A music contract can still affect an artiste’s career long after the excitement of the signing moment has passed, often through clauses they barely understood at the time
By Deborah Oyedijo
For many artistes, the moment a contract arrives feels like confirmation that things are finally moving. A label is interested, a manager wants in, a publisher sees potential. In fast-growing music industries across Africa, these moments often come with urgency, excitement, and pressure to sign quickly before the opportunity disappears. Yet it is usually the clauses buried deep within the contract that determine who controls the music, who earns from it, and how much freedom an artiste retains over time.
This does not necessarily happen because artistes are careless. Music contracts are intentionally technical documents, filled with legal and commercial language that many creatives encounter for the first time only after their careers begin to accelerate. The result is that important provisions are sometimes signed without a full understanding of what they actually permit, restrict, or transfer.
One of the most important clauses in any recording agreement concerns ownership of masters. The “master” refers to the original sound recording of a song, and whoever owns it usually controls how that recording is commercially exploited, licensed, sold, or monetised. For many artistes, this becomes significant only years later, when the catalogue they created begins generating substantial long-term value.
One of the most visible examples of this is Taylor Swift’s dispute over the ownership of her early catalogue. After signing with Big Machine Records as a teenager, the label retained ownership of the masters for her first six albums. Years later, when the company itself was sold, control of those recordings transferred as part of the acquisition. Unable to regain ownership directly, Swift began re-recording her earlier albums as “Taylor’s Versions” to create new masters she controlled herself. The situation drew global attention to the long-term implications of signing away ownership of recordings early in an artiste’s career.
Closely connected to this is the Grant of Rights clause, which defines exactly what rights an artiste is transferring under an agreement. Depending on how broadly it is drafted, it may extend beyond a single project and include future recordings, performances, merchandising rights, image rights, and rights in formats that may not yet even exist at the time of signing.
Internationally, Prince became one of the most prominent examples of an artiste publicly challenging expansive contractual control. His dispute with Warner Bros. during the 1990s centred on ownership and control over his music and release schedule, eventually leading to years of public conflict before he regained ownership of his masters later in his career.
In Nigeria, Brymo’s dispute with Chocolate City also highlighted the practical effect broad contractual rights can have on an artiste’s ability to operate independently. During the legal conflict, injunctions reportedly restricted him from recording or releasing music elsewhere while the matter remained unresolved. Situations like these demonstrate that grant clauses do not simply determine what happens at the point of signing. They can continue affecting an artiste’s creative and commercial freedom long afterwards.
Territory clauses are another area many artistes overlook. These clauses determine where a company can commercially exploit an artiste’s work. Some agreements apply only within specific countries or regions, while others grant worldwide rights. As African music continues expanding globally through streaming and international licensing, this distinction has become increasingly important. A deal initially intended to support local distribution may ultimately affect opportunities across markets the artiste never anticipated reaching.
Advance payment clauses also carry more complexity than they often appear to at first glance. Advances are frequently celebrated publicly as evidence that an artiste has “made it”, but in most recording agreements, an advance is not free money. It is usually an upfront payment made against future royalties, meaning the company expects to recover it before the artiste receives additional royalty income.
This becomes even more significant when combined with recoupment clauses, which explain how those costs are recovered. Recording expenses, marketing budgets, videos, tour support, accommodation, and other expenditures may all be treated as recoupable under the contract. In some agreements, cross-collateralisation provisions mean that income from one project may be used to offset debts connected to another.
Royalty clauses are also equally important because they determine how revenue generated from music is actually divided. Many artistes focus on the royalty percentage itself, but the more important question is often what that percentage applies to after deductions and recoupment are taken into account. A royalty rate may appear attractive on paper while producing far less income in practice once expenses and contractual deductions are applied.
Even where royalties are owed, accounting clauses determine when and how those earnings are reported. Some contracts provide quarterly statements, while others operate on longer accounting periods. Without clear accounting obligations, artistes may struggle to properly track what their music is generating across multiple platforms and territories.
Related to this are auditing clauses, which give artistes the right to inspect or verify financial records connected to their royalties. In practical terms, these clauses create a mechanism for checking whether reported figures are accurate. While formal audits can be expensive and time-consuming, the existence of the clause itself often encourages stronger transparency and record-keeping.
Another clause that frequently appears in publishing and management agreements is the Right of First Refusal. This provision allows an existing company to match or respond to future offers before the artiste is free to move elsewhere.
On paper, the clause may appear routine. In practice, however, it can slow down opportunities at critical points in an artiste’s career. An independent African artiste may attract interest from a larger international publisher or label after building momentum over time, only to discover that their existing agreement grants another company several weeks or months to decide whether to match the offer. During that waiting period, the new opportunity may disappear altogether. What initially looked like a standard contractual provision can therefore end up affecting the speed and direction of career growth.
Reversion and buy-back clauses have also become increasingly important as music catalogues gain long-term value. Reversion clauses determine whether rights eventually return to the artiste after a specific period or under defined conditions, while buy-back clauses provide a pathway for artistes to repurchase rights they previously transferred. In an era where songs can continue generating revenue decades after release, these clauses often determine whether artistes are able to regain control over work that continues earning long after the original deal was signed.
Across all these clauses, the broader issue is not simply whether contracts are good or bad. Music agreements can create opportunities, provide funding, expand distribution, and support growth across multiple markets. The issue is whether artistes fully understand the structures governing those opportunities before committing to them.
As African music continues expanding globally, contract literacy is becoming just as important as creative talent. The language inside these agreements determines ownership, control, revenue, and flexibility long after the signing moment has passed. Understanding these clauses, therefore, does not require artistes to become lawyers. It simply requires recognising that contracts are not administrative formalities. They are frameworks that can make or break careers.
Deborah Oyedijo is a music business writer and entertainment lawyer-in-training with a focus on the African music industry. When she is not writing about music rights and culture, she is watching K-dramas or absorbing yet another documentary. Connect with her on IG and X: ayooyedijo