The Hypocrisy of Taylor Swift

Who would take the time to write about the hypocrisy of Taylor Swift?

Only some thinning, graying, out-of-shape, and grumpy dude who doesn’t appreciate her genius.

I’m not that guy.

Well, the thinning (hair not gut), graying, out-of-shape, and grumpy part may have some validity.

But I do admire the brilliance.

For the record, I spent an undisclosed sum of money for a family of four to see the Eras Tour in Mexico City.

Then I spent more money to see the Eras Tour movie (was that really necessary?).

I stream the hell out of Swift’s tracks and, at last count, have five of her albums on vinyl.

I’ve even written about her music.

I quote her lyrics in my mundane day-to-day life.

I might have also bought a calendar—for my daughter, no doubt.

I’ve gone to great lengths to defend her among the middle-aged crowd:

• Fine, she’s not a musical genius, but the whole is far greater than the sum of the parts.
• The lyrics are more insightful than you would think.
• She’s a brilliant businessperson.
• The perfect blend of talent, drive, looks, and marketing savvy.

 

An on and on.

But at some point, somewhere, mercifully, I have to draw the line.

And I’ve finally found a pen.

 

A Note

Most of what follows is simply a statement of the facts. There is, however, a dash of speculation sprinkled in.

 

The Beef

In 2014, shortly after the release of her crossover pop album, 1989, Swift pulled her catalog from the streaming service Spotify.

In pointing out the relatively measly royalty payments from the still-young streaming platforms that made their way to creators, Swift was hailed as the artist’s artist, the one who would go to bat for an entire generation of creatives.

The decision was made at a time when physical sales and downloads still had breath, not quite the relics of the past they have become today. Swift knew that her immense and immensely loyal fan base would pay for her album the old-fashioned way, and her departure from Spotify was a calculated business decision.

She stuck to her guns until 2017, at which time the experiment of streaming was no longer an experiment but rather the gold standard for music consumption worldwide.

Of course, something else also happened in 2017—Swift released her next album, Reputation. The same calculation that favored an exit from Spotify three years prior now favored a return to the Stockholm-based platform. Royalty payments had hardly changed, but market forces had.

And the artist’s artist took note.

By 2018, Swift’s contract with her first label—Big Machine Records—was set to expire. The two had grown up together, but all involved fully expected a free agent the likes of Swift to test the market.

A key focus of negotiations was how the artist could own her own recordings, and much has been written about the exact exchanges. Regardless, the superstar understandably left for greener pastures, namely Republic Records (owned by Universal Music Group), which agreed to give her ownership of all future recordings.

Unsurprisingly, Big Machine Records took the opportunity to sell its highly-desirable portfolio. Swift’s father, who had a small ownership stake in the company, landed several million dollars at the point of sale.

Business as usual.

There was only one glitch. Swift wasn’t a big fan of the purchaser, a man named Scooter Braun, well-known in the industry as a shrewd and at times ruthless player, one with strong connections to former Swift rival Kanye West.

To stick it to Braun, Swift—who writes most of her own music—made the decision to re-record her earlier work, using the moniker Taylor’s Version and guiding her fans to buy and stream appropriately.

Another victory for artists everywhere, we were told.

Soon, streaming platforms like Spotify, once the villains, would be flooded with music that already existed. In some cases, the re-recordings were clearly inferior (“Enchanted” and “Haunted” anyone?).

Sure, Taylor’s Versions include tracks From the Vault, but let’s be honest—there’s a reason those tracks didn’t make the original cut.

Quality aside, at least the little artist, now backed by one of the largest labels in an ultra-consolidated industry that includes only two others of similar magnitude, was getting a larger cut for her work.

Much larger.

Overpowering streaming services with old art affects something called streamshare. Spotify reserves about 70 percent of its revenue for royalty payments. That pot is divided among all artists based on a formula that takes into account an artist’s streams relative to the total number of streams. By Swift flooding the field with re-recordings, her streamshare increased to the point of being Spotify’s most-streamed artist in 2023—at the expense of…other artists.

Meanwhile, labels are attempting to rewrite new artist contracts to prevent re-recording, or at least create a buffer of several decades before the process can be undertaken.

As it stands, about ten years have passed since Taylor Swift was widely labeled as pro-artist.

But tracking her moves and their repercussions over that time span warrants a few questions:

Is she really?

Or is she simply pro-Taylor Swift?

And when can we cut the act?