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Pink Floyd’s legal victory over EMI is a triumph for artistic integrity
Mar 12th
The prog-rock band’s court win against their record label is a vindication of the album as a creative format
They don’t often look cheery in photos – and at least two of them can barely stand to be in the same room – but Pink Floyd have a lot to celebrate. The prog-rock legends won a pivotal victory against record company EMI over the sale of their own music. Basically, EMI wanted to make their classic concept albums available to download as individual songs. The band, however, prefer their albums to be downloaded as they were made: in their entirety, as complete musical works. And the judge agreed with Floyd.
At first glance, their motivation seems a little pretentious, recalling a time when supergroups like Led Zeppelin only released albums because they were serious artists and above all that pop stuff, man. However, Floyd’s victory is more than just musical snobbery: it’s a triumph for artistic integrity.
Michelangelo wouldn’t have wanted his Sistine Chapel ceiling to be chiselled into bits and flogged to individual buyers, so why should the same fate happen to Floyd’s painstakingly crafted The Dark Side of the Moon? Floyd’s most famous album appeared in 1973, when “long-playing records” appeared on vinyl. Back then, unless acts released tracks as singles, the only way of hearing individual tracks alone was to fiddle with the needle or hold a microphone in front of the stereo – a popular pastime among 70s teens – and record Roger Waters and co, perhaps accompanied by the sound of the family dog barking at the postman.
Downloading has changed everything. Now we can dip into albums, taking a little bit here and there. It’s a wonderful way of experiencing music, especially music you have never heard before, without having to fork out on an LP. However, the downside has been the slow death of the album as a creative form.
In recent years, the art of releasing a collection of songs that flow perfectly and make sense as a complete statement has faced a double onslaught. The digital era meant bands were suddenly having to come up with more and often inferior tracks just to pad out the longer CD format. But downloading has had a greater impact. The likes of Radiohead still take great care to release crafted albums, but often bands don’t really record albums any more. They record collections of downloadable tracks.
The upside of this is that many albums tend to have less filler; gone are the days of “frontloaded” LPs where a couple of hit singles at the start are followed by a lot of mush. Now, every track has to be good enough to be potentially downloaded. However, where would this approach would have left some of the greatest albums ever made? Would David Bowie’s opus The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars had anything like the same impact if people were able to dip in and out, experiencing the Ziggy character’s rise but avoiding his ultimate fate as a Rock ‘N’ Roll suicide? Granted, many concept albums are ludicrous prog-rock conceits. But it’s equally unthinkable to imagine hearing a non-concept masterpiece like Joy Division’s Closer in bite-sized chunks, rather than experiencing the full, unfolding horror/triumph of the second side’s stunning four-song sequence.
Joy Division (and, for years, New Order) refused to release album tracks as singles, treating albums and singles as separate entities, a stance recently adopted by MGMT. If you want to hear Pink Floyd tracks as standalones, download the songs they released as singles, like 1967’s psychedelic cross-dressing anthem Arnold Layne (also on compilations like Relics) or 1979’s teacher-baiting Another Brick in the Wall. Or download albums like Wish You Were Here and Meddle to hear as the creators intended. The marketing men might not approve, but it will be good for music and, more importantly, the fate of the album.
Pink Floyd score victory for the concept album in court battle over ringtones
Mar 11th
EMI told not to sell single tracks as downloads in ruling which could mean further losses for music label
Pink Floyd, the British rock group behind platinum-selling albums The Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall, today secured a legal victory for the much-maligned genre of the concept album against the apparently inexorable march of the instant pop download.
In a high court ruling that led the band’s fans to proclaim a victory for their heroes’ artistic integrity over the forces of commercial exploitation, a judge ruled that EMI can no longer sell the songs from any Pink Floyd albums as single downloads or mobile phone ringtones.
After a case brought by the band’s surviving members, Roger Waters, David Gilmour and Nick Mason, the high court chancellor, Sir Andrew Morritt, said the label must adhere to a clause in its contract with the group intended to “preserve the artistic integrity of the albums” which prevented the unbundling of Pink Floyd’s records.
Pink Floyd became one of the biggest rock bands in history with their elaborate and experimental concept albums and highly theatrical live tours. EMI had argued that its deal with the band, reaffirmed in 1999 before the download market took off, related to physical CDs and DVDs but not to online distribution.
Pink Floyd alleged, and EMI agreed, that the label had allowed online downloads from the albums and allowed parts of tracks to be used as ringtones despite the clause which “expressly prohibits” EMI from selling songs out of context.
The judge granted the band the declaration they sought – that the contract means EMI is not entitled to exploit recordings by online distribution or by any other means other than the complete original album without Pink Floyd’s consent.
“This is great for a band who are the masters of the concept album,” said Matthew Johns, who runs Brain Damage, a dedicated Pink Floyd fan site. “Their music is unlike most other artists and listening to a whole album can be an immersive experience if you get into the concepts.”
Generations of young people have, like Johns, pulled the curtains and turned down the lights to listen to the whole 43 minutes of 1973’s Dark Side of the Moon, in which tracks merge seamlessly, exploring themes of conflict, greed and the passage of time. Each side is a single piece, beginning and ending with a fading heartbeat. It sold an estimated 45 million copies.
The verdict means the band’s music may now have to be taken down from the iTunes online music store which requires that album tracks are for sale individually.
It could mean a further loss of revenue for EMI, which releases recordings for Coldplay and Kylie Minogue but last year posted a £1.75bn loss. Its chief executive, Elio Leoni-Sceti, this week announced his resignation and former ITV boss Charles Allen will take control of its music business.
Yesterday’s verdict is thought to be the first time a band have successfully taken their record label to court over the way it has distributed their music online. It could lead to other cases, music industry analysts believe.
Robert Howe QC, representing Pink Floyd, argued that it would have been “a very odd result” if members of Pink Floyd were able to control exactly how their music was sold as a physical product but there was “a free-for-all with no limitation on online distribution”.Elizabeth Jones QC, appearing for EMI, disagreed and said the word record “plainly applies to the physical thing – there is nothing to suggest it applies to online distribution”.
Pink Floyd win high court battle to stop EMI selling singles
Mar 11th
Band objected to label providing downloads of individual songs from concept albums that were created as a single work
Pink Floyd have today won a high court battle to stop record company EMI selling single downloads from their concept albums.
The judge has yet to rule on how much EMI now owes the band but the label was ordered to pay Pink Floyd’s costs, which are estimated at £60,000.
Chancellor Sir Andrew Morritt accepted arguments by the group that EMI was bound by a contract forbidding it to sell its records other than as complete albums without written consent.
Pink Floyd alleged – and EMI agreed – that it had allowed online downloads from the albums and had allowed parts of tracks to be used as ringtones.
Pink Floyd are known for their conceptual albums in which individual songs often merge with others to form larger “song suites”. The band argued that their music should only ever be heard as part of the full-length albums in which they originally appeared. They pointed to a contract signed in 1999 that stated their music could not be “unbundled” from its original context.
EMI’s lawyers argued that this contract, which was signed before the emergence of digital music stores such as iTunes, referred to “records” and did not apply to online sales.
But the judge sided with the band, noting that the contract was designed to “preserve the artistic integrity of the albums”.
Lawyers said it was the first time such a dispute between artists and their record companies had been heard in private.
Pink Floyd were pioneers of the long player format, with their 1973 prog-rock classic The Dark Side of the Moon notching up 35m worldwide sales.
The ban signed with EMI in 1967 and became one of its most lucrative signings, their back catalogue being outsold only by that of The Beatles.
Roger Waters, who co-founded the band with Syd Barrett, Richard Wright and Nick Mason, has a fortune estimated at £85m, according to the Sunday Times Rich List. The band last played together at London’s Live 8 concert in 2005.
Abbey Road studios must be saved | John Harris
Feb 17th
The place where the Beatles recorded is full of wonder. So why are we so bad at preserving our pop-cultural heritage?
A simple fact: the British are crap at preserving their pop-cultural heritage. In the States, you cannot move for Halls of Fame, proudly curated museums, and streets named after everyone from Dave Grohl to Elvis. In the UK, however, if the sums fail to add up, in come the demolition men, and there goes another piece of history.
Manchester’s Hacienda was razed to the ground to make way for what used to be called “yuppie flats”. In Liverpool, the original Cavern Club – now a car park – was belatedly replaced by an ersatz version. In central London, the Astoria has gone, making room for the Crossrail project. The site of the Marquee Club on Wardour Street – the spiritual home of the Who – is now the home of two restaurants and some high-end apartments. The list goes on: if these venues were associated with authors or composers, they might have survived, but associations with mere pop music are never quite enough to save them.
And now a shadow falls on Abbey Road – as with the almost-as-legendary Olympic studios in Barnes, a potential casualty of EMI’s lack of business acumen. In the age of platinum albums done on laptops, we’re told, it’s a tragic relic. Read the quote from a media lawyer cited in the Guardian: “The brand is worth more than the building … what you have is a very expensive piece of heritage. If an artist goes to a label and asks to record at Abbey Road they will be met with maniacal laughter.” On that evidence, the record industry more than deserves its apparently irreversible decline.
This may not be the most punk-rock point to make, but I don’t care. I have visited Studio 2, the holy of holies where the Beatles worked their magic, and to me it seemed as full of wonder (and most of the original decor) as any cathedral. Down the corridors are studios and anterooms that have been graced by artists such as the Shadows, Kate Bush and Radiohead – and even good old Panic at the Disco. This is the place where the Zombies recorded Odessey and Oracle, and Pink Floyd laid down both The Piper at the Gates of Dawn and The Dark Side of the Moon. Musicians swear that it allows them to tap into something that most other recording spaces don’t get near. In other words, we should treat it with as much respect as any stately home or high-cultural landmark.
Paul McCartney, it seems, is keen to see some kind of rescue package – though with a suggested price tag of £30m, he should surely be able to buy it using the pile of coppers he keeps under the bed. Whatever, Abbey Road studios should not just be preserved, but kept open – albeit thanks to philanthropy rather than market economics – as a working studio. A thought: would designation as one of those world heritage sites save it?
Forget the Beatles. Let’s honour Abbey Road studios for its services to Pink Floyd | Sam Leith
Feb 21st
Posted by Sam Leith in Business
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For sale: 70-year-old white elephant. Comes with black and white stripes. Bids start at £10m. Any takers? Abbey Road, the recording studio made famous by the Beatles, is now, officially, itself a piece of rock memorabilia, cash-strapped EMI having decided to put it up for sale. But it is an unusual piece of rock memorabilia: it won’t make the traditional journey through a po-faced auction at Sotheby’s before ending up on the wall of a hamburger restaurant, or in the vault of a dotcom millionaire in the throes of a midlife crisis.
It’s just there – waiting for someone to think of something to do with it. On that, there are two schools of thought. One is that the London studio is a priceless piece of our cultural heritage and needs saving for the nation; the other is that it’s Just A Bloody Building, and what’s important about it resides in the music that originated from it.
“The tomb in Palestine is not the porch of spirits lingering,” the poet Wallace Stevens wrote. “It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.” That same debunking, world-as-it-is spirit needs to be taken into account when considering this other place associated with pilgrimage, barefoot longhairs and rumours of a questionable death (if you recall the whole crackers “Macca dead” theory).
But we can, and frequently do, come over all sentimental about buildings and their associations. Look at the recent campaign to save a dilapidated Welsh shed – on the grounds that it “played” Uncle Monty’s cottage in the cult 1980s movie Withnail & I. This is not a bad or frivolous thing: it’s a way of honouring the past. And if one building’s past deserves honouring, it’s Abbey Road’s. This, after all, was the first purpose-built recording studio in the world, the place where Cliff Richard recorded Europe’s first rock’n'roll record, Move It, and its rollcall of alumni is dizzying.
Exercised though people are about the eponymous Beatles album, with its legacy of wacky traffic-thwarting zebra-crossing antics, for my money the studio’s finest hour was Pink Floyd recording Dark Side of the Moon: a feat of dazzling techno-trickery and musical imagination, which even featured studio staff talking nonsense over instrumentals.
America, we are constantly reminded, looks after its pop heritage. Sun Studios in Memphis and RCA’s Nashville set-up are preserved as heritage sites, while Detroit houses a Motown museum and Seattle one to Jimi Hendrix. By way of contrast, the Guardian’s John Harris last week ran through the gloomy list of razed or neglected British pop landmarks: Hacienda (flats), Marquee (restaurant), Cavern (car park), Astoria (train track).
And yet and yet. Performance venues are one thing and recording studios quite another. Their places in the collective experience are different. The former are more like churches, the latter like monasteries. Gigs are public spaces, recording sessions private. Had it not been for that photograph and that album title, would we be feeling sentimental about Abbey Road? And whereas venues can always theoretically continue as venues, a stage and a crowd being all one needs to rawk, recording technology does become obsolete. These days, the studios of the hottest producers on the planet, a friend in the industry tells me, are “a room with a microphone and a Mac on a desk”. A source quoted in this newspaper went further. Any band asking to record at Abbey Road now, he said, would be met with “maniacal laughter”.
Even Abbey Road’s equipment is no longer unique. On their website, they boast of having created software so “now any studio in the world can get a piece of the Abbey Road sound”. Well, quite. Abbey Road’s future in the music industry, then, is as an electronic ghost of itself. And its future in fandom is as an icon, an idea, an Abbey Road of the imagination. But then that’s what its place in fandom always has been: the bricks and mortar are neither here nor there.
The National Trust has been making interested noises following the announcement. It would be great if it could buy the studio. If it can’t, it’s tempting to demand the Heritage Lottery Fund intervene, if only to see off the remote but dreadful possibility of Abbey Road being turned into a Hard Rock Cafe. But I’m not convinced it should.
Paul McCartney popped up on Newsnight last week to discuss the studio. “There are,” he said, “a few people who have been associated with the studio for a long time, who were talking about mounting some bid to save it. I sympathise with them. I hope they can do something.” The fab one is wagging his famous thumbs in the air in support of a private bid. But, unless I misread the small print of what he said, he’s not joining it. “I sympathise” is not quite the same as “I’m backing them to the hilt”, or “I’m putting some money in”, or “I’m leading the consortium”. And even as they offer support, his words contain a note of condolence.
Yes, we are entitled to feel sad about the passing of Abbey Road as a working recording studio. But do we feel £10m sad? McCartney apparently doesn’t – and that might give the rest of us pause.