Page 4 - Taylor Swift. Because Yes, Everyone Is Talking About Her. And It’s Good SEO.

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Oh hi! I’m MJ Bailey, and I write things. Sometimes. It doesn’t mean I always know what to write, but hey, we’ll get there. I guess.

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But okay, this episode's topic is a little bit more obvious. I mean, it would have been great to have this done sooner. Like maybe the day of the announcement because the collective attention span of the internet moves very, very quickly. But I read the announcement and then fell asleep. I had a long, much nap, so I can’t entirely regret it. I will probably need to write an episode on my insomnia. But that’s probably something I’ll need to unpack with my therapist first. I don’t know. Add it to the list of things I need to write, I guess. 

That’s not the point, though. The point is that Taylor Swift finally owns all of her music. 

It was announced May 30th. Taylor Swift has purchased the master recordings of her first six albums. Which means she has the rerecord and the original in the case of four of them. Okay, that might be a lot to take in or not. It depends on how much Taylor Swift knowledge you have going into this episode. But if you have a lot, bear with me for a second while I try to catch everyone else up.

In the music industry, a lot of the contracts the artists sign include clauses that don’t give the artist full ownership of the album recording. Or everything that goes into an album. But for ease of argument, think of it as the actual sound file. The artist still has the lyrics and could–therefore–rerecord the song after the contract is up, but to many, it won’t quite be the same.

There was a time when the artist could buy the master recordings back with limited issue at the end of the contract, once their side of the bargain had been fulfilled. But those days are behind us because financial firms and investment groups have realized that these recordings are technically an asset. They are more than an asset to the artist, but they are still technically an asset. In that, they are a way to make money especially in the age of streaming. 

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Taylor Swift presented this business quirk to the public when she tried to buy her first six albums in 2019 only to have them sold to Scooter Braun who then sold them to Shamrock Capital the following year. They had her past, as she put it, but Taylor had her voice and ownership of the lyrics. Also, they couldn’t license those original tracks without her permission. And her fans are incredibly loyal. So as Taylor reclaimed her albums by releasing her own versions–modern rerecordings with a handful of bonus tracks–her fans embraced these new, fully owned by her CDs and set aside the old. That combined with this lack of licensing, effectively devaluing the original. 

Combine that with the income boost of The Eras Tour and Taylor Swift had all she needed to purchase her original albums for an undisclosed (as of the time of recording) sum. And now, she owns her entire catalog. Something she had dreamed about for 20 years. 

It’s a hell of an achievement, but as Taylor Swift noted in her announcement, this larger situation quickly became a cautionary tale to other artists as they signed their first contracts. They now knew that they had to ensure that they would walk away from the table owning their music. And for that–namely, the impact she had on others and the way she was able to protect so many from being in the same situation she found herself in–she’s grateful.

Okay, so that should catch up anybody who was unfamiliar with the situation, and we should be all on the same page… Except maybe not. Because while Taylor Swift’s impact on the music industry is clear and hard to deny (if not impossible, to deny), this approach to creativity has extended to other mediums as well. 

Or, at least, it found me. 

On Page 2, I explained that podcasting had taught me how important it was to me that I retain control of the things I make. I wanted to be able to blend genres and mix influences at a whim. I wanted stories that were kind of messy and didn’t categorize neatly. And that’s somewhat incompatible with traditional publishing. At least at first. Once a writer has established themselves, they have more freedom. And given that I have, like, 20 unpublished manuscripts sitting around, I can probably find something more contained that could be a good start. Or write something else. But I just didn’t want to. I want that freedom instead. 

But should I? There’s technically an argument in favor of sacrificing some creative freedom temporarily in favor of a big traditional publishing deal. Or even a small publishing deal. It would mean less work for me as traditional publishers have full staff able to take on every stage of the publishing process from editing to marketing to accounting. And I’m really bad at marketing. So technically, it would increase the odds of success, however I define it. Unless I want to define success as making what I want to. If that’s my definition of success, then a whole lot of things are up in the air. 

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But how much do we value creative freedom nowadays? Or at all. In an age of AI-generated art, it’s hard to pin down this value because proponents of AI would say that the generator gives them ultimate control to make whatever they want. But at the same time, this software has sparked numerous conversations about art and humanity and the intersection of the two. That art and making things isn’t about following a specific formula or staying within specific boxes. 

Which would mean that I’m right for wanting to be an indie author, that it’s okay that I’m forgoing any aspirations for a Big Five (or is it four?) book deal. And considering this is my life, my desire should be enough, right? I have to live with the consequences of my actions, so if I’m okay, then it’s okay. Full stop. But so much of my identity as a writer has come from outside sources.The fact remains  I am the sort of person who needs external validation in specific contexts. Which isn’t horrible, but in this, it certainly gets in my way. 

Creative endeavors need specific types of support to hold them up. External ones can keep the structure from blowing over on a bad day, but it's the support structure on the inside of the creative that really holds everything together. There’s a degree of confidence that creators need in order to keep going.  And I’m still looking for all the material needed to build up all those support beams. 

And this is one of my weakest points: this obsession with my work in its rawest form. I want it to be mine. And things that get in the way of that are things that I recoil from, but they’re also things that are found in traditional publishing. It’s not just about creative control. Or, I mean, it kind of is. Traditional publishing means someone else picks the cover, the release schedule, and how far the run goes. I think the books would revert to me if the publisher drops them or closes down, but I don’t think it’s impossible that it wouldn’t. And then what do I do?

Write more, you might be saying. I guess that’s not an invalid point. Having a thousand books might soften the loss of 5 or so. The math checks out, but at the same time, that doesn’t seem right. Every book I write is a distinct project, as individual as a child. In my experience, replacing them on that sort of level hasn’t been possible. Sure, there will come a time when a book doesn’t need as much of my energy, but it is still mine to take care of. And as an independent writer, I should really be advertising each book more than I am. 

It makes sense on paper and maybe even to you as you hear me say those words, but it’s the sort of thing I’m inclined to doubt and second guess because I’m always inclined to doubt and second guess things. The point is, I know what people would tell me I should want. I grew up in an environment–a school and community–that pushed a specific (or conventional, you could say) notion of success. And that concept doesn’t line up with the things I want for myself. 

And look, it doesn’t matter how old you are: sometimes you just need a role model. You need someone to prove to you what is possible. You need confirmation that you can exist in the mode that you want to or that the path that you want to go down does, in fact, exist. Sure, that assurance isn’t necessary for your survival in the classic sense, but it does spur you onward. It makes the walk less stressful and frightful. It gives you a dose of courage to help you on your way. 

And I suppose I could have found that anywhere. I could have looked for other indie writers who had a similar thought process as me. There are many of us, I’m sure, and the world of audio fiction is one where people truly understand the power of independence and freedom. But there was something about seeing Taylor Swift’s ongoing battle for her masters, the love of those initial recordings, those eras in her life that didn’t just encourage me. It didn’t just motivate me. It gave me what I needed.

Because, let’s face it. Taylor Swift has climbed the musical mountain. She has achieved most  of what there is to achieve in terms of awards and accolades. She’s on her second big record contract, one that allowed her to own everything she made under it, and yet, she yearned for more. She wanted those original recordings, those time capsules into moments of her life that she would never get back. Which is to say that she could never relive them again. We know how the story ends. She gets the recordings back.

But you know, that’s the other thing about this entire situation. She set out a plan to get those master recordings. Through these rereleases with the slew of additional tracks and not licensing what wasn’t fully hers, she was able to create a scenario in which those recordings were valueless in anyone else’s hands but hers. The Swifties had decided they didn’t want to listen to anything Taylor didn’t own, so what choice would the firms or investment groups have but to sell them specifically to Taylor Swift. And for Taylor, it made sense to buy them because they would immediately be restored in value once they were in her hands. Case in point, in the days since the announcement, the Swifties have already begun stacking their playlists and Tiktok feeds with the original tracks and sounds

So on one hand, it was a great business move, but it was also a love letter to art itself. It was a declaration not just of how much this particular artist cared about what she was doing, but her original six albums were worthless in anyone else’s hands but hers. It was a statement, a manifestation of a truth that she–and I–hold dear. Art is different when it’s entirely in the hands of its creator. And its value is not solely in a financial ledger but in what it represents, in the meaning ascribed to it by the person who created it. It is what it is entirely because of the hands that crafted it, which will never translate neatly into dollar bills.

In many ways, that’s the conclusion I’ve been circling around as I think about why it is I’ve stayed an indie writer. My work is worth more in a non-monetary way when it is entirely in my hands. And the value to me lies in that independence, and while it doesn’t always translate into a figure other people can understand, but I know it’s there. I can still see it. 

But with that, I’m MJ Bailey, and I’m a writer, I guess. Whatever that means.

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The Writer’s Open Book is a podcast from Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, edited, and produced by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. The logo was made by Keldor777 on Twitch. And to the Queen of Cups in my life, you know who you are, thank you for helping me process so much of this writing journey and for all the support. I couldn’t have done it without you.