Before I really dove into the music industry, the very first thing I had to do was simple: understand what we were actually talking about.

Because if you don’t know the players — especially the ones behind the scenes — you’ll never get who’s really pulling the strings. And more importantly, how to build something that actually solves a real problem. Something that adds value to the industry.

Everyone loves the myth of the lone artist.

A bedroom. A mic. A guitar. A song that changes your life.

Cute.

And yeah — I’m not saying that story doesn’t exist anymore. It always has.

But today, the game has changed: an artist is also an entrepreneur. More like a company. Sometimes, like a startup.

From day one — today, like thirty years ago — artists have had to navigate complex waters: an ecosystem full of rules, contracts, music rights, hidden figures and invisible mechanisms that decide how (and if) music gets heard — and paid.

But now the game is even messier (and we’ll get to that — stay tuned).

In a market where the rules change under your feet at a ridiculous pace, you can’t just “make music” anymore.

You’ve got to work. You’ve got to study. You’ve got to really know your shit.

To understand what’s broken today, and try to imagine what the market might look like in 5 or 10 years (imagine, yes — I still don’t have a magic crystal ball), we first need to lay down the basics.

Understand the field we’re playing on. The sandbox we’re moving in.

So let me show you who’s actually in the room when the music starts playing.

Bring some patience — this one’s long.

But without context, nothing makes sense.

And this is the groundwork. The stuff you’ll need to read this crazy (and magical) world with fresh eyes.

Sure, the artist is center stage. But never alone. Every track you hear, every concert, every sync — it all passes through an intricate network of players. Some help. Some take. Most do both.

Think of a film crew. The artist is the lead actor, but without a director, producer, agent, lighting guy and editor — the movie doesn’t exist. Music works the same way.

Let’s look at the key players:

The manager is the closest figure to the artist. He doesn’t create music, obviously.

But without him, music doesn’t become a career.

In a nutshell, he coordinates everything: talks to labels, chooses the lawyers, builds the team, decides timelines, projects, collabs, calendars.

No one has more influence on an artist’s trajectory.

His role is so central that Donald Passman says it plainly:

The manager usually takes 15% to 20% of the gross. So they’re incentivized to grow the business. But that also means they can become your accelerator... or your biggest mistake.

During growth phases, they’re crucial. In tough times, they’re often the first to bail — or disappear.

That’s why more and more we see relatives stepping in as managers — because trust is the main thing...

Basically, you can say they are the artist’s operational CEO.

But unlike a startup, here the product is human. And the stakes aren’t just financial — they’re emotional. Because the product, the music, and the artist are one and the same.

The label is the Big Boss. It’s the one that presses your record, but also — and more importantly — the one that decides if that record ever sees the light of day.

It’s the one that should — I’m using the conditional on purpose (and we’ll get there) — fund production, pay for the studio, front the cost for the music video, distribute and — above all — push and promote you.

But let’s be clear: this isn’t charity. It’s an investment. And like any investor, they expect control and return.

In a classic contract (called a “record deal”), the label takes ownership of the master, meaning the recording.

The artist gets a cut of the revenues. But no longer owns the music — just a share.

That’s right: you wrote it, sang it, produced it — but it’s not yours anymore.

The majors (Universal, Sony, Warner) rule the game.

The indies resist — more human, less budget. But they also want to make money.

If the manager is the operational brain, the live agent is the one who puts you on stage.

They organize shows, negotiate fees, coordinate dates, talk to promoters, handle festival logistics. They don’t work on your image. They work on your booking. They’re not a manager and don’t do strategy. But without them, you stay stuck on Spotify.

Many artists start without an agent. But no one gets big without a good one.

An agent has contacts, leverage, experience — and for that reason, they can get you in front of 50 or 5000 people.

And in a world where the physical and digital feed each other, live shows generate content that bounces online, bringing new streams, followers, and algorithms on your side.

A stage today is also a mic for your socials. Every live show is also a story, a TikTok, a post, a tag, a fragment of “reality” that can turn into streaming.

Oh, and spoiler: he doesn’t work for free either. Usually takes 10%–15% of the live revenue, but it can go higher — especially if they bring sponsors, international tours, or complex bookings.

If the label controls the recording, the publisher handles the song: the lyrics, the melody, the creative copyright.

They’re the ones monetizing the songwriting part whenever a track is played or performed: streaming, radio, TV, concerts, covers, adaptations. It’s the invisible side of music.

The part you don’t hear — but that can make you money in your sleep.

It’s like holding shares in a patent: every time it’s used, you get paid.

And then there’s sync — another massive opportunity. If you hear a song in a movie, a Coca Cola ad, a Netflix series — it’s almost always a publisher who closed that deal. It’s called sync licensing.

Naturally, the public has no idea.

It’s not sexy. It’s not cool. But publishing is where the vault key lives.

The publisher typically takes 20%–50% of publishing revenues, depending on the contract.

The distributor is the one who uploads your music to platforms.

Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon, YouTube Music — you can’t upload a track by yourself. You always need an intermediary.

If the artist has a label, the distributor is usually included. If they’re independent, they pick from platforms like DistroKid, TuneCore, CD Baby, Amuse, etc.

A market that’s exploded alongside the rise of independent artists.

How do distributors make money?

If the label’s doing it, it’s part of the deal. If you’re independent, it depends: DIY distributors usually take a flat fee or a percentage (usually around 20%).

One of the first shocks when you enter the music world?

Just how complex the legal stuff is.

Clauses, options, secondary rights, territories… it’s a puzzle built for those who know the system. A minefield for those who don’t.

Record and publishing contracts look clear — but they’re not. And often, they blatantly favor the ones handing them out: labels, publishers, managers.

That’s why a real lawyer, like in any startup, works only for the artist.

They’re not the label’s lawyer. Not the manager’s.

Sometimes the label will offer one — and that’s when an artist should run. In the quiet of legal offices, careers are made or killed.

Every time someone talks about music in Italy, this question pops up:

“Is SIAE really a scam?”

Short answer? Not really.

SIAE is the body in Italy that collects and distributes public performance royalties: radio, TV, concerts, venues, streaming.

Every country has its own: ASCAP and BMI in the U.S., PRS in the UK, SACEM in France.

They do collecting — they collect money from those who use music (like a bar playing live shows, a radio station airing songs, or an event using music in the background) and pass it on (in theory) to those who wrote that music.

If you threw a party with 300 people and a killer DJ set and didn’t tell the PRO — you’d technically be in the wrong ;)

SIAE (like many collectives) has its historic critiques: slow, opaque, skewed.

The money? Usually goes to the usual suspects. The rest? Crumbs.

But hey — without a system to collect and distribute — authors wouldn’t see a single cent.

Better crooked than nonexistent.

Last but not least — here’s the game changer.

The one that, riding Napster’s long wave, shattered the old music world.

DSPs (Digital Service Providers): Spotify, but also Apple Music, Amazon, YouTube...

You know this one — it lets you play any song, anytime, anywhere. No downloads. No ownership. Just streaming, always on.

In return? They pay artists (directly or via labels/distributors) based on plays. Play after play.

And where does that money come from?

Welcome to the attention economy!

So We’ve laid the groundwork. It took a while but we’re on the same page now.

Next time, we’re not talking about music anymore. We’re talking about the Big Boss. The label. What it does, what it takes, and why I created Fankee to break the game...

Spoiler: it was already broken.