all those services are technically "radio" – which is why they are covered by blanket licensing schemes – they are used in very different ways.

Take a look at the price per play:

Sirius 101.6424
FM Radio 7.3085
Spotify 0.0104
Pandora 0.0014
YouTube 0.0012
Service Price per play (¢)

That runs the gamut alright; but there's three clear categories of service in there. The top end plays the same song to thousands of people at a time. Assuming the average commercial radio station has 5,000 listeners, then the price per listener is actually better than it is on Spotify. Sirius pays much more, but it's also national; and so requiring 73,000 listeners to equal Pandora's price-per-user isn't that big of a deal.

The next most valuable is Spotify. That only plays to one user at a time (theoretically), but lets them choose what they can hear. That leaves it more likely to cannibalise record sales, but also offers the chance for an artist to earn more from their die-hard fans.

After that comes Pandora, which is a real internet-radio service; you can't choose what songs play, nor can you skip through too many you don't like. You can, however, adjust the playlist by giving it an artist or genre to focus on, and it will play things like that.

With all of that considered, it's pretty clear who the real rip-off is: not Pandora, but YouTube. It pays less per play than Pandora, even though it lets you pre-select the songs that will be played. And if you spend enough time with children, you'll know that it's perfectly possible to use YouTube as a jukebox, with judicious use of the playlist function.

But the real problem for artists like Lowrey isn't really the exploitation by the music services at all. Instead, it's that it's getting ever harder to get the millions of listeners required to make a living. To get $1,400 for one song on terrestrial radio, Lowrey probably had to win over ten, maybe twenty people who set the playlists for nearly every commercial radio station in the country. To get that much from Spotify, he would have to get 100,000,000 plays – and even if people love the song, that still requires convincing a good million people to click play.

The economics are against him on that one.

Sirius 101.6424
FM Radio 7.3085
Spotify 0.0104
Pandora 0.0014
YouTube 0.0012
Service Price per play (¢)

 

Photograph: Spotify

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Sadiq Khan's decision to scrap the Garden Bridge is a victory for ordinary Londoners

Perhaps the rich really do want to give something back to London. If they do, I'm sure it'll be lovely. But if they don't, I'm bloody glad I don't have to pay for it.

The obvious question about the Garden Bridge is: where did it all go wrong?

The bridge, after all, should have been a lovely addition to the fabric of the city. An oasis of greenery in an area devoid of it, a new way of crossing the river and a new tourist attraction, akin to New York's High Line, all rolled into one. The Garden Bridge was not like the hilariously pointless “Emirates Air Line”, the cable car to nowhere which is even now ferrying empty pods between two windswept ex-industrial estates in a deserted bit of east London, like one of the follies listed by Marge Simpson at the end of Marge vs the Monorail. The Garden Bridge should have been great.

Yet in the years since it was first proposed, it's sunk further and further into controversy. The Garden Bridge Trust, the charity responsible for getting it built, has failed to raise enough money or acquire the land required to start construction before planning permission runs out this December. Official reports have repeatedly raised questions about the Trust's financial plans.

And today's news that London's mayor Sadiq Khan has written to the Garden Bridge Trust to tell it that the taxpayer would not provide the financial guarantees required for work to continue – effectively killing the scheme – is more likely to be celebrated than mourned. So how did something so lovely end up so loathed?

The obvious explanation is the growing sense that the whole thing has been a bit of a con. When first the bridge was proposed, the intention was that it would be largely privately funded, with just a smidgen of Transport for London money required to get things moving.

The longer things went on, though, the more the ratio between those two sources of funding seemed to change. The predicted cost of the bridge continued to climb; yet the amount of money promised by private donors first flatlined, then began to slide.

So the amount of cash the taxpayer was going to have to put into this thing soared, with no end in sight: without a clear plan for funding the upkeep and maintenance of the bridge, it seemed likely to become a permanent line in the capital's own budget. As a result what had once been pitched as a gift to London began looking more and more like a pointless indulgence we would have to pay for ourselves. It felt like we’d been had.

But I think there's another, more philosophical reason why a lovely idea like a Garden Bridge should have become so unpopular: it fitted with a lingering sense that something has gone terribly wrong with this city.

We are, after all, in the middle of a housing crisis, which is seeing even relatively well-off people forced out of the city, and which has forced untold numbers to live in tiny under-regulated patches of squalor. The official definition of “Affordable Housing” has become a bad joke, yet new housing developments bend over backwards to avoid making even this limited provision. And in the midst of all this, the most visible property developments aren't much-needed homes for the masses, but commercial skyscrapers and luxury apartments.

Contemporary London prides itself on its tolerance and diversity and the way different social classes are all jumbled up together, without any of the ghettoisation seen in, say, Paris. Yet huge chunks of what look like public space are now private estates, often patrolled by private security. In our flattering, metropolitan liberal self-image, this isn't what London is meant to be.

It was, however, exactly what the Garden Bridge was going to be: a private garden masquerading as public space, yet funded by the taxpayer. The people most determined to see it built were a flotilla of rich, posh people: Boris Johnson, George Osborne, Thomas Heatherwick, Joanna Lumley. They were not us, but them – yet still they expected us to pay for it.

And then, once in a while, the bridge would close so that an investment bank or a private equity firm could throw a garden party, drinking champagne and eating canapes in full view of London as a whole, on a bridge we paid for but which we were not allowed to cross.

Perhaps the project isn't dead. Perhaps the Garden Bridge Trust will somehow find enough donors to get it finished without taxpayer support, and even find a way of funding its upkeep. Perhaps the rich really do want to give something back to London. If they do, I'm sure it'll be lovely.

But if they don't, I'm bloody glad we will no longer have to pay for it. This city has quite enough symbols of economic division as it is.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric, where this blog post was originall published. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and also has a Facebook page now for some reason. 

 

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

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