I’ve been involved in music and tech for over 35 years. I’ve watched every “next big thing” arrive with fanfare and leave with casualties. This week’s casualty is anyone who followed influencer advice and installed OpenClaw because some guy with a ring light called it a “must-have for your workflow.”

On March 31st, that must-have became a wide-open door for North Korean hackers. You lose.

I’m not a guru. I don’t have a course to sell you, and I really don’t need your money. I’m just sick of watching people get screwed because they trusted the wrong person. Oh, and gurus.

Open Source Is Open. That’s All.

There’s a myth floating around that “open source” means safe, vetted, altruistic. It means none of those things. It means the code is visible. That’s all. You still have to verify it, and most of you don’t have the background to audit a thousand lines of JavaScript. Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be the first, or the fiftieth, to install some game-changing new tool.

Oh, and again, I’m not for closed source either. I have written about open standards, and I‘ve been burned by closed source like most of you, but I need to be honest: just because I like open source doesn’t mean I’m blind.

Here’s What Actually Happened

Most of you use Axios without knowing it. It’s a program that enables your apps to communicate with the internet (and many programs, not just Open Claw, install it automatically.) They pushed a “new version” that looked completely official and contained a Remote Access Trojan. A RAT.

OpenClaw is the current early-adoption darling, so it pulled in that poison immediately. If you installed or updated those tools, someone else may have the keys to your machine right now. And your business. And everything on it.

Influencers Aren’t Experts. They’re Salesmen. But you knew that.

Most of these people get paid for hype, not for being right. (I don’t like to paint with a broad brush, but sometimes the truth hurts.) They want you installing things first so they get the clicks and the commissions. And yes, you have noticed the “ad-free” socials are full of “ads”.

In this business, being first usually just means being the first victim.

Open source is genuinely useful. Should I mention again, I love Open Source, but not for security; for lifespan.

Open source is an ecosystem. One poisoned root and everything that grows from it is toxic.

What I Do

I don’t have a perfect solution. I have a 35-year habit that keeps me mostly out of trouble.

Don’t chase every patch. Don’t chase every update. If your setup works, leave it the hell alone. Let the early adopters be the crash-test dummies. This also applies to your DAW, plugins, etc.

I run a 72-hour rule on updates. Nothing new gets on my machines for three days. Most attacks like this one surface within 24 hours. Boring is safe.

The Bottom Line

Never trust, always verify isn’t a bumper sticker philosophy. Own the process. Nobody else will.

If an influencer calls something magical, remember who’s doing the trick and who’s standing in the audience. They walked away with the views. You walked away with the RAT.

If You’re Technical, Read This

Check your project folders for node_modules/plain-crypto-js.

If it’s there, you’re compromised. Don’t clean it. Wipe the machine, rotate every password and API key you own, and start from scratch. There are no shortcuts on this one. Yeah it sucks.

I know that stings. But look at your project folder. How many half-finished tracks are sitting there in genres you don’t actually work in? How many “explorations” into styles you’ll never release?

And if you’re a composer or songwriter chasing sync briefs, it’s even worse.

The Sync Brief Scramble

Here’s what happens every time a brief drops.

Rock writers suddenly become jazz trio experts. Classical composers are now trip-hop masters. The guy who’s been doing indie folk for a decade decides he can knock out a trap beat because the brief says “urban.”

I’m not exaggerating. I’ve watched this happen over and over. A brief comes out asking for authentic Cuban son, and suddenly I’m competing against people who’ve never heard Trío Matamoros but spent three hours watching YouTube tutorials on clave.

And you know what the worst part is? A lot of these people think sync is crap music anyway. They think they can fake it. “It’s just background music. How hard can it be?”

Harder than you think. Because the people reviewing those briefs can tell the difference between someone who knows the style and someone who’s winging it.

Why This Is Bad Business

Diluting your brand isn’t just an abstract marketing problem. It’s a practical one.

When you try to write in ten different genres, you’re not getting really good at any of them. You’re spreading yourself thin. And in a world where clients have access to actual specialists, “pretty good at everything” doesn’t get you work. It gets you passed over.

I learned this the expensive way.

Early in my sync career, I chased briefs. A reggaeton brief came through, and I wrote something. It was okay. Technically competent. Hit the marks.

I mean, it’s Latin, isn’t it? Same thing, right?

Wrong.

It didn’t get picked up.

“Okay” doesn’t cut it anymore. Maybe it never did. The brief went to someone who actually writes reggaeton, who knows the genre inside out, who didn’t have to think about where the dembow pattern sits in the mix because they’ve been doing it for years.

I still write reggaeton. But now it’s cowrites with people who live in that world, for projects that align with my Salsa Blanca label. Not chasing briefs. Not trying to be something I’m not.

The AI Problem You’re Not Thinking About

And here’s the part nobody wants to hear: if you’re already diluting yourself by trying to write in ten genres, AI is going to eat your lunch.

You know what AI is really good at? Mediocre genre exercises. Competent but soulless facsimiles of styles it’s been trained on. The kind of “okay” track that checks all the boxes but doesn’t have anything real underneath it.

If you’re competing on “I can write a passable jazz track even though I’m really a rock guy,” you’re not competing against other humans anymore. You’re competing against software that can generate 50 variations of “passable” in the time it takes you to open your DAW.

The only way to stay ahead is to be undeniably good at what you do. And you can’t be undeniably good at everything.

What I Did About It

I‘ve got projects sitting on my hard drive that will never get finished. Hip-hop sketches. Trap ideas. Styles I don’t listen to, don’t love, don’t have any business trying to write.

They’re wasting space. Both on my drive and in my head. Every time I see them, I’m reminded that I wasted time chasing work that didn’t fit.

I wrote about this before (Nobodys Waiting for Your Perfect Song), but this is the flip side of that problem. It’s not just about finishing things. It’s about starting the right things in the first place.

So I stopped. I niched down. Hard.

I created three labels to keep things straight:

Salsa Blanca: My Cuban and Latin music. The stuff I went to Cuba to study. The music I actually know.

It’s Only Music Records: English songs and jazz. The stuff that came out of my time at Dick Grove School of Music and even before. I’ll call it .

Silent Nebula Records: Ambient and new age. A lane I carved out that doesn’t require me to pretend I’m something I’m not.

Three labels. Three focuses. Everything else got deleted.

This isn’t advice. It’s just what worked for me. But the principle is solid: niche down. Pick a lane, get really good at it, and stop pretending you can write everything.

The Real Cost of “Flexibility”

The industry rewards specialists, not generalists.

When a brief asks for authentic flamenco, they don’t want the guy who “can do anything.” They want the person who’s spent twenty years studying Paco de Lucía.

When a label is building a catalog, they don’t want a mish-mash of genres with no cohesive identity. They want a point of view. A sound. Something they can market.

And when you’re trying to build a career, you can’t afford to be mediocre at ten things. You need to be undeniable at one or two.

“Flexibility” in sync usually just means you’re mediocre at everything. And mediocre doesn’t survive. Not against people who are actually good. And definitely not against AI that can churn out mediocre faster than you can.

Pick a Lane

You can learn other styles. You should learn other styles. Expanding your musical vocabulary makes you better at what you actually do.

But stop trying to compete in genres you don’t live in.

Stop chasing briefs that don’t align with who you are as an artist.

Stop cluttering your hard drive with half-finished ideas in styles you’ll never master.

Pick a lane. Get really f’ing good at it. And let the people who actually know those other genres have them.

You’re not a multi-genre artist. And that’s okay. You don’t need to be.

If you don’t know what that means, it means they’re broke. Bankrupt. The company that made Kontakt, Massive, Reaktor, and half the sample libraries sitting on your hard drive is going under.

And if you’ve been paying attention, you already know what this means for you.

Remember when I said you don’t own shit? This is exhibit A.

What Happens When the Company Dies

Here’s the difference between hardware and software when a company goes belly up.

I bought an Alesis ADAT in 1993. Alesis went bankrupt in 2001. The ADAT still works. Still records. Still plays back. Still syncs with the other two I’ve got in the rack. Alesis being dead doesn’t matter. The machine doesn’t need permission from a server to function.

Now let’s talk about your Native Instruments libraries.

You’ve got Kontakt. You’ve got thousands of dollars worth of sample libraries that run in Kontakt. Maybe you’ve got Massive, Reaktor, Komplete, whatever. You paid for it. You “own” it.

Except you don’t.

When NI goes under completely, what happens to the authorization servers? What happens to the software that checks your license every time you open a session? What happens when there’s nobody left to maintain the DRM that keeps your “owned” software locked down?

Your hardware keeps working. Your software becomes a brick.

The iLok Problem, But Worse

At least with iLok, there’s a third party managing the DRM. If one company using iLok goes under, the rest keep working. Native Instruments managed their own authorization. Their own servers. Their own infrastructure.

When they shut down, that infrastructure goes with them.

Sure, maybe someone buys them. Maybe the assets get picked up by a bigger company who keeps the lights on for another few years. Maybe.

Or maybe they don’t. Maybe the new owner decides supporting legacy products isn’t profitable. Maybe they sunset everything older than two years and tell you to upgrade or get fucked.

This has happened before. It’ll happen again.

Gibson bought Cakewalk in 2013 and killed it in 2017. Tascam bought GigaStudio and ran it into the ground. MakeMusic just discontinued Finale after 35 years. These weren’t small companies. They weren’t fly-by-night operations. They were industry standards.

And they’re all dead now.

What NI Didn’t Do

You know what Native Instruments never did? Open-source anything.

Steinberg open-sourced VST. That was the right move. VST is the backbone of the plugin ecosystem, and making it open-source means it’ll outlive any one company.

But NI? Everything proprietary. Kontakt format is locked down. Their authorization systems are locked down. Their sample libraries only work with their software.

When NI goes under, all those libraries you paid for become dead weight on your hard drive.

The samples are still there. The software to play them won’t be.

Sound familiar? That’s because this is the exact same thing that happened with GigaSampler. Revolutionary format. Dead company. Thousands of dollars worth of libraries that don’t work anymore unless you want to spend weeks converting them and hoping the conversions don’t fuck up the keyswitches.

Hardware Doesn’t Need Permission to Work

I’ve got synths from the eighties and nineties. Roland JV-2080. Yamaha TG500. Roland U-220. All of them still work. The companies are still around, but it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t. The machines don’t phone home. They don’t check a license server. They don’t need an internet connection to function.

You turn them on, they work. That’s it.

That’s what ownership looks like.

Software ownership is a lie. You’re licensing access. And when the company that sold you that license disappears, so does your access.

Is It Time to Stop Relying on Software?

I’m not saying ditch your DAW and go back to tape. I’m not saying software is worthless.

I’m saying stop building your entire setup around proprietary formats controlled by companies that might not exist in five years.

Use open-source tools when you can. Use open formats. Use software that doesn’t require a company to stay in business for you to access your own work.

And when you do use proprietary software, know what you’re getting into. You’re not buying a tool. You’re renting access to it. And that access ends the moment the company decides it’s not profitable anymore.

What’s Next

I’m going to start a series on open-source tools and open formats. How to use them. Why they matter. What you can do now to make sure your work outlives the companies that sold you the software.

Because here’s the thing: your work should outlive you. It sure as hell should outlive a software company’s quarterly earnings report.

Native Instruments going under is just the latest proof that you don’t own what you think you do.

Hardware survives bankruptcy. Software doesn’t.

Plan accordingly.

Here’s the thing nobody wants to tell you: it’s not getting better.

Every day you spend tweaking that snare sound, retuning that vocal line, or debating whether the bridge needs another guitar layer is a day you’re not learning what actually matters. You’re not getting feedback from real listeners. You’re not building momentum. You’re not moving forward. You’re just polishing something that fewer and fewer people will care about the longer you wait.

I've seen this same pattern repeat itself with musicians who have real talent, real songs, real potential. One more take. One more mix revision. One more plugin that'll finally make it sound "professional." Meanwhile, someone else with half the skill and twice the balls releases three albums in the same timeframe and builds an actual audience.

Most musicians don’t fail because they lack talent. They fail because they never release anything.

Perfectionism Isn’t Craft

Let me be clear: perfectionism and high standards are not the same thing.

High standards push you to make something excellent. Perfectionism stops you from making anything at all. High standards improve your output. Perfectionism delays it indefinitely. High standards focus on the work. Perfectionism focuses on protecting yourself from criticism.

Look at Steely Dan. Those guys were actual perfectionists. They’d do hundreds of takes, hire the best session players, spend months on a single song. But here’s the difference: they finished and released albums. Their perfectionism served the work. It didn’t prevent the work from existing.

You tweaking that snare sound for the sixth month straight? That’s not serving the work. That’s fear wearing a craftsman’s costume.

And here’s something nobody talks about: your demos probably sounded better than your “final” mixes. That first or second take where you were just feeling it out, before you started overthinking every decision, that’s usually where the magic lives. By take 500 you’ve surgically removed every trace of spontaneity, every human imperfection that made it interesting in the first place.

Real Feedback Beats YouTube Videos

You can watch another tutorial on compression, study another video about vocal chains, research another forum thread about the perfect snare sound. Or you can release something and find out what actually matters. Only one of these approaches gives you real information.

When you release, you discover what actually matters. You learn what parts people remember, what lyrics they quote back to you, what moments make them rewind. You also learn what doesn’t work, what’s confusing, what’s self-indulgent. This information is gold, and you cannot get it any other way.

No amount of thinking replicates the value of real-world response.

There’s also a profound psychological shift that comes from completion instead of endless refinement. Finishing something, even imperfectly, generates confidence. It proves you can follow through. Each release makes the next one easier.

Meanwhile, the perfectionist is still on verse two of song one, convinced that once they nail this one specific thing, everything will click into place. It won’t. What clicks into place is releasing twelve songs over two years and learning from each one what works and what doesn’t.

Next week: How to get real feedback on your music in the digital age, even if you're not a gigging artist.

Momentum Dissolves Resistance

Small wins reduce resistance. The first song is the hardest. But once you finish and release one, the second one feels less daunting. Once you’ve put out three or four, it becomes part of your rhythm.

Finishing one song completely teaches you more than having ten songs stuck at 80%. When you actually complete something, you learn the whole process. You make decisions about arrangement, mixing, mastering, release. You see what works and what doesn’t.

The musician with ten unfinished songs has fifty ideas about what might work. The musician who finished and released those ten songs has ten data points about what actually works. That’s not even close to the same thing.

Here’s what kills that motion: overthinking. Analyzing every decision to death. Comparing your rough mix to someone else’s mastered commercial release. Restarting from scratch every time you hit a rough patch instead of pushing through to completion.

The solution isn’t to think harder. It’s to move faster. Finish the song. Put it out. Start the next one.

People Connect With Humanity, Not Perfection

Listen to old Motown records. You can hear chairs squeaking, breaths, fingers sliding on strings. Listen to early rock and roll, half of it sounds like it was recorded in a tin can. But it works because there’s life in it.

You strip that out when you pitch-correct every note, quantize every hit, and polish every rough edge until the thing sounds like it was made by a machine. Which, by the way, is exactly what AI-generated music sounds like. Perfect. Duplicative. Forgettable.

People don’t connect with perfection. They connect with humanity. The imperfections are often what make music memorable. The slightly off timing that creates feel. The vocal strain that conveys emotion. The weird production choice that makes a song distinctive.

What Actually Works

The musicians who build actual careers aren’t the ones who waited until everything was perfect. They’re the ones who released things before they felt ready, learned from the response, and iterated based on real feedback instead of bedroom theories.

Dick Grove used to tell us (and I’m paraphrasing): “If you want to create your opus, go to college and spend four years on it. If you want to make it in the real world, just write it.” We wrote a big band chart every week at his school. You get over perfectionism real quick when you’re on that kind of schedule. You learn that done and decent beats perfect and never.

There’s an old saying: perfect is the enemy of good. Turns out it’s true. The good song you release today will do more for your career than the perfect song you’ll finish never.

Your career doesn’t get built on one perfect album. It gets built on a body of work that shows growth, consistency, and an actual point of view. Six solid releases over two years is infinitely more valuable than one “perfect” release that took you five years and still isn’t out.

Here’s the reality: what you have right now is probably good enough to release. Not tomorrow. Not when you’re ready. Not when you’ve got that one piece of gear or learned that one technique. Today. With what you have. As you are.

Stop tweaking that snare. Stop retuning that vocal. Stop mixing the same eight bars you’ve mixed forty times already. Finish the song. Put it out. Start the next one.

The music you release imperfectly today will teach you how to make better music tomorrow. That’s not settling. That’s how you actually get good.

Nobody’s waiting for your perfect song. But they might listen to the real one you release this week.

Want the complete framework for actually finishing and releasing your music? I've written a full guide that walks through exactly how to break the perfectionism cycle, including specific steps for recording, mixing, and releasing without overthinking, plus the common traps that kill progress and how to avoid them. Get the full guide here for free.

You can read the full guide below or download the PDF for offline use.

Nobody’s Waiting for Your Perfect Song

Use this infographic as your quick reference while you work:

Now let's get into the details...

Introduction: Get One Song Finished This Week

You’re reading this because you’ve got unfinished music on your hard drive. Songs that are “almost there,” mixes that need “just one more pass,” takes that aren’t quite right yet.

This guide isn’t about making better music. You probably already know how to do that. This is about actually finishing what you start.

Everything here is practical. A 5-day framework to finish one song this week. Limits that force decisions. Checklists that tell you when to stop. No theory, just tools.

Next week I’ll write about how to get real feedback on what you’ve finished. The week after that, we’ll cover release strategy and building momentum.

But first: let’s get one song done.

The 5-Day Finishing Challenge

Finish one song in five days. Not perfect, just done. Here’s exactly how:

Day 1: Define and Record

Pick the song closest to done. If nothing’s close, write something simple today. Don’t overthink this.

Define minimum viable version: what does this song actually need to work? Vocals and guitar? Vocals, bass, drums? That’s probably it. Write it down. That’s your limit.

Record all parts. Set a 10-take limit per part. After 10, move on regardless. If you haven’t nailed it by take 10, the problem isn’t your performance. It’s the arrangement, the tempo, or something you’ll fix on the next song.

Do not edit. Do not comp. Do not mix. Just get everything recorded.

Save the session. Close it. Walk away.

Day 2: Rough Mix

Open yesterday’s session with fresh ears.

Get levels balanced so you can hear everything. Vocals clear, kick and snare audible, bass present, everything else supporting.

Add basic EQ only if something’s obviously muddy or harsh. Not for “character,” for clarity.

Add reverb and delay if the song needs space. One reverb, one delay, done.

Listen through once. Make adjustments. Listen through twice more maximum. If you listen more than three times total, you’re overthinking.

Bounce a rough mix. Save the session. Close it.

Day 3: Final Mix

Open yesterday’s rough mix and the session.

Listen to the rough mix on different speakers. Phone, car, headphones, whatever you’ve got.

Fix only what’s obviously wrong. Vocals buried, kick inaudible, something painfully harsh. That’s it.

Do not A/B against reference tracks. Do not chase “professional sound.” Do not tweak for vibe.

Make your fixes. Listen through once. Does it sound balanced? Can you hear everything that matters? Yes? Bounce it.

Save the session as “FINAL” so you don’t open it again. Close it.

Day 4: Master and Prep

Run your final mix through basic mastering. Use Landr, eMastered, or a simple mastering chain: limiter to -1dB, slight compression if it needs glue, high-pass filter at 30Hz. That’s sufficient.

Don’t compare three different masters. Pick one approach, run it, done.

Create cover art. Phone photo, simple graphic, text on a color, anything that isn’t a blank square. Spend 20 minutes maximum.

Write 2-3 sentences about the song. What it’s about, why you made it, whatever. You’ll need this next week when I cover getting feedback.

Day 5: Done

Your song is finished. Mastered file, artwork, description, ready to go.

Next week’s article will tell you exactly who to send it to and how to get useful feedback before you release it publicly.

For now: you finished something. That puts you ahead of 90% of musicians stuck in perfectionism hell.

Start the next song.

The Decision Matrix: Is This Done?

Use this flowchart anytime you’re stuck deciding if something’s ready.

For Recording:

Can you hear the melody/lyrics clearly?

• Yes → Move on

• No → One more take, then move on anyway

Does it have the right energy/emotion?

• Yes → Move on

• No → Check tempo or arrangement, not your performance

Are you past take 10?

• Yes → Move on regardless, more takes won’t fix this

• No → Keep going but watch the limit

For Mixing:

Can you hear every important element clearly?

• Yes → Next question

• No → Fix levels only, nothing else

Is anything painfully harsh or muddy?

• Yes → EQ that one thing

• No → Next question

Have you listened to this mix more than 5 times today?

• Yes → Save and close, you’re done

• No → Next question

Would you send this to a friend right now?

• Yes → You’re done, bounce it

• No → Fix the one thing stopping you, then you’re done

For Mastering:

Is it as loud as other music you listen to?

• Yes → Done

• No → Add limiting, then done

Does it sound decent on phone speakers?

• Yes → Done

• No → Check your low end, then done

Have you tried more than two mastering approaches?

• Yes → Pick one and stop

• No → Stop anyway after this one

The Override:

Anytime you catch yourself saying “just one more thing,” ask: will this make it noticeably better or just different?

If the answer isn’t obviously “better,” you’re done.

Recording Limits That Actually Work

Set these rules before you start any recording session. They force decisions instead of endless options.

Take Limits:

• Vocals: 10 takes maximum per section

• Guitars/Bass: 5 takes per part

• Solos/Lead parts: 3 takes (first take energy usually wins)

• Drums: 5 takes per section if programming, 3 if playing live

If you haven’t nailed it within these limits, the problem is not your playing. It’s tempo, arrangement, or you’re tired.

Time Limits:

• Recording session: 3 hours maximum

• After 3 hours your ears are shot and your judgment is garbage

• Schedule another session tomorrow if needed, don’t push to 6 hours

The First Take Rule:

• Always keep take 1, even if you do more takes

• 70% of the time, take 1 or 2 has better energy than take 47

• Before you pick your “best” technical take, compare it to take 1

• If take 1 has more life, use take 1

The Comp Exception:

• If you must comp vocals, comp from the first 5 takes only

• Don’t create a Frankenstein from 20 different takes

• Limit yourself: verse from take 2, chorus from take 1, bridge from take 3, done

• More than 3 sections comped means you should’ve just done another full take

When to Stop Recording:

Stop immediately if any of these apply:

• You have one complete take that works (even if imperfect)

• You’ve hit your take limit

• You’re thinking “maybe I should change the arrangement” (do that next song)

• It’s been more than 2 hours on one part

• You’re getting worse, not better

• You’re thinking about gear instead of performance

The Mixing Checklist: How to Know When to Stop

Mixing never feels done because there’s infinite options. This checklist creates a finish line.

Phase 1: Balance (30 minutes maximum)

□ Can you hear the vocals clearly? □ Can you hear the kick and snare? □ Can you hear the bass? □ Is anything buried that should be audible? □ Does anything fight for the same space?

If yes to first four and no to the last: move to Phase 2

Phase 2: Cleanup (30 minutes maximum)

□ Is anything painfully harsh? (Cut those frequencies) □ Is anything super muddy? (Cut low-mids around 200-400Hz) □ Does anything need space? (Add one reverb, one delay maximum) □ Are there clicking, popping, or obvious technical problems?

If fixed: move to Phase 3

Phase 3: Final Check (One listen through, no touching the mouse)

□ Does this sound balanced? □ Can you hear everything that matters? □ Would you send this to someone right now?

If yes: bounce it. You’re done.

Signs You’re Done (Stop Immediately):

• You’re tweaking the same thing for the third time

• You can’t remember what you just changed

• You’re comparing your mix to mastered commercial releases

• You’re adjusting things by 0.5dB

• You’ve been mixing for more than 2 hours in one session

• You’re thinking “maybe I should rerecord this part”

• You’re solo’ing tracks and making decisions (always listen in context)

• You’re watching YouTube tutorials instead of mixing

The 24-Hour Rule:

Mix until the checklist is complete. Bounce it. Close the session.

Listen tomorrow on different speakers (phone, car, earbuds).

Fix only what’s obviously broken. Vocal buried, kick inaudible, something painful.

Bounce again. Close the session. You’re done.

Do not open it a third time.

Mixing Time Limit:

Total time per song: 3-4 hours maximum across 2 days.

After that you’re making it different, not better. And you’ve lost perspective.

Common Traps: If You’re Doing This, Stop

Trap: You’ve been working on the same song for more than 2 months

Fix: Give yourself 1 week to finish or abandon it. Either finish it or admit it’s not worth finishing. Both are valuable.

Trap: You’re watching mixing tutorials instead of mixing

Fix: Close YouTube. Mix for 1 hour using only what you already know. You’ll learn more.

Trap: You’re comparing your rough mix to mastered commercial releases

Fix: Stop. Compare to where you were 6 months ago. Or compare to nothing. Just make it sound balanced.

Trap: You’re on take 47 of the same part

Fix: Stop recording. Listen to takes 1-5. Pick the one with the most life. After take 10 you’re removing energy, not adding it.

Trap: You’re tweaking the same EQ for the third time

Fix: Close the session. Walk away. You’re past improvement and into destruction of perspective.

Trap: You’re researching what plugin to buy

Fix: Make 3 complete songs using only stock plugins. Then reassess. (You probably don’t need more tools.)

Trap: You’re restarting the same song from scratch

Fix: Finish the current version even if it’s flawed. Apply lessons to the next song, not this one. Restarting is sophisticated procrastination.

Trap: You’re waiting for inspiration before you work

Fix: Set a timer for 30 minutes. Work on something regardless of how you feel. Inspiration shows up during work, not before it.

Trap: You’re asking 10 different people for mixing advice

Fix: Pick one trusted source or trust your ears. Too many opinions creates paralysis.

Trap: You’re recording everything 5 different ways “to have options”

Fix: Commit to one approach. Record it. Move on. Options later means paralysis later.

Trap: You’re waiting for the “right time” to finish

Fix: There is no right time. The right time is now. Finish this week.

The Pattern:

If you’ve been stuck in the same place for more than a week, you’re in a trap.

The fix is always the same: make a decision and move forward.

Any decision beats no decision.

Finished and flawed beats perfect and nonexistent.

Your 7-Day Progress Log

Track this for 7 days while you finish your first song. Copy this into a document or notebook.

Daily Check-In (2 minutes before bed):

Day: ___________

Today I worked on: ___________

Time spent: _____ hours

Did I finish anything today? □ Yes - what: ___________ □ No

If no, why not? □ Overthinking what to do □ Redoing something I already did □ Researching instead of doing
□ Got stuck on: ___________ □ Legitimate reason: ___________

Tomorrow I will: ___________

End of Week Review:

This week I:

• Finished: ___________

• Got stuck on: ___________

• Learned: ___________

Be honest: Did perfectionism show up? Where?

Next week I will finish: ___________

The Goal:

By day 7, you should have one finished song.

If you don’t, look at your log. Where did you get stuck? Which trap showed up most?

That’s what you work on next week while finishing song two.

What Happens Next

You’ve got this guide. Now use it.

Do the 5-Day Challenge. Follow the limits. Use the decision matrix when you get stuck. Watch for the traps.

One week from now you should have a finished song.

Next week I’ll write about what to do with it:

• Who to send it to for real feedback (not your supportive friends)

• How to ask questions that get useful answers

• Where to test it before wide release

• What feedback actually matters

The week after that: release strategy, building momentum, catalog building for independent musicians.

But none of that matters if you don’t have finished music.

So finish one song this week.

Then come back next week and we’ll talk about what to do with it.

Final Word: Just Start

Everything in this guide works if you use it.

The 5-Day Challenge will get you a finished song. The limits will force you past perfectionism. The decision matrix will unstick you. The traps checklist will show you your patterns.

Here’s what you do today:

1. Pick the song closest to done (or start a simple new one)

2. Set your limits before you start

3. Follow Day 1 of the challenge

4. Track it in your progress log

One week from now you’ll have a finished song. That’s more than most musicians will finish this month.

Then you do it again. And again.

That’s how catalogs get built. That’s how skills develop. That’s how careers happen.

Perfect builds nothing.

Finished builds everything.

Start today.

Not access to new plugins. Not access to updates. Access to your own fucking work.

That mix you did in 2019? The one the client still plays at conferences? It’s got four plugins from this company baked into the master bus. Stop paying, and that session opens with holes in it. Silent spots where the compressor used to be. A reverb that’s now just empty space. Your work, held ransom.

This is where we are now. And it happened so gradually that most people didn’t notice until they were in too deep to get out.

The Lie of Ownership

Look, I don’t remember when I bought my first software synth. Could’ve been ‘98, could’ve been 2001. What I do remember is that it came on a CD-ROM, I installed it, and it worked.

Does it still work? Probably not. The 32-bit to 64-bit transition killed half the plugins I owned. Apple’s been playing musical chairs with operating systems for two decades. Maybe I could’ve updated some of them. Maybe I did and they’re still sitting there in a folder somewhere.

The point is, if I needed to open those old sessions now, it would be a fucking archaeological dig. And I have done that. I bought Cakewalk Sonar back when it was Cakewalk 1 for DOS. Yeah, I’m that old. I’ve still got .wrk projects from 1990 sitting on a hard drive.

Do they work? Sort of. Gibson bought the company in 2013, shut it down in 2017. Just killed it. Everybody who’d been using it for years got fucked. BandLab picked up the pieces later and made it free, which saved some people’s asses, but that was charity. You can’t plan around charity.

Or how about GigaSampler? Remember that? Revolutionary when it came out. Streaming samples from disk instead of loading everything into RAM. Changed how people worked with sample libraries. I used it for years.

Then Tascam bought GigaStudio, ran it into the ground, and killed it in 2008. All those .gig libraries? Dead format. You can convert some of them if you want to spend days doing it and hope the conversions don’t fuck up the keyswitches and velocity layers. Most people just moved on and lost access to thousands of dollars worth of sample libraries.

The samples still exist on your hard drive. The software to play them doesn’t. That’s the difference between owning something and licensing access to it.

Finale: A Masterclass in Planned Obsolescence

Here’s another one. Finale. I owned Finale 1.0 for Windows back in 1989 or so. I know that software like the back of my hand. Twenty-five years of muscle memory. Twenty-five years of scores and arrangements and charts.

It still works. For now.

But Apple’s going to break it with the next OS update. Windows 12 will probably kill it too. And MakeMusic already announced they’re discontinuing it entirely. After 35 years, they’re just done. No more updates. No more support. Good luck.

So now what? All those Finale files. Decades of work. They open now, but for how long? And even if I wanted to move to Dorico or Sibelius, the import process is a nightmare. Formatting breaks. Articulations don’t translate. It’s not a migration, it’s a rebuild.

This is what happens when your data is locked in proprietary formats controlled by a single company. When that company decides you’re not profitable anymore, your work becomes a museum piece.

You want to avoid this? Use open-source software. Or at least open-source formats. Something that doesn’t require a company to stay in business for you to access your own shit.

Remember when MP3 was a licensed format? Software developers had to pay Fraunhofer for every copy they sold. That cost got passed to you. Then the patents expired in 2017, and suddenly MP3 was free. But for 20 years, you were paying a tax on a codec because someone owned the math.

That’s the game. They own the format, they own your work. And when they’re done with it, so are you.

Waves: The Blueprint for Extortion

Here’s how it works. You buy a Waves plugin in 2015. Pay $200, maybe $300. It’s yours, right? Says so right on the site. “Buy now.”

Works great for three years. Then you get the notice: your version is now “unsupported.”

Unsupported doesn’t mean broken. Means Waves isn’t updating it anymore. Means the next time Apple or Microsoft changes something in the OS, your $300 plugin might stop working. Might not. But Waves isn’t fixing it if it does.

Want the supported version? That’s $240. For software you already bought. And not just once. Every fucking year, there’s a new version, and your old version slides into “unsupported” status like clockwork.

This isn’t a bug. It’s the business model.

But wait, there’s more. Your Waves licenses live on a USB dongle or are tied to a specific computer. That dongle dies? That computer craps out? You’re fucked. Now you get to contact Waves customer support and beg them to “allow” you access to the software you already paid for.

And here’s the best part: they’ll likely tell you to buy a second license. Not replace the one you own. Buy another one. Because the license you purchased apparently came with the condition that it only works as long as the physical hardware it’s tied to doesn’t fail.

Hardware fails. That’s what hardware does. But Waves built a business model around treating hardware failure as a reason to charge you again.

I watched them do this to people for a decade before the backlash got loud enough that they had to walk some of it back. But the damage was done. They proved you could sell someone software and then charge them again for the privilege of continuing to use it. Every other company took notes.

Now it’s subscriptions all the way down, and at least that’s honest. You’re not buying shit. You’re renting until you can’t afford to rent anymore.

Your Back Catalog Is a Ticking Time Bomb

Used to be, your old projects were an asset. A catalog you could revisit, remix, repurpose. I’ve got 2-inch master tapes from the eighties that still play. Scratchy, sure. But they play.

Your 2019 Pro Tools session? That’s not an asset. That’s a liability spreadsheet.

Open it up. Count how many third-party plugins are in there. Now count how many of those companies you’re still paying. Now imagine you stop paying. What happens?

You get a session that opens with errors. Missing plugins. Silent channels. Effects that don’t exist anymore because you’re not subscribed. And sure, you can replace them. Find alternatives. Rebuild the chain. But it’s not the same session anymore, is it? It’s archaeology. You’re reconstructing something that used to work perfectly fine until you stopped feeding the meter.

Multiply that across 200 sessions. Ten years of work. Every project a minefield of potential missing pieces.

This is the deal now. Your catalog isn’t yours. It’s a dependency chain, and every link costs money forever.

When the Company Dies, Your Work Dies With It

And all of this assumes the companies stay in business. That the authentication servers stay online. That nobody decides your product line isn’t profitable enough to maintain.

I’ve seen companies go under. Seen them get acquired and gutted. Seen product lines abandoned mid-cycle because the new owner didn’t give a shit about legacy users.

Your software doesn’t have a warranty. It has a lifespan, and that lifespan is tied to the financial health of a company you don’t control and can’t predict.

iLok is the perfect example. Thousands of plugins. Hundreds of companies. All using the same third-party DRM system. If iLok has a bad quarter, if they get bought by the wrong company, if they just decide the music software business isn’t worth it anymore, what happens?

You’ve got a hard drive full of sessions you can’t open. Plugins you paid for that won’t authorize. No offline verification that lasts. No physical backup. Just faith that a DRM company you’ve never met stays solvent and continues to give a shit about musicians.

I bought an Alesis ADAT in 1993. The company went bankrupt in 2001. The ADAT still records. Still plays back. Still syncs with the other two I’ve got in the rack.

Try that with a plugin that requires server authentication.

The Fantasy You’re Paying For

And here’s the thing that pisses me off most: You’re not even using half this shit.

You’ve got a subscription to Slate Everything Bundle or Plugin Alliance or whatever. Forty-seven compressor plugins. You use two. One’s the stock Pro Tools compressor. The other is some 1176 emulation you’ve had forever and actually understand.

But you keep paying $30 a month because what if you need that obscure British console emulation? What if there’s a session where only that one specific plate reverb will work?

You won’t. There won’t be.

This is Gear Acquisition Syndrome with a monthly billing cycle. The same brain chemistry that makes you buy another guitar you don’t need, except now it’s frictionless. Just keeps charging your card. You don’t even feel it until you look at your statement and realize you’ve paid $2,000 this year for plugins you opened twice.

Meanwhile, the compressor and EQ that came with your DAW? They’re fine. Maybe even good. Engineers made hit records with stock Logic plugins twenty years ago. Radiohead made Kid A with stock software. But we’ve been sold this idea that we need boutique emulations of hardware we’ve never touched to make records that sound like records made with gear we’ve never used.

It’s a con. A subscription con. And it works because we’re musicians, and musicians are suckers for the promise that the right tool will unlock something we don’t have yet.

You’re Building on Sand

So what do you do?

You keep paying. Because you’re in too deep. Because your templates are built around these tools. Because your muscle memory knows these interfaces. Because going back and rebuilding everything with stock plugins or one-time purchases sounds like archaeological work you don’t have time for.

Or you accept that your catalog has an expiration date. That at some point, you’ll stop paying, or the company will stop existing, and all those sessions will become historical artifacts instead of working projects.

There’s no good answer here. The industry moved from selling tools to selling access, and they did it because access is more profitable. You pay forever or you lose everything. That’s the deal.

I’ve got hardware from the eighties and nineties that still works. Powers on. Does exactly what it did when I bought it.

I’ve got software from five years ago that won’t open without errors.

That’s where we are. And it’s not getting better.

Let’s skip the philosophy and get specific.

Everyone wants to talk about whether AI can replicate “the human soul” or “genuine artistic expression.” That’s a nice conversation to have over coffee. But it’s not the conversation we need to be having.

The real question is: who’s losing work to AI right now? Not in some hypothetical future. Right now.

Here’s the list nobody wants to make.

The Middle Class of Music

There’s a whole ecosystem of working musicians you’ve never heard of. They’re not superstars. They’re not playing arenas. They’re making a living, or they were.

Production music libraries. You know that background track playing during a YouTube video? That upbeat corporate montage music? That “inspiring” bed under a commercial? Someone used to get paid to write that. Past tense.

AI can generate 50 variations of “uplifting corporate background music” in the time it takes to make coffee. The clients don’t care who wrote it. They never did. They cared that it was cheap, fast, and didn’t have complicated licensing.

Yeah, some sync agents and music supervisors are putting up resistance right now. They’re drawing lines, making statements about only working with human-created music. Good for them. I mean that sincerely.

But the cat’s out of the bag. It’s already starting. Many songwriters, even top-tier, well-known ones, are using AI for “ideas.” They’re not admitting it publicly, but it’s happening. A chord progression here, a melodic suggestion there. They’ll polish it, humanize it, make it their own. But the AI is in the room.

Once that door opens, it doesn’t close.

Commercial jingles and advertising music. Same story. Ad agencies need music that fits a brief and doesn’t cost much. AI does that now. No negotiations, no revisions, no personalities to manage.

Background scores for content. Podcasts, corporate videos, indie films, online courses. All of that needed music. A lot of composers made decent money filling that need. That market is evaporating.

These weren’t glamorous gigs. But they were real income. Mortgage payments. Health insurance. The kind of work that let musicians keep making music.

Session Musicians (Sort Of)

The top session players are still working. If you’re the guy who can nail a part in one take, who brings something special to the track, who has relationships with producers, you’re probably fine. For now.

But here’s what changed even before AI showed up: remote collaboration killed the need for local session players. Used to be, if you needed a string section in Nashville, you hired Nashville players. Now? You hire someone in Prague and get the files overnight.

AI just accelerates that trend. Why hire anyone when the software can generate a convincing string arrangement in minutes?

The session musician as it used to exist is already over. AI is just making it more obvious.

The Regional and Local Scene

Cover bands and wedding bands. Look, DJs already gutted this market years ago. Why pay five musicians when one guy with a laptop can keep people dancing?

But now that laptop doesn’t even need a guy. AI DJ services are already a thing. They read the room, adjust the vibe, take requests. Cheaper than a DJ, infinitely cheaper than a band.

Teaching gigs. YouTube already gutted this market. Why pay for lessons when you can watch thousands of free tutorials?

But now? AI tutors and lesson software are taking it further. They give you unlimited practice time, instant feedback, and a structured curriculum for $10 a month. They don’t cancel. They don’t show up late. They don’t have bad days.

The counterargument is that people want human interaction, mentorship, the personal touch. Sure. Some do. But most people just want to learn enough guitar to play “Wonderwall” at a party. An app can do that.

What This Actually Means

These aren’t theoretical scenarios. This is happening right now.

I’m not saying every one of these jobs disappears overnight. I’m saying the volume of work is shrinking, the rates are dropping, and the musicians who depended on this income are scrambling to figure out what’s next.

“Adapt” sounds easy when it’s not your rent check on the line.

The carriage makers adapted when cars came along. Some retrained, some found new industries, some thrived. But a lot of them just lost their livelihood and had to start over. That’s the part nobody likes to talk about.

No Solutions Here

I don’t have a tidy answer for how to fix this. I don’t have a roadmap for pivoting your career or a motivational speech about resilience.

What I do have is this: you can’t prepare for what you won’t acknowledge.

The first step is being honest about what’s at risk. Not the superstars. Not the artists with devoted fanbases. The working musicians in the middle. The ones nobody thinks about until they’re gone.

That’s the list nobody wants to make.

But somebody needed to.

Most non-musicians don’t care about who made the music. There, I said it.

I know that stings. I know it goes against everything we want to believe about our craft. But watch someone using Spotify. They put on a playlist. Whatever comes on comes on. They either listen or press next.

They’re not checking liner notes. They’re not following artist journeys. They’re picking a vibe and letting the algorithm feed them.

And while there are artists they care about (sure, they’ll buy tickets to see Taylor or Kendrick if they roll through town), mostly they don’t. And if you live outside the major metros where touring bands actually come around? Even less so.

You know what bothers me most about the “AI can never replace real artists” argument? It’s not that it’s wrong. It’s that it’s only true for about 1% of the music that gets made and consumed.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle

At 65, I wish things would return to the good old days. I really do.

But I’ve been around long enough to know how this story ends. I’ve watched technology disrupt music over and over, and every single time, the same pattern plays out.

I remember real studios. You know, the kind with one compressor per room and actual tape machines. You made decisions because you had to commit. You couldn’t undo. You couldn’t have seventeen plugins on every track because there weren’t seventeen of anything.

Then bedroom producers came along with their DAWs and their cracked software, and the old guard said, “This isn’t real music production.” Guess what? The world didn’t care. Good enough won.

Then streaming came along and crushed the album format, and everyone said, “People will never stop buying music they love.” Guess what? They did. Convenience won.

Now AI is here, and everyone’s saying, “But people want the human connection! They want the story!”

Do they though? Do they really?

The Story Argument Only Works for Superstars

Look, I get it. People fall in love with stories. They follow artists through their journey: the early struggles, the breakout moment, the evolution. That’s real.

But here’s what that argument conveniently ignores: that only applies to a fraction of the music people actually listen to.

Think about the last ten songs that played on your Spotify. How many of those artists could you name? How many of their “stories” do you know? How many do you actually care about?

For most people, music is functional. It’s the thing that makes the workout less boring. It’s the thing that fills the silence on the commute. It’s the thing playing in the background at the coffee shop while they’re trying to finish an email.

Nobody at that coffee shop is thinking, “Wow, I really connect with the artist’s journey on this lo-fi hip-hop beat.” They just don’t want to hear silence.

And that’s where AI is coming for the industry. Not for the artists who spent years playing dive bars and building a following one small venue at a time. Not for the ones with superfans who follow every Instagram story.

AI is coming for everything else. And “everything else” is most of the music that exists.

The Pattern: Convenience Always Wins

Here’s what I’ve learned watching technology eat the music business for forty-plus years: the mass market doesn’t optimize for quality. It optimizes for convenience and “good enough.”

MP3s sounded like garbage compared to CDs. Didn’t matter. People wanted 1,000 songs in their pocket, not perfect fidelity.

Early streaming was compressed to hell. Didn’t matter. People wanted access to everything without having to own anything.

Yeah, there are hi-fi streaming services now. Deezer, Tidal, Spotify’s adding a premium tier for better quality. You know who uses them? Audiophiles. Gearheads. People like us. The mass market is perfectly happy with the standard compressed stream because it’s good enough and it’s easy.

AI-generated music is going to follow the exact same trajectory.

It doesn’t have to be as good as a real artist pouring their soul into a track. It just has to be good enough to fill the playlist slot. Good enough to pass as background music. Good enough that the average listener doesn’t notice or care.

And here’s the kicker: it’s getting better fast. What sounded like obvious robot trash a year ago is starting to sound... fine. Not great. But fine.

Fine is all it needs to be.

The Geographic Reality Nobody Mentions

If you live in New York, LA, Nashville, or Austin, you’re in a bubble. You can see live music seven nights a week. You can catch touring acts. You can stumble into a club and discover your new favorite artist.

But most people don’t live in those cities.

Most people live in places where live music means a cover band at the brewery on Friday nights. Where “touring artists” means the county fair books a washed-up 80s act once a year. Where the connection between listener and artist was already tenuous at best.

In those places, the “story” of the artist was never part of the equation. Music was something that came through the speakers. That’s it.

AI doesn’t change that dynamic. It just makes it cheaper and easier to fill those speakers.

Your Future Will Involve AI

I’m not saying this to be a pessimist. Well, in this piece maybe I am. But I have hope that this, like all disruptive technologies, will just be another shift. The carriage makers didn’t disappear when Ford fired up the assembly line. They adapted, retrained, found new work. Some thrived. The industry changed, but people figured it out.

I’m saying this because I’ve lived through enough industry shifts to recognize the pattern.

The genie is out of the bottle. You can’t put it back. You can’t wish it away. You can’t regulate it into submission.

The question isn’t whether AI will take over parts of the music industry. It’s already happening. The question is how big those parts will be, and how fast.

If you lived in the big cities through the 90s, you remember cartage companies. They hauled gear to sessions. They made a shit ton of money doing it. Now? Home studios killed that business.

What about music copyists? Mostly gone since computer engraving took over. I remember many a night creating swindles1 and racing to get them reproduced by 11pm when the downbeat was at 9am the next morning. Had to copy the parts myself, by hand. No need anymore. Just print them from the computer.

Those jobs didn’t disappear because the work wasn’t valuable. They disappeared because technology made them obsolete.

Will AI replace the superstar artists with devoted fanbases and compelling stories? Probably not. Those people have something that’s hard to replicate: a genuine human connection with an audience that’s invested in them as people, not just content generators.

But will AI replace the thousands of working musicians cranking out production music, stock tracks, commercial jingles, background scores, and playlist filler?

Yeah. It will.

And the uncomfortable truth is: most listeners won’t notice. Because most listeners never knew those people existed in the first place.

What This Means

I don’t have a tidy conclusion for you. I don’t have a plan to save the music industry or protect musician jobs or turn back the clock.

What I do have is four decades of watching technology disrupt everything I thought was sacred about this business, and learning that resistance is pointless. Adaptation is the only option.

The romantic notion that “people will always want real human artists” is comforting. It’s also incomplete. People will always want real human artists for the 1% of music they actually care about.

For the other 99%? They just want something that sounds good enough while they’re folding laundry.

AI can do that. And it will.

But knowing it’s possible and actually setting it up are two different things.

So here are 10 prompts you can copy, paste, and customize right now. Pick one. Test it. Schedule it if it works. Don’t try to do all ten at once or you’ll never check the results and the whole thing becomes pointless.

Start with the one that would save you the most time.

1. Daily Music Industry News Digest

What it does: Keeps you informed about what other musicians are struggling with and what’s changing in the industry without losing hours in Reddit threads.

Simple Prompt:

Search for the top 20 questions musicians asked yesterday about Spotify playlisting and music distribution. What problems are coming up repeatedly? What's changing? Summarize in 3 short paragraphs I can read in 2 minutes.

Customize it: Change “Spotify playlisting and music distribution” to whatever you actually care about: sync licensing, TikTok marketing, Bandcamp strategies, whatever.

2. Upcoming Music Events & Opportunities

What it does: Finds submission deadlines and opportunities 45 days out so you can plan instead of scrambling at the last minute.

Simple Prompt:

Search for sync licensing opportunities and music library submission deadlines happening 45 days from today. Focus on indie-friendly opportunities that don't require exclusive deals. Include submission links and deadlines. Format as a simple list.

Customize it: Change “sync licensing opportunities” to playlist submissions, music conferences, grant deadlines, or whatever opportunities you’re looking for. Adjust the 45-day window to whatever planning timeline makes sense for you.

3. Social Media Content Calendar Generator

What it does: Gives you content ideas two weeks in advance so you’re not staring at Instagram wondering what to post.

Simple Prompt:

Search for music-related holidays or events happening 14 days from today. For each one, give me one content idea I could post that connects to my story as an indie musician. Keep it practical, not cheesy.

Customize it: Adjust the 14-day window. Add your genre or specific angle. For example: “connects to my story as an indie folk musician” or “relates to my experience as a session player.”

4. Gear Deal Tracker

What it does: Tracks actual deals on gear you’re watching so you stop paying full price or missing limited-time sales.

Simple Prompt:

Search for legitimate deals on audio plugins posted in the last 24 hours. Skip subscription services. Focus on one-time purchase deals with actual discounts (not permanent "sales"). Include price, regular cost, and expiration date.

Customize it: Replace “audio plugins” with whatever you’re actually shopping for: interfaces, microphones, MIDI controllers, studio monitors. Get specific if you want: “deals on Focusrite interfaces” or “sales on Neumann microphones.”

5. Sync Licensing Opportunity Scanner

What it does: Finds music libraries and sync opportunities that are actually accepting submissions in your genre right now.

Simple Prompt:

Search for music libraries currently accepting submissions in the indie rock/folk genre. Include submission requirements, whether they're exclusive or non-exclusive, and contact information. Skip libraries that require publisher representation.

Customize it: Change the genre to match your music. Add other filters like “under 30-second instrumentals” or “vocal tracks only” if that’s what you have ready to submit.

6. Release Strategy Researcher

What it does: Shows you what’s actually working for indie artists right now, not what worked three years ago.

Simple Prompt:

Search for case studies or stories about indie artists who released music in the last 30 days. What platforms did they use? What marketing worked? Summarize 3 examples in 2-3 sentences each.

Customize it: Add your genre for more relevant examples. Specify budget level: “indie artists with small budgets” or “bedroom producers.” Focus on specific platforms if you want: “indie artists using Bandcamp” or “musicians who went TikTok-first.”

7. Playlist Pitch Tracker

What it does: Finds playlist curators who are actually accepting submissions right now instead of ones who closed submissions six months ago.

Simple Prompt:

Search for active Spotify playlist curators in the indie folk genre who are currently accepting submissions. Include playlist name, follower count, and how to submit. Update weekly.

Customize it: Change the genre. Adjust how often it updates based on how actively you’re pitching. Add filters like “playlists with 10,000+ followers” or “curators who respond to DMs.”

8. Music Marketing Trend Spotter

What it does: Separates real tactics from “buy my course” bullshit by showing you what’s actually getting results.

Simple Prompt:

Search for music marketing tactics that indie artists tried in the last 2 weeks. What worked? What failed? Focus on small-budget strategies. Summarize in 3 paragraphs with specific examples.

Customize it: Focus on specific platforms: “TikTok marketing tactics” or “Instagram Reels strategies.” Add your situation: “artists with no budget” or “musicians with day jobs.”

9. Session Work Opportunities

What it does: Finds paid gigs without wading through “great exposure” offers.

Simple Prompt:

Search for paid remote session work for guitar players posted in the last 48 hours. Skip "exposure" gigs. Include pay rate if listed, project description, and contact info. Format as a simple list.

Customize it: Change the instrument. Add your specialty: “jazz guitar” or “fingerstyle acoustic.” Set minimum rates if you want: “paying at least $100 per track.”

10. Administrative Task Reminder

What it does: Nags you to do the boring maintenance work you always forget until something breaks.

Simple Prompt:

Remind me every Monday at 9am to: backup project files, check streaming analytics, review social media performance from last week, update website if needed, and follow up on any pending collaborations.

Customize it: Add or remove tasks based on what you actually need to track. Change the day and time. Make it bi-weekly if weekly feels like overkill.

How to Actually Use These

1. Pick one prompt. Just one.

2. Copy it into ChatGPT or whatever AI tool you’re using.

3. Run it manually a few times. See what you get.

4. Adjust it until the output is actually useful.

5. Then schedule it: “Please schedule this as a task that runs daily at 7am” (or weekly, or whatever).

Don’t set up all ten at once. You won’t check them. They’ll pile up. You’ll ignore them.

Start with the one that would save you the most time right now. If it works after a week, add another one.

The goal isn’t to automate everything. The goal is to stop wasting time on repetitive research so you can spend more time making music.

Which one are you setting up first?

But here’s the thing nobody talks about: AI is really fucking good at the boring administrative work that eats your day. The research. The tracking. The organizational bullshit that has to get done but doesn’t require your creative brain.

You shouldn’t let AI make your music. But you should absolutely let it do your homework.

Why AI Sucks at Music

AI doesn’t understand intention. It doesn’t know why a song should build tension in the bridge or why a certain chord progression hits emotionally. It’s pattern-matching based on millions of songs it’s analyzed, and the result is technically competent but creatively dead.

I’ve heard AI-generated tracks. They sound fine. They sound like background music for a commercial. They sound like something you’d hear in an elevator and forget immediately.

That’s not music. That’s audio wallpaper.

If you’re a musician, your job is to make something that matters. Something that connects. Something that only you could make because it came from your experience and your perspective and your particular combination of influences and fuck-ups.

AI can’t do that. It can only approximate what’s already been done.

So don’t use it for that.

Why AI Doesn’t Suck at Everything Else

But tracking gear deals? Searching for sync opportunities? Monitoring submission deadlines? Generating a list of playlist curators who are actually accepting submissions right now?

That’s not creative work. That’s research. And AI is great at research.

You’re not asking it to be original. You’re asking it to scan the internet for specific information, filter out the noise, and give you something actionable. That’s what it was built to do.

And if you set it up right, it does it automatically while you’re sleeping or making music or doing literally anything else.

What AI Tasks Actually Look Like

Here’s the deal: ChatGPT and other AI tools now let you schedule recurring tasks. You write a prompt once, test it until it works, then schedule it to run daily or weekly.

It’s like setting a Google Alert, except the AI actually processes the information instead of just dumping a list of links on you.

Here are ten tasks you can set up that actually help:

Daily Music Industry News Digest

Search for the top 20 questions asked yesterday about music distribution, sync licensing, Spotify playlisting, or music marketing and identify patterns. What are other musicians struggling with right now? What’s changing that might affect how I release my next track or where I should focus my energy?

This keeps you informed without losing two hours in Reddit threads where the same arguments repeat forever.

Upcoming Music Events & Opportunities

Search for music submission deadlines, sync opportunities, playlist submission windows, and music conferences happening 30-60 days from today that I could actually submit to or attend. Filter out the major label stuff I don’t qualify for. Give me realistic opportunities with links and dates so I can plan my calendar.

You stop missing deadlines because you forgot to check that library’s website or didn’t see the Instagram post about submissions closing.

Social Media Content Calendar Generator

Search for music holidays, artist anniversaries, and industry events happening 14 days from now. For each one, give me 3 angles I could use for my own content: something I could share about my process, a post that connects to my story, or a behind-the-scenes moment that makes sense for that day.

You still have to create and post, but at least you’re not staring at Instagram at 9pm wondering what the hell to say.

Gear Deal Tracker

Search for legitimate deals on the specific gear I’m watching: plugins I’ve had my eye on, interfaces in my price range, microphones I’ve been considering. Filter out subscription services and fake “sales” that never end. Show me real discounts with expiration dates.

You stop paying full price for that compressor plugin that goes on sale every six weeks. You stop missing the one day a year that interface you want actually drops to a price you can afford.

Sync Licensing Opportunity Scanner

Search for music libraries that are accepting submissions in my genre, TV shows and films in production that need music like mine, and production companies posting briefs I could actually fulfill. Skip the ones that require exclusive publishing deals or major label representation.

This helps you find places to submit your music without paying for databases that might be six months out of date. You’re building a list of real opportunities, not just hoping someone discovers you.

Release Strategy Researcher

Search for case studies of indie artists in my genre who successfully released music in the last 30 days. What platforms did they prioritize? What marketing actually worked for them? What did they try that failed? Give me the honest takeaways I can learn from.

You’re learning from what’s working right now for artists in your situation, not what worked for someone with a label budget three years ago.

Playlist Pitch Tracker

Search for active Spotify playlist curators in my genre who are currently accepting submissions. Give me their contact info, playlist sizes, follower counts, and submission requirements. Update this weekly because curators open and close submissions constantly.

This beats spending hours on SubmitHub or DMing curators who stopped accepting music four months ago. You get a current list of people who might actually listen to your track.

Music Marketing Trend Spotter

Search for what’s actually working in music marketing right now for indie artists. Not guru promises or “buy my course” bullshit. What are artists with small budgets doing that’s getting them real results? What tactics are people trying that are failing?

You separate real strategies from noise. You find out what’s worth your limited time and money, and what’s just someone trying to sell you something.

Work Opportunities

Search for remote session work, collaboration requests, and “musicians wanted” posts from the last 48 hours that match my instrument and skill level. Filter for gigs that actually pay. Skip the “great exposure” offers and rev-share fantasies.

You find paid work without scrolling through dozens of posts from people who think your time is worthless because you’re a musician.

Administrative Task Reminder

Weekly reminder to handle the business stuff I always forget: update my streaming stats, check how my music is performing in those sync libraries, review which social posts actually got engagement, backup my project files before my hard drive dies, update tour dates on my website, check for copyright issues, follow up on collaboration offers I haven’t responded to yet.

The boring maintenance that keeps your music career functional but gets buried under the creative work you’d rather be doing.

Want the actual prompts you can copy and paste? I’ve put together 10 ready-to-use AI task prompts for musicians. Grab them here: https://e88.me/jlJX3

How to Actually Use These

1. Pick one prompt. Just one.

2. Copy it into ChatGPT or whatever AI tool you’re using.

3. Run it manually a few times. See what you get.

4. Adjust it until the output is actually useful.

5. Then schedule it: “Please schedule this as a task that runs daily at 7am” (or weekly, or whatever).

Don’t set up all ten at once. You won’t check them. They’ll pile up. You’ll ignore them.

Start with the one that would save you the most time right now. If it works after a week, add another one.

Want to Level This Up?

Once you’re comfortable with basic AI tasks, you can connect them to automation tools like n8n, Zapier, or Make. Instead of just getting notifications, you can have results automatically sent to Google Docs, added to spreadsheets, or dropped into your calendar.

For example: your gear deal tracker could auto-populate a price-sorted spreadsheet. Your sync opportunities could feed directly into a tagged database.

It takes more setup, but it’s not complicated. I’ll write a separate article walking through it if there’s interest.

For now, start simple. Get one task running. Then we can talk about making it completely hands-off.

What This Isn’t

This isn’t AI making your creative decisions. This isn’t AI writing your songs or producing your tracks or pretending to be you.

This is AI doing the research and organizational grunt work that doesn’t require your talent or your perspective. The stuff that takes time but not creativity.

You’re still the musician. The AI is just handling the administrative bullshit so you can spend more time making music.

The Real Question

Do you want to spend three hours today manually tracking sync opportunities and gear deals and submission deadlines?

Or do you want to spend three hours making music while the AI does that work for you?

AI sucks at making music.

But it doesn’t suck at making your life easier so you can focus on what actually matters.

Set up one task. See if it saves you time. If it does, set up another.

And then get back to your actual job: making something that only you can make.

Which of these tasks would save you the most time? Or are you already using AI for something I didn't mention?

I can think of two gigs that destroyed my ego so completely I’m still learning from them. Both happened around 1983. Both taught me the same lesson: thinking you’re great doesn’t make you great.

Jazz Band 101

I was at Pierce College in LA, sports medicine major, needed an elective. I’d been playing guitar since I was seven. By 1983, I was good. Or at least I thought I was. So I signed up for Jazz Band 101.

First day was auditions. I watched the current band play. They were solid, but I wasn’t worried. I could read chord charts. This would be easy.

Then they called me up.

What I thought were chord charts weren’t chord charts. They were rhythm changes. Knowing what I know now, it was standard shit. Common 32-bar jazz progression derived from “I Got Rhythm.” AABA form. I-vi-ii-V sequences. Circle of fifths in the bridge. There was a basic melody written out.

I knew something about reading, but I couldn’t sight read really.

I’d heard the other people play it during the audition, so I figured my ears could fake it. They couldn’t. I froze. Completely froze. Just stood there while the rhythm section vamped waiting for me to start.

I didn’t get in.

The Zappa Cover Band Audition

Same year, maybe a few months later. I auditioned for a Frank Zappa cover band. I’d jammed with Zappa in ‘78. This should be easy, right?

I drove my 1964 Studebaker Super Lark to the audition. Wish to hell I still had that car. Less than 100 ever made. Didn’t know that at the time. I pulled into the driveway to turn around, and backed up into a car. No damage, but when I walked in carrying my guitar and amp, my hands were shaking. Couldn’t get them to stop.

I met the drummer and keyboard player. Started setting up my gear. My fingers felt disconnected from my brain, like they belonged to someone else.

Then the keyboard player brought over a music stand and placed the first chart in front of me.

Note city. Every single note written out. Zappa’s music, transcribed.

I screwed it up. Completely. He brought over a “simpler” piece. I screwed that up too.

I don’t remember if I left on my own or if they politely told me I wasn’t the guy. Either way, I was gone pretty quick.

What I Learned

You can be pretty damn good at your niche and still be worthless outside of it. Just because you like something doesn’t mean you can play it.

And learn to read.

I know. You non-readers out there, especially guitarists, you’ve got your reasons. “Reading kills your feel.” “I play by ear.” “Tab is enough.”

Fine. Enjoy playing the same songs over and over. Unless you’re a savant, that’s where you’ll stay.

Me? I went to music school after those disasters. Met Dick Grove. Learned to read. Am I a better player now? Yeah, I am. But more importantly, I’m a better musician.

There’s a difference.

Merry Christmas. Go practice your sight-reading. And learn other styles, even if you aren’t great at them. It will open your eyes to things you didn’t know existed.

I’ll also write about why putting down your instrument can make you a better player. But that’s for another day.

Look, I get it. I’ve been there more times than I care to admit. My plugin folder is a digital junkyard of impulse purchases and “limited time” deals that seemed absolutely essential at 2 AM.

You’re working on a mix. The drums sound flat. The vocals need... something. You know what you want to hear, but you can’t quite get there with what you’ve got. So you open another tab. Just to see what’s out there. Just to check.

Three hours later, you’ve watched seventeen YouTube videos comparing vintage console emulations, you’re convinced your entire mix has been sabotaged by inferior EQ curves, and you’re one click away from dropping $200 on a plugin bundle that promises to solve all your problems.

This is Pluginitis.

It’s the musician’s version of thinking a new pair of running shoes will make you faster. Spoiler alert: they won’t. Your legs will.

The Logic vs. Emotion Cage Match

Here’s what’s happening in your head when that “Add to Cart” button starts looking real good.

Your Logic Brain—the prefrontal cortex, if you want to get technical—knows the truth. It knows you already have four compressors that do basically the same thing. It knows the problem isn’t the plugin; it’s that you haven’t learned to really use the ones you have.

But then there’s your Emotion Brain—the limbic system, that impulsive little bastard—and it’s screaming in your ear. “I’m stuck! I’m frustrated! This new saturator will fix everything! Look, it’s 40% off!”

Guess which one usually wins when you’re tired, stressed, or creatively blocked?

The impulse to buy isn’t about the plugin. It’s about escaping the discomfort of the work itself. Clicking “Buy Now” feels like progress. Sitting with a muddy mix and actually solving it? That’s hard.

The Triggers Are Everywhere

We’re not living in some neutral creative bubble. We’re swimming in a digital ocean specifically designed to make us want things we don’t need.

The Comparison Trigger: You see another producer’s plugin collection. Holy shit, they have everything. Suddenly your setup feels like amateur hour. You start making a mental shopping list.

The Frustration Trigger: The mix isn’t gelling. You’ve been staring at it for three hours. Instead of stepping away or trying a different approach, you go hunting for the magical plugin that will add that “professional sheen” you’re missing.

The FOMO Trigger: “SALE ENDS TONIGHT!” “70% OFF FOR THE NEXT 6 HOURS!” These emails are designed like surgical strikes on your Logic Brain. They create artificial urgency to bypass rational thought entirely.

And here’s the thing—sometimes you do need a new tool. I’m not saying never buy plugins. I’m saying most of the time, we’re buying solutions to problems we haven’t actually diagnosed yet.

How to Get Your Logic Brain Back in the Driver’s Seat

You can’t stop the marketing. But you can stop yourself from becoming its victim.

The 24-Hour Rule

This is nuclear-grade impulse control, and it works.

When you feel that hot rush to buy, stop. Put it in the cart if you need to. Then close the tab. Walk away. Go play your guitar. Make dinner. Watch a movie. Sleep on it.

Come back in 24 hours and ask yourself: “Will this plugin actually help me finish the song that’s sitting on my desk right now?” Not the imaginary perfect mix you’ll make someday. The actual project you’re working on today.

Nine times out of ten, the answer is no. The other one time, at least you’re buying it for the right reason.

Shop Your Own Plugin Folder

Before you buy anything, force yourself to spend 30 minutes with the version you already own.

Want a new reverb? Spend half an hour with the stock reverb in your DAW. Want a vintage compressor emulation? Dig into that free one you downloaded two years ago and never really learned.

You’ll be amazed how often this works. Not because your current plugins are magic, but because you finally spent time actually learning what they can do.

I learned this lesson the hard way at Dick Grove School of Music. Dick used to tell us, “Put your instrument down and you’ll become a better musician.” Sounds backwards, right? But what he meant was: expand your thinking. Don’t let your technical limitations define your musical vision. The same applies to plugins. Don’t let your collection define what you think is possible. Learn what you have first.

Unsubscribe Like Your Creativity Depends On It

If you were trying to quit drinking, you wouldn’t hang out in a bar. So why are you subscribed to seventeen plugin newsletters?

Be ruthless. If an email makes you feel like your setup is inadequate, unsubscribe. If a YouTube channel makes you covet gear instead of making music, stop watching.

Curate your digital environment the same way you’d curate your physical studio. Keep the things that help. Remove the things that distract.

A Reality Check From the Old Days

I’m old enough to remember real studios. There weren’t reverbs and compressors for every track, much less multiple compressors for every track. And yes, I’m a “boomer.”

You know how many plugins I have scanned in my DAW right now? 568.

You know how many I actually use? Maybe 20, okay 30, but you get the idea.

I’m waiting for the flames from the youngsters who need 128 tracks to comp vocals. Go ahead, I can take it.

But here’s the thing—those limitations forced you to make decisions. You had to commit. You couldn’t endlessly A/B between seventeen different compressor flavors because you only had a few compressors in the entire studio and you learned to make them work. You got good at mic placement because you couldn’t fix things with a magical “de-room” plugin later. As Rick Beato, or maybe someone else said, “before there was ProTools, there were pros.” That’s the truth. We used to say, you can’t fix it in the mix, and in reality, you still can’t… really.

I’m not saying those days were better. I love having options. But somewhere between “one hardware compressor per studio” and “568 plugins I’ll never use,” we crossed a line. The tools stopped serving the music and started becoming the music. Or worse, they became the excuse for why the music isn’t finished.

The Bottom Line

The plugin companies want you to believe the magic is in the code. It’s not. It’s in your ears.

I’ve heard incredible mixes made with stock plugins. I’ve heard terrible mixes made with $10,000 worth of boutique software. The difference wasn’t the tools. It was the person using them.

So close the browser. Open your DAW. And let’s actually finish that song.

The gear is just gear. You’re the musician.

Yes, this story broke months ago. No, it hasn’t gotten better. CapCut still has the same Terms of Service, still has the same meaningless clarification page, and millions of creators are still uploading their work to this IP-harvesting dumpster fire every day. If you’re one of them, this is your reminder to stop.

In late June 2025, CapCut—the video editing app owned by ByteDance—published a clarification page addressing “confusion” about its Terms of Service. The statement was reassuring: CapCut has “never claimed ownership of users’ work,” the company wrote, and would never “use or monetize your content or likeness without your permission.” https://www.capcut.com/resource/about-capcut-terms-of-service?from_page=landing_page&enter_from=a1.b1.c1.0

There’s one problem. The actual Terms of Service say something different.

I’m not a lawyer. I shouldn’t have to be one to use video editing software. But apparently that’s where we are now.

What You’re Actually Agreeing To (Since Nobody Reads These Things)

Buried in Section 10 of CapCut’s Terms of Service is a paragraph that every creator should read but nobody will. When you upload content to the platform—whether it’s a polished video, a rough draft, or audio clips—you grant CapCut:

“an unconditional, irrevocable, non-exclusive, royalty-free, fully transferable (including sub-licensable), perpetual, worldwide license to use, modify, adapt, reproduce, make derivative works of, display, publish, transmit, distribute and/or store your User Content.”

Let me translate the legalese:

• Unconditional: No strings attached. They don’t owe you anything before using your stuff however they want.

• Irrevocable: You can’t take this back. Delete your account? Too bad. Still theirs to use.

• Royalty-free: They’ll never pay you a cent. Not now. Not ever.

• Fully transferable (including sub-licensable): They can hand these rights to whoever they want—partners, advertisers, AI companies—who can then do whatever they want with it.

• Perpetual: Forever. As in, until the heat death of the universe.

• Worldwide: Every country. No exceptions.

But wait, there’s more. The Terms also grant CapCut “a royalty-free fully transferable (including sub-licensable), worldwide license to use your username, image and likeness to identify you as the source of any of your User Content, including for use in sponsored content.”

Your face. Your name. In their ads. Forever. For free. That’s what “sponsored content” means here.

“We Would Never Do That” Is Not a Contract

CapCut’s clarification page says this concern “would go against our commitment to empowering authentic creativity and supporting creators’ rights.”

Great. Put it in the contract then.

They didn’t. Because they don’t want to be legally bound by it. The clarification page is PR. It’s marketing. It’s the corporate equivalent of “trust me, bro.”

The Terms of Service is the contract. When you click “I Agree,” you’re agreeing to the legal text, not to what some blog post says the legal text really means in their hearts.

If ByteDance ever decides to exercise the full extent of its license—using your content for AI training, sublicensing it to third parties, slapping your face on a billboard—the clarification page is worth exactly nothing in court. Zero. It’s not part of the agreement.

Funny How They Never Mentioned AI

CapCut’s clarification never mentions artificial intelligence. Funny, that.

The legal text doesn’t need to say “AI training” explicitly—the rights it grants are exactly the ones needed to feed content into generative AI models. This isn’t a loophole. It’s the front door.

The license to “reproduce,” “adapt,” “modify,” and “make derivative works of” user content covers every technical process involved in machine learning. Training an AI model means reproducing content, creating derivative works, and adapting learned patterns. That’s literally what those words mean. Any IP lawyer would tell you the same.

The sublicensing clause makes it worse. CapCut can transfer these rights to unnamed “affiliates, agents, services providers, partners and other connected third parties.” Your content could be flowing to third-party AI companies right now. You’d never know. They don’t have to tell you.

The Terms even spell out how broad this is: “the rights granted in the preceding paragraphs of this Section include, but are not limited to, the right to reproduce sound recordings (and make mechanical reproductions of the musical works embodied in such sound recordings).”

“Include, but are not limited to.” Classic tech bullshit.

Musicians Get Screwed the Hardest

If you’re a musician or composer, there’s a special clause just for you. And it’s brutal.

The license isn’t just royalty-free to CapCut—the agreement explicitly waives payments that would normally flow through performing rights organizations. You know, the organizations that exist specifically to make sure musicians get paid.

The Terms state you’re granting CapCut “the right to use your User Content without the obligation to pay royalties to you or any third party, including, but not limited to, a sound recording copyright owner (e.g. a record label), a musical work copyright owner (e.g. a music publisher), a performing rights organization (e.g. ASCAP, BMI, SESAC, etc.).”

They literally named the organizations they won’t be paying.

And if you’re affiliated with a PRO? The Terms say you “must notify your PRO or CMO of the royalty-free license you grant through these Terms.”

So not only are you waiving your own royalties, you’re supposed to call up ASCAP and explain that you gave away the farm for a free video editor. Good luck with that conversation.

And here’s the real kicker: you don’t even have to be the one who uploads your music. Someone else can upload a video using your song—without your permission, illegally—and CapCut still gets the license. The Terms require uploaders to have the rights to what they upload, but if they don’t? CapCut’s covered. They point to the Terms, say “that user violated our agreement, not us,” and they still have your content on their servers under a license that came from someone who had no right to grant it.

The Terms even spell this out: “You must own your User Content or have obtained all necessary rights, licenses, and clearances of any and all elements of your User Content.” That’s a requirement for users. Not a protection for the people whose work gets uploaded without consent. CapCut gets to keep the license and point fingers at the uploader. You get to pound sand.

Your Creative Control? Gone.

The Terms include waivers of “moral rights”—the right to be credited, the right to object to butchering of your work, the right to approve how your creation is used. These protections exist in most countries specifically to protect creators.

CapCut’s Terms: “you waive any rights to prior inspection or approval of any marketing, advertising or promotional materials related to such User Content. You also waive (to the extent permitted by applicable law) any and all rights of privacy, publicity, or any other rights of a similar nature in connection with your User Content.”

And: “We, or authorised third parties, reserve the right to cut, crop, edit or refuse to upload your content in our or their sole discretion.”

They can chop up your video, remix it, alter it beyond recognition—and you’ll never see it, never approve it, never know it happened. “Sole discretion” means they don’t even have to pretend to care what you think.

Their Explanation Explains Nothing

CapCut says terms like “irrevocable” and “perpetual” exist “because once content (such as a template) is shared and used by others, we can’t undo every instance of reuse or remixing across the platform or internet.”

Okay. Fine. That explains template sharing. It does not explain:

• The right to use content in sponsored advertising

• The right to sublicense content to unnamed third parties

• The explicit waiver of PRO payments

• The right to use your likeness in promotional materials

• Rights that persist after you delete your account

The public statement presents a narrow, reasonable use case—template sharing—while the legal text claims rights that go wildly beyond anything required for a video editor to function.

If they only needed these rights for templates, they could have written terms that only apply to templates. They didn’t. Draw your own conclusions.

“Everyone Does It” Is a Terrible Defense

Yes, TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube have similar language. Adobe faced backlash over terms that worried users about AI training.

So what? That doesn’t make it okay. It means the whole industry has decided to help itself to your work and hopes you won’t notice.

There’s also a key difference: when you post to TikTok, you’re publishing. You know it’s public. When you save a draft to CapCut’s cloud, you might reasonably assume it’s private. Wrong. The Terms apply equally to both. Unpublished drafts, works-in-progress, raw footage—same license as finished, public work.

That draft you saved to the cloud while you figured out the edit? Fair game.

What You Should Probably Do

If you’re using CapCut for professional work—especially content under NDAs or client agreements—uploading to the platform grants ByteDance rights that may conflict with your obligations. You might already be in breach of contracts you’ve signed. Fun.

Things to consider:

1. Read the actual Terms. Not summaries. Not clarifications. Not this article. The legal text at capcut.com/clause/terms-of-service.

2. Cloud-synced drafts count. Same license as published content. If it touched their servers, it’s covered.

3. For sensitive work, use offline editors. DaVinci Resolve, Final Cut Pro, Premiere Pro don’t require your content to touch third-party servers.

4. If you’re a musician, talk to your PRO (Performing Rights Organization). The Terms create obligations the PRO will definitely want to know about.

5. Assume every right in the contract will be exercised. If it’s in there, someone at ByteDance thought they might want to use it someday. Plan accordingly.

The Bottom Line

CapCut is good software. It made video editing accessible to a lot of people who couldn’t afford Premiere. That part is genuinely valuable.

But here’s the trade you’re making: in exchange for a free or cheap editing tool, you grant a tech conglomerate perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide rights to your creative work. They can sublicense it to anyone. Use it for anything. Pay you nothing. Forever. And they wrote a nice FAQ explaining why you shouldn’t worry about any of that, while very carefully not putting any of those reassurances in the actual contract.

Intentions aren’t contracts. A blog post isn’t a legal document. The Terms of Service is the agreement. And the agreement says what it says.

Again: I’m not a lawyer. If this actually matters to your livelihood, talk to one. But the fact that using a video editor now requires legal consultation tells you everything you need to know about how broken this system is.

CapCut’s full Terms of Service: https://capcut.com/clause/terms-of-service. Section 10, “User-Generated Content.” Read it yourself. It’s not long. It’s just bad.

Transcript

Hello.

This is Jon Griffin, and I am here today to talk about a concept that most rock guitars probably won’t know about. If you’ve studied a lot of jazz you may be familiar. But they’re called kernel chords. At least that’s the way I was taught. They’re very simple. They’re just chords with the root, the third, and the seventh of minor, major, or dominant.

Since they have no fifth they’re very versatile. They can be used in place of dominant sharp fives. They can be used as a minor seven flat five, because there’s no five in it. It makes it very easy to use for comping.

I use them a lot when I’m just kicking back, trying out some chord ideas, some harmony stuff. They are great for backing up vocalists. By using only the mid and low range, you have a lot more ability to just play as you want, because the soloist is going to be usually in the higher register above you, the singers especially. They like it.

Another thing that’s good, if you’ve got a really fast chord progression and you haven’t rehearsed your chords in a while, or you don’t know all the chords, you can just play these kernel chords and you’re harmonically going to be correct, without having to, you know, reach for a sharp nine with a flat thirteenth on it if you don’t know where it is. Things like that. So we’re going to start off with the six basic forms, and then I’m going to show you a little progression, and that will be that.

Basic forms

We’ll start with the very basics. There’s only six chord forms you need to know, and they’re all almost exactly the same with one or two fingers moving. That’s it. There’s only three fingers used, although you’ll notice on the sheet that there are some extra optional notes on some of the chords. That’s just doubling either the third or the seventh.

Root on the sixth string

Let’s start with an easy one. We’ll just use a six string as a root, so we got our A right here, and we’ll make a minor seventh. So instead of, you know, most guitar players will play this bar chord, or maybe they’ll, you know, do some other kind of funky chord down here, depending on where they’re playing. But we’re just going to do our A here, our G, which is the flat seventh, and our C, which is the flat 3, if we’re in the key of C. So this is an A minor two-chord in the key of G. If we’re talking about jazz progressions. But you can hear how nice that sounds. You can play with a pick if you want, but when I’m doing this kind of comping, I like the finger sound.

All right, so to make it a seventh, it’s pretty obvious. We’ll just raise up the third to make it a C sharp, so it’s now the natural third. So we’ve got a 1, a flat 7, and the 3, so we’ve got a dominant seventh chord. So 1. And to do a major, the same thing. We just move up our flat seventh into a regular seventh. So now we’re playing a G sharp, a C sharp, and an A. Really good for playing bossa nova Latin type of stuff, too, by the way. So now we have our complete 2-5-1 structure.

Root on the fifth string

So that leaves our next set, which would be on the fifth string root. So we’ll do a D in this case. So to do a D minor seventh, we’ve got our D, we’ve got our F, and we have our C, which is the seventh. Flat seventh I should say. Let’s correct that. So there’s your D minor. So since we know that we’ve got our minor here, all we have to do is convert our third into a regular third instead of a flat third. So we move our F to an F sharp. So we’ve got our D, F sharp, and C, and now we’ve got our dominant seventh. And now, to make that a major seventh, we have to just move up here to a C sharp.

So you can see everything in these chords, you can just move one finger, and you know you’ll change from a dominant to a major or a minor. So once you get the fingerings down, it’s very quick.

2 —5— 1 progression

So how would we use that? Let’s say we’re going to stay in our key of G major. Typical 2-5-1 would just be, you know, you’re starting with an A minor, comping a little, to D seventh, to G major seventh. Of course it would go on from there. You might become a G dominant seventh, to a C major seventh, to an F sharp minor seventh, and we run out of fret, but we can still get that B flat seventh. Then years old got to figure out where you’re going to come back in. But if you’re playing [music], especially bossa nova Latin stuff, you can really get some cool progressions.

Conclusion and practice

So that’s about it for this lesson. I hope you enjoy it. I hope you get some good information out of it, something to practice. Do that for a week or so, and you’ll just have these down.

The lesson download also includes some exercises and optional notes. These are optional, of course, along with other suggestions for how to play them.

You can also get on this PDF the diatonic scale that you can practice this both forward and backwards. It’ll help you learn some stuff. But the best thing to do is just find some material and play with it.

Get a fake book. Get a bossa nova progression sheet, or a jazz progression sheet and just figure out how to play along with them at slow speed, high speed. Once you get your fingers in the groove with that stuff, it’s very, very easy to just fall into that if you really have to, or if you need to, if the situation calls for it. So get practicing. Have a nice week.

Here is a PDF for your reference:

https://jongriffinmusic.s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/Lessons/kernel-chords.pdf

Feel free to leave comments here!

The Controversy: How Spotify’s “Bundle” Strategy Affects Royalties

The dispute centers on Spotify’s strategic decision in March 2024 to reclassify its Premium subscription tiers as “bundles” after adding 15 hours of monthly audiobook access. This seemingly minor administrative change carries major financial implications: under the 2022 Phonorecords IV settlement, bundled services can pay lower mechanical royalty rates to publishers and songwriters compared to standalone music subscription services.

The financial impact could be staggering. According to Billboard reports cited in court documents, this reclassification could cost songwriters nearly $150 million in just the first year following the change.

The Court’s Decision

Judge Torres sided with Spotify, ruling that “audiobook streaming is a product or service that is distinct from music streaming and has more than token value. Premium is, therefore, properly categorized as a Bundle.” The court found that Section 115 regulations (which govern compulsory licensing) were “unambiguous” and that “the only plausible application of the law supports Spotify’s position.”

The MLC’s Response and Concerns

The MLC, a non-profit organization designated by the US Copyright Office to ensure proper mechanical royalty payments, expressed serious concerns about the ruling. In their statement, they emphasized that the decision “does not align with the facts and legal principles central to this action” and are currently evaluating their right to appeal.

Why This Matters for Songwriters

This ruling represents a significant setback for songwriters’ compensation in the streaming era for several reasons:

1. It validates a strategy that effectively reduces songwriter royalties without any corresponding reduction in Spotify’s revenue

2. It sets a precedent that could encourage other streaming services to adopt similar “bundling” approaches

3. It highlights the vulnerability of songwriter royalties to corporate structuring decisions

Spotify’s Position

Spotify maintains that their bundling strategy is legitimate and beneficial for the industry. A company spokesperson stated, “Bundle offerings play a critical role in expanding the interest in paying for music and growing the pie for the music industry.” They emphasized that their recent deal with Universal Music Publishing Group (UMPG) demonstrates how direct licenses can create flexibility and additional benefits.

The Bigger Picture

This case underscores the ongoing tension between streaming platforms and music creators over fair compensation. It’s particularly noteworthy that while record labels can negotiate directly with streaming services, publishers and songwriters are bound by compulsory licensing rates – a disparity that the National Music Publishers Association has urged Congress to address.

The dismissal of this lawsuit with prejudice means the MLC cannot refile the same claims, though they retain the right to appeal. For songwriters and publishers, this ruling represents not just a financial setback but also raises questions about the effectiveness of current copyright law in protecting their interests in an evolving digital marketplace.

The music industry will be watching closely to see if this decision prompts legislative action or inspires other streaming services to adopt similar bundling strategies, potentially further impacting songwriter revenues in the years to come.

This is also a good example of how different jazz guitarists think, versus most rock and pop players. Notice there are no bar chords and voices lead in a logical way.

When You Wish

90.6KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Listen along!

I’m planning to create more lessons on chord melody in the future.

If you have any comments or suggestions, please leave them in the comments section below!

In short:
It clarifies who owns what, who gets paid what, and who can release or license the final track.

Without it, ownership is vague — and vague ownership can mean legal problems later when the song gets licensed or released.

[DATE]

This will confirm the understanding between [ ] and [ ] regarding work done by you as more fully described below:

Performing & Recording [ ] on the song “[ ]” (hereinafter, the “Work”).

1. Upon acceptance of the Work, we agree to pay you $_____ USD for all rights in the Work. You will not receive any further payment from me.

2. You expressly acknowledge that the material contributed by you hereunder, and your services hereunder, are being specially ordered and commissioned by us for use in connection with “Work”. The Work contributed by you hereunder shall be considered a “work made for hire” as defined by the copyright laws of the United States of America. We shall be the sole and exclusive owner and copyright proprietor of all rights and title in and to the results and proceeds of your services hereunder in whatever stage of completion. If for any reason the results and proceeds of your services hereunder are determined at any time not to be a “work made for hire”, you hereby irrevocably transfer and assign to us all right, title and interest therein, including all copyrights, as well as all renewals and extensions thereto.

3. You agree that we may make any changes or additions to the Work prepared by you, which we in our sole discretion may consider necessary, and may engage others to do any or all of the foregoing, with or without attribution to you. You further agree to waive any so-called moral rights in the Work.

4. You represent that, except with respect to material furnished to you by us, you are the sole author of the Work and all of your services are original with you and not copied in whole or in part from any other work; that your Work is not libelous or obscene, or knowingly violates the right of privacy or publicity, or any other rights of any person, firm or entity.

If the above reflects your understanding, please sign below to reflect your agreement to the above terms and your intention to be bound hereby.

AGREED AND ACCEPTED:

_____________________________

What It Means

Payment and Ownership
Clause 1 says you’re paying a flat fee that covers everything — there are no future royalties or backend payments. The performer knows exactly what they’re getting, and you know you own the result.

Work Made for Hire
Clause 2 is the heart of the agreement. It states that the material is legally a “work made for hire”, which means you, the hiring party, are considered the author and copyright owner of the recording under U.S. law.
If a court ever decides it isn’t technically work-for-hire, the clause immediately transfers all rights to you anyway. That’s the safety net.

Creative Control
Clause 3 lets you make edits, add effects, remix, or even replace parts later. You can do this with or without crediting the performer. The “moral rights” waiver prevents disputes over artistic changes.

Original Work Warranty
Clause 4 means the performer guarantees that what they recorded is original and doesn’t copy someone else’s work or use unlicensed material. It’s basic protection against infringement claims.

Get It Signed Before Work Starts

This is the most common mistake people make.
You should always send and sign the Work for Hire before anyone records or contributes anything.

It’s not about distrust — it’s about clarity.
Once money changes hands or a track gets released, it’s much harder to get signatures or agreements retroactively.

A simple rule of thumb:
If someone is recording on your track, mixing it, or doing anything that will become part of the final song, they should sign the agreement first.

It takes two minutes and avoids every possible misunderstanding later.

Why It Matters

Session musicians, vocalists, and producers often contribute critical parts to a song. But unless you have a signed work-for-hire, those parts technically belong to them.
That can cause real problems when you try to distribute, license, or monetize the track later.

A one-page work-for-hire form like this eliminates confusion, protects both parties, and lets everyone move forward knowing exactly where they stand.

Note: The following Work for Hire Agreement is provided as a sample for educational purposes.
You agree to hold harmless Jon Griffin for any claims related to its use.
Always consult a qualified attorney if you need specific legal advice or modifications for your situation.

Here is a downloadable version:
Work For Hire Agreement

Whenever two or more people collaborate on a song — even casually — it’s important to agree on who owns what before the song goes anywhere. A Split Sheet puts that understanding in writing so there’s no confusion later about credits, royalties, or rights.

It’s not about mistrust; it’s about professionalism and respect for everyone’s contribution.

Why You Need One

When a song is written by more than one person, every writer automatically owns part of it — whether or not you’ve talked about percentages. Without a written agreement, those shares are legally equal. That might be fine sometimes, but what if one person wrote all the lyrics and the other just helped with a chord change? Or what if the song gets picked up for a TV show and one collaborator can’t be reached to sign off?

A Split Sheet makes sure all of that is clear from the start.

What Each Section Means

1. Ownership and Splits
This is where you write down each collaborator’s name, their role (lyricist, composer, etc.), their performing rights organization (like ASCAP or BMI), and their agreed share of the song.
All the shares must add up to 100%.
This simple section can prevent years of headaches later.

2–3. Expenses and Expense Sharing
These short clauses make sure no one runs up costs for demos, promotion, or legal work without everyone’s agreement — and that any shared expenses are split according to each person’s ownership share.

4. Withdrawal of Contribution
If a writer decides they don’t want to continue with the song before it’s placed with a publisher or used commercially, they can withdraw their part. But once they do, they give up any claim to future versions or uses of that song.

5. Scope of Agreement
This keeps things simple: the agreement applies only to this specific song. It doesn’t affect any other songs you may write together in the future.

6. Administrative Authority (Power of Attorney)
This is where the agreement gets practical. It allows any of the collaborators to handle the business side — registering the song, pitching it, or granting non-exclusive licenses (like for a YouTube video or TV show) — even if someone else is unavailable, incapacitated, or has passed away.
Everyone still owns the same share and gets their proper royalties; this just makes the song “ready to go” when opportunities arise.

This “One-Stop” setup is what music supervisors and sync agents look for. It means the song can be licensed without having to track down multiple signatures. The others simply get a courtesy notice.

8. Dispute Resolution
If a disagreement ever comes up, this clause says it will be handled by arbitration — a faster, less expensive alternative to going to court.

Why It Matters

A good Split Sheet does more than protect you legally — it builds trust and keeps creative relationships healthy. When everyone knows the terms up front, there’s no awkwardness later about money or credit.

It’s one page that can save a friendship, a career, or both.

Please note: the following Split Sheet is a sample, shared for educational purposes.
You agree to hold harmless Jon Griffin for any claims related to its use. Feel free to use or adapt it for your own collaborations.

Yes, there are plenty of versions floating around online — but this one is designed to be simple, fair, and modern, so you can spend less time sorting out paperwork and more time writing songs.

Here is the link to the .pdf file Collaborators Agreement.

If you’ve ever recorded a cover song, remixed a track, or translated lyrics into another language, you’ve interacted with copyright law—whether you knew it or not. Understanding the difference between a cover song and a derivative work is crucial to avoid legal trouble and ensure you’re properly licensing your music.

What is a Cover Song?

A cover song is a new recording of an existing song where you perform it without changing the fundamental composition (melody, harmony, or lyrics). Covering a song is legal, but distributing that cover—whether on streaming platforms, downloads, or physical copies—has different requirements.

Examples of Covers:

• A band performing a classic rock song with the same lyrics and chords.

• An acoustic version of a pop song.

• A jazz trio playing an instrumental version of a well-known tune, preserving the core melody and structure.

Do You Need Permission to Record a Cover?

No, you don’t need permission to record a cover, but you may need a mechanical license depending on how you distribute it.

For Streaming (Spotify, Apple Music, etc.) – No Mechanical License Needed in the U.S.

Under the Music Modernization Act (MMA), streaming services like Spotify, Apple Music, and Amazon Music automatically pay songwriters through the Mechanical Licensing Collective (MLC).

If you distribute a cover song on these streaming platforms, you don’t need to obtain a mechanical license yourself—it’s handled by the platforms.

A Note on YouTube: This does NOT apply to YouTube. YouTube is a video platform and technically requires a sync license for video content. While YouTube’s Content ID system has agreements with many publishers, they can still mute, block, or demonetize your video. This can lead to a copyright strike.

For Downloads, CDs, & Vinyl – You Still Need a Mechanical License

If you plan to sell MP3s (like on Bandcamp), CDs, vinyl, or any permanent digital downloads, you still need to get a mechanical license from a licensing agency (like EasySong or Harry Fox Agency (HFA)).

This is because mechanical royalties for permanent downloads and physical sales are not covered by the MLC’s streaming agreements, and you are responsible for paying the royalties on the copies you distribute.

What is a Derivative Work?

A derivative work is when you take an existing song and make substantial changes that create something new while still being based on the original composition. Derivative works require direct permission from the copyright owner (the publisher) before distribution.

Examples of Derivative Works:

• Translating lyrics into another language.

• Remixing a song by adding new beats and significantly altering the structure.

• Creating a mashup of multiple songs.

• Rewriting lyrics while keeping the original melody.

• Creating a new musical arrangement (e.g., changing a jazz song to a samba) that significantly alters its fundamental character.

How Do You Know If Your Version is a Cover or a Derivative Work?

Here is a simple rule of thumb:

• If you’re only performing or recording the song as written, it’s a cover.

• If you’re modifying the song’s composition, structure, or lyrics, it’s a derivative work and requires direct permission.

Common Myths

• Myth: “I changed the key, so it’s a derivative work.” Fact: Nope, that’s still a cover.

• Myth: “I made a reggae version of a pop song. It’s a cover.” Fact: Maybe! If you only changed the instrumentation and groove while preserving the core melody and lyrics, it’s a cover. If you altered the melody or structure significantly, it’s a derivative work.

• Myth: “I translated the lyrics, but the melody is the same. It’s just a cover.” Fact: Wrong! A lyric translation creates a derivative work and requires permission.

The Takeaway: Cover or Adapt?

Understanding this distinction helps you navigate the music industry legally. In short, the path you choose determines the license you need.

If you want to record a cover, you can release it on streaming platforms and let the MLC handle the royalties. But if you plan to sell downloads or physical copies, you are still responsible for securing a mechanical license.

If you want to make substantial changes, you are creating a derivative work. You must contact the publisher and negotiate permission before you distribute it. By respecting copyright, you ensure that all musicians and songwriters get the credit and compensation they deserve.

Roblox, the popular online platform that allows users to create and share games, has struck a deal with DistroKid, a leading independent music distribution service. This collaboration is set to allow DistroKid artists to upload their music directly to Roblox, making it available for use in games and experiences across the platform. However, one controversial aspect of the deal is that independent artists won’t be paid directly for their music being used on Roblox.

The Deal Explained

Under the terms of the deal, DistroKid’s artists can opt-in to have their music uploaded to Roblox. Once on the platform, the music can be used by game developers to enhance their games with original soundtracks and sound effects. While this exposure could potentially lead to new fans and opportunities for artists, the lack of direct compensation has raised concerns among the indie music community.

Pros of the Deal

• Increased Exposure: Roblox boasts millions of active users, primarily in the younger demographic, which presents a unique opportunity for artists to reach a new audience. For independent artists looking to grow their fanbase, this kind of exposure could be invaluable.

• Integration with a Growing Platform: Roblox has grown exponentially, especially during the pandemic, as more users turned to online entertainment. Being associated with such a rapidly expanding platform can be a significant advantage for artists.

• Potential for Viral Success: Music that resonates with Roblox’s user base could potentially go viral, leading to organic growth in streams on other platforms like Spotify or Apple Music. The viral nature of content on Roblox could drive substantial attention to certain tracks.

• Creative Use of Music: Developers on Roblox could use music in innovative ways within games, possibly leading to creative collaborations between artists and game developers. This could open up new avenues for artistic expression and partnership.

Cons of the Deal

• No Direct Payment: The most glaring downside is that independent artists won’t receive any money from the use of their music on Roblox. This has sparked criticism, as artists’ work is being utilized without direct financial compensation, which is particularly concerning for those who rely on income from streaming and licensing.

• Potential Devaluation of Music: Allowing music to be used without payment may set a concerning precedent where music is undervalued. This could contribute to the broader issue of artists struggling to monetize their work in the digital age.

• Limited Control Over Use: Artists may have little to no control over how their music is used within Roblox. This lack of oversight could lead to their work being associated with content they do not approve of, potentially impacting their brand or image.

• Uncertain Long-term Benefits: While the deal promises exposure, it’s unclear how beneficial this exposure will be in the long term. Without direct compensation, the tangible benefits of having music on Roblox may not outweigh the costs for some artists.

Conclusion

The Roblox and DistroKid deal is a double-edged sword for independent artists. On one hand, it offers unprecedented exposure and the possibility of reaching a vast, engaged audience. On the other hand, the lack of direct compensation is a significant drawback that could undermine the value of artists’ work.

For artists considering opting into this deal, it’s essential to weigh the potential for increased visibility against the lack of financial rewards. As the music industry continues to evolve, deals like this one highlight the ongoing challenges artists face in monetizing their work in the digital landscape. The decision to participate ultimately depends on individual priorities—whether the exposure and potential for future opportunities outweigh the immediate lack of payment.