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GRAMMYs

Mary Wells in 1970
Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

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How Black Performers Continue To Be Underpaid deep-asymmetries-power-how-recording-industry-spent-decades-denying-fair-payment-black

Deep Asymmetries Of Power: How The Recording Industry Spent Decades Denying Fair Payment To Black Artists

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Scholars Matt Stahl and Olufunmilayo Arewa outline the record industry's opaque accounting practices, which demonstrate how artists in the '50s and '60s were systematically denied record royalties
Noah Berlatsky
GRAMMYs
Oct 19, 2020 - 11:26 am

Singer Mary Wells was one of Motown's most successful early stars; her massive 1964 hit "My Guy" smashed through segregated genre lines, hitting number 1 not just on the R&B charts, but on the Billboard Hot 100 as well. But despite selling enormous numbers of records, Wells died in poverty at age 49 in 1992. She had no medical insurance, and when she contracted cancer, she couldn't pay her rent and lost her home, as well as her car. Stars like Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross and Rod Stewart donated tens of thousands of dollars to pay for her medical treatments.

Wells was grateful, but also understandably bitter. "It just shouldn't be where I have to hold my hand out and say I need help," she said. "I had hit records. I made a lot of money for people. I don't think anybody gets what they want or deserve, because life isn't like that. But they shouldn't be thrown on the street."

Wells believed the record industry had ripped her off. And research by scholars Matt Stahl of the University of Western Ontario and Olufunmilayo Arewa of Temple Law back her up. Stahl and Arewa have been examining the record industry's Byzantine accounting practices. Their work, discussed in a paper released last November, indicates that artists in the '50s and '60s were systematically denied record royalties. Today, the practices which robbed Mary Wells and other singers of her era persist. Record company accounting practices remain opaque, and there's good reason to believe that performers continue to be underpaid even when they make "a lot of money for people."

"I think what's really lacking is systems of accountability," Arewa told GRAMMY.com in a Zoom call with Stahl. "And the question is, how do you actually have accountability when you have such deep asymmetries of power between the recording companies and the artists, and also deep assymmetries of information, between the recording companies and the artists signing the contract? Generally, the recording companies know a lot more than the people signing. And when you combine that with no accountability, I think you end up with a system that's not very favorable to artists."

The recording industry's monopoly on information was important in the '50s and '60s, Stahl and Arewa explain, because artist compensation was dependent on royalties, which the record companies were supposed to track. Even contributions to health and retirement funds made through the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA) were calculated based on income. This worked pretty well for television performers covered by the organization, since they had regular incomes and wages. But recording artists had more sporadic earnings, and AFTRA had little interest in making sure those were reported accurately before the 1990s.

Typically, artists received some advance money to pay for wages and other expenses accrued while making a record. Royalties are counted from moment of first sale; in the '50s and '60s artists typically received a paltry 3-5% of retail. These royalties are first applied to the expense balance. Only after these initial expenses are paid back do artists start to receive royalty checks.

Record companies then have a huge incentive to understate royalties, and numerous ways to do so. They can claim that artist expenses were high, or charge them for dubious expenses, or not report domestic or foreign sales. Howell Begle, the late Washington lawyer who regularly advocated on behalf of underpaid black R&B stars of the '50s and ’60s, also found that record companies would charge artists for expenses not allowed for in contracts, such as the costs of remastering old recordings for re-release on CD. Because of such accounting methods, many high-profile artists ended up owing their record companies exorbitant sums. Arewa and Stahl note in their article that in 1986 Muddy Waters owed Chess $56,000; Carla Thomas owed Stax some $80,000.

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Mary Wells poses with The Beatles in 1965 
Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Record executives claimed that these huge sums were the result of artist profligacy; label owners supposedly advanced Waters, Thomas and others thousands for drinking, partying and high-living. Artists had little power to contest such racist, insulting narratives, because they had no access to company records.

Contracts did not provide for regular audits. Artists could demand audits, but they were required to pay for them themselves—and because record companies had cheated them for years, they often, like Mary Wells, lacked the money for an extended legal battle. Companies paid no penalties for withholding royalties, either, and even if an audit revealed money owed, artists wouldn't necessarily be able to get it, especially in the Jim Crow era. "I'm not sure an African American person could really actually go to court or even find a lawyer to take the case [in the '50s or '60s]," Arewa told me. "And even if he went to court, how would a jury look at this African-American person who's making allegations or accusations against a white person?"

Despite the record company's many advantages, musicians have tried to hold them accountable. The most successful campaign in this regard was undertaken by the great R&B singer Ruth Brown. As Stahl discusses in an article in The Queen Mary Journal of Intellectual Property, Brown and Begle launched what was essentially a public relations program to shame her label, Atlantic, into providing restitution for artists.

Brown was experiencing a career renaissance, and she used her elevated profile to raise awareness of unjust treatment in the music industry. Meanwhile, Begle pushed for greater access to Atlantic accounts. After years of pro bono work, he managed to find a smoking gun memo which admitted that Atlantic had not even kept track of royalties for many of its artists from 1960 to 1971. This meant that all their accounting statements after that time were fraudulent.

Atlantic at the time was engaged in a high-profile 40th anniversary celebration and trying to cement its status as a cultural treasure. Faced with a public relations disaster and possible criminal charges, the company in 1988 agreed to fund the Rhythm and Blues Foundation, which would make cash grants to classic artists.

That seems like a happy ending. But unfortunately, Stahl told GRAMMY.com, "Shortly after they were founded, it seems like they turned their attention to institutionalizing rather than handing the money out. Within a few years, it was clear that its main priorities were a plush office, a few salaries and annual awards ceremony." Begle resigned from the Foundation's board, as did rock critic Dave Marsh, who said angrily in 2002 that the Foundation's "main mission appears to be covering up the felonies committed against veteran soul/R&B artists."

Stahl and Arewa believe these injustices still persist. Audits remain sporadic and difficult, and record company accounting, past and present, continues to be opaque. The industry has responded to Black Lives Matter protests by blacking out websites to reflect on social justice issues. Spotify and Sony offered to match employee donations, and Warner Music Company announced it would donate several hundred million to a foundation to support antiracist causes. 

But Stahl and Arewa are skeptical. "If someone proposed $200 million dollars [in charitable contribution]," Stahl says, "you can figure what tiny fraction of what is actually contemplated that might be." Arewa points out that actress Hilary Swank just had to sue AFTRA for denying her coverage for coverage of ovarian cysts. If well-known actors aren't receiving good medical coverage from AFTRA, it doesn't bode well for less high-profile performers. 

"It struck me when Tidal was launched," Arewa says, "that there were various very, very successful artists, they were all on stage complaining, and many of them are multimillionaires, if not billionaires complaining about their royalties and their payments from the recording industry. And they aren't really the artists with the biggest problems. Not to say they don't have problems, but they are doing very well, even despite the problems. Some people are literally dying in poverty because they don't get royalties. We know cases of those. So the question is, how do you fix the system so it has better outcomes for everyone?"

Reform is too late for Mary Wells, and for Ruth Brown, who died in 2006. But If record companies really wanted to make up for past misdeeds, and prevent future ones, Stahl and Arewa say, they could start by opening up their accounts to researchers, accountants and artists. Regular independent audits, paid for by the record companies themselves, would be a huge step towards figuring out what older artists are owed, and what new artists should be guaranteed going forward. What's needed isn't charity, but transparency and the accountability that comes with it. As Wells said, nobody gets what they want or deserve. But musicians who brought joy to so many, and so much money to labels, should at least get what they're owed.

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Curtis Waters

Photo by Hassan Rashid

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Curtis Waters' Year Only Gets More "Stunnin'" new-single-freckles-and-upcoming-album-pity-party-curtis-waters-year-only-gets-more

With A New Single, "Freckles," And Upcoming Album 'Pity Party,' Curtis Waters' Year Only Gets More "Stunnin'"

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The TikTok-famous performer reflects on his smash-hit year and looks ahead to what's next
John Norris
GRAMMYs
Sep 1, 2020 - 9:04 am

Four years ago, a heavily depressed 16-year-old Nepali immigrant living in Calgary named Abhi Bastakoti was told by his grandmother to hang in there, because she had looked at his future, and had a feeling his life would take a turn. She even made a prediction: that her grandson's best year would come at age 20.

That’s the kind of woman you want picking your lottery numbers. Because four years later, only months after turning 20, Bastakoti’s ship came in. Under his artist name Curtis Waters, he became one of this challenging year’s breakout stars. When most of the world had gone into COVID quarantine, he expertly employed the viral powers of TikTok to tease out the impending release of "Stunnin'"—a sly, raunchy, hilarious and insanely catchy two-and-a-half minute collaboration with Canadian pals Harm Franklin and Declan Hoy that has, no cap, changed Waters' life.

The star-making powers of TikTok were on full display when those teasers caught fire, priming the pump for the May release of the song, which was a monster. "Stunnin'"s numbers lived up to its name: 700,000 streams a day by early summer; 70 million plays on Spotify alone as of late August; hundreds of thousands of TikTokers have posted their own clips to the song, including platform superstar Dixie D’Amelio; and an irresistible D.I.Y. music video featuring a tux-clad Curtis busting some moves and a cameo from his younger brother Albert has, to date, 11.6 million views.

To borrow one of "Stunnin'"s lyrics, Curtis busted quick, and sure enough, the labels came circling. Even before the song's release, based solely on the TikTok buzz, industry players waved lots of deals with lots of zeros. But rather than opt for a quick payout from people who, Waters sensed, were more interested in a dozen more "Stunnin'"s than in the totality of what he wanted to do as an artist, he and manager Chris Anokute (an industry vet, former A&R for Katy Perry and Joss Stone, and the founder of Young Forever Inc.) opted for a more artist-friendly license-only deal with BMG.

Waters soon proved himself much more than that one viral hit, with two summertime follow-up singles, each dramatically different from "Stunnin'"s horny flex. In June there was "System"—a pugilistic, electro-punk indictment of both music biz commodification of artists and the cancer of racial injustice that America was once again confronting with the killing of George Floyd; followed by July's "The feelings tend to stay the same," a shimmery, sentimental pop reflection on a college romance that had to end, with a misty, Wes Anderson-worthy video to match.

Now Curtis, who says he loves upending genres and "pushing boundaries," adds yet another chapter to an eclectic image, in the new single "Freckles." The first taste of Waters' upcoming album Pity Party is a bright and tender ode to a survivor, and it was the first song that made Anokute interested in working with Waters. The manager happened across it via an algorithm in February, when both "Freckles" and the entire album were briefly online (Pity Party was soon taken down, but gets its official release next month).

"I think it probably says more about me than 'Stunnin'' to be honest,” says Waters of "Freckles," which was born out of a friendship with a girl he met when he was in a mental hospital, and her determination to carry on in the face of numerous traumas. The artist's own mental health struggles have long informed his music. He's been making beats since he was 14, started making songs for himself a few years after that, and a visit to his Soundcloud page reveals plenty of earlier songs that vary wildly, from trap to straight pop-punk—including a first album, 2018’s Prom Night—which, despite being consistently upbeat and often funny, mine themes of depression, anxiety and inadequacy.

Waters was born in Nepal, moved to Germany at 4, Canada at 10 and North Carolina at 17, where in 2019 he was diagnosed as bipolar. That led to a slippery slope of over-medication and a sabbatical from college—a chapter of his life that will be chronicled on Pity Party. He hopes his candor about those struggles will reach other young people in similar situations, and it’s one topic we touched on with him over Zoom in mid-August. Also discussed: his conservative parents (academics with multiple degrees) and what they make of his rawer lyrics; the glory of the Smashing Pumpkins’ "1979"; the complexity of Curtis’ musical hero Kanye West; and Waters' challenging musical ambitions, which go far beyond "Stunnin'."

Congratulations, man! What a crazy last few months it's been for you, and what a year for it to happen in.

Thanks! It’s only been I guess, six months?

I saw you tweet the other day, "Usually I wake up so anxious but lately I have felt so f**king good, waking up every day excited to make music."

And I have been making a lot of music too!

In one of the Nepali papers this summer you said, "I see myself as more of a producer who knows how to make myself sound good," rather than a great singer or rapper.

Yeah. I only started making music for myself when I was 17, with vocals? But I’ve kind of finessed my way into knowing how to produce really well over the years. And I’m getting better at singing. I want to challenge myself to make more acoustic, stripped-down almost folk-type songs too. But so far it’s just been like—I wake up every day and I make like five beats a day. I’m just always working on stuff. So I don’t think I am an amazing singer by any means, but I think I’m—I kind of know how to write songs, and I know how to make cool stuff. You know what I mean?

Having a breakthrough year in this crazy pandemic year—it’s got to be great and a little weird. But you said your grandma predicted this would be the year for you back when you were 16?

Yeah. I was going through a really difficult time. I had left high school because of my depression. And I was just looking for hope. And I was talking to my mom, and my mom told my grandma without really telling me, and my grandma went and saw a fortune teller. And for years I wasn’t religious or superstitious, so it was hard for me to be like, "Oh, things are gonna work out one day.” But she said 20 will be the year where I start finding happiness, and things will really start looking up. It was always this like self-fulfilling prophecy where I was like working really hard to making sure something would happen by the age of 20. But then also knowing something would happen because my grandma said so.

Since "Freckles" is the new single, tell me about that one first and we'll work our way backwards. It was the first song Chris [Anokute] heard and made him want to work with you?

Yeah, a hundred per cent. I don’t think Chris ever really cared for "Stunnin'," to be honest. It’s not his type of song. Honestly, even for me "Stunnin'" is—it’s a fun song? But I don’t really listen to music like that most of the time. I mean, of course it’s been awesome for me because I get to live out my dreams. But "Freckles" was a song that I had my heart in.

You had posted "Freckles" online early this year, before "Stunnin',” along with the whole Pity Party album, and then took it down?

Yeah, from the very beginning I was like, "Okay I don’t have any industry connections, but I know my music and is gonna get slept on and I don’t know what to do about this. I made this entire album in my bedroom, mixed and mastered, everything, but I just don’t know how to get it out there." And you know I would send it to these A&Rs, these label people, and finally I was like, "F**k waiting." I knew in my heart it was amazing, thought people were gonna love it and whatever happens, happens. And it kind of did happen. Chris found me randomly, just really naturally because of a Soundcloud algorithm, he heard the record and just loved it so much.

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"Freckles" is sweet, but there is this intense line about "Band-aids on your arm/ Your scars they remind me/ All that you’ve been through/ But you’re still here smiling." Is there a story behind it?

Yeah the whole album kind of started because I was in a mental hospital and I was diagnosed with bipolar [disorder], and then I came back home. And it relates because this girl I met in this mental hospital, I reconnected with her, maybe like six months after I came back home? And she was just telling me about traumatic things that were happening, but like the whole time we hung out, it was such a pleasant conversation. She was just so strong, and so happy. And so much happened in her life, but she still had such a positive mindset. She was like, "I’m gonna become a flight attendant," and she was just excited about her future.

And another girl was at the heart of your recent single "The feelings tend to stay the same"—which may be the most sentimental thing you’ve put out. Definitely a world away from "Stunnin'."

What’s interesting is for me, now—I’m sort of playing catch-up. Because people are finally hearing the stuff from the album, and I’m already thinking about what’s next, right? So people are discovering "The feelings tend to stay the same," whereas really that’s what I was feeling back like a year ago, when I wrote it. But that song is probably the best look into where I am most right now—emotionally.

And it’s got this great video out on a lake, in a field…

Yeah that was in the park around where I live. My brother’s in it, and my friend Fallon that I went to prom with in high school, and my friend Jailyn from college. So it was easy, because it was all friends.

Speaking of high school friends, I actually retweeted you recently when you talked about your love for the Smashing Pumpkins' "1979"— which is truly one of my favorite songs of all time.

Oh, I love that song!

So great. It’s such a quintessential teen-years song. I told [Billy] Corgan years ago that as far as I’m concerned that song is so perfect it would be like "Drop the mic, I’m done" after writing that.

I love that video too. I want to capture—that’s what I want my music to be. Like, what I feel when I listen to that, that’s what I want. It’s like—I know how to make beats, I know how to do this, right? But I’ve been making more stuff like that recently, for sure. Regardless of sonics and stuff, that’s the emotion I want to really hone in on.

You’ve been really open about your mental health and being diagnosed as bipolar. Do you still have high highs and low lows?

This year I’ve controlled it. I’ve controlled it way better. I mean I am a stable guy, for sure. But like when I was younger, it was really hard. Even when I was writing this album it was really hard. But at this point—I hope nothing goes wrong where I go completely off the track again? But I am in a good spot for sure, at this point.

No celebrity has been more open in recent months about his own bipolar condition than one of your personal musical heroes, Kanye West. What are your thoughts on his artistry, his openness about that side of his life and his more divisive political involvements?

It's hard. You idolize certain people, and then at the end of the day they're just like you. And that can sometimes be good, and other times you can realize they’re just as flawed, or just as incoherent, or they’re just winging it. I don’t know. All I can really say is I hope he finds happiness. I hope he finds stability. Sometimes I just feel like, none of this shit matters. Just be with your family, be happy, be healthy, you know? But he’s changed my life, with his honesty. And the thing about honesty is, you’re not always gonna like it, right? I don't agree with everything he says. I don’t support a lot of things he says. But I can’t ignore how much [he] impacted my way of thinking and my life, and how it liberated me, creatively and as a human, growing up.

Who knows if we would be here talking if it weren’t for "Stunnin'." So much has been said about the TikTok campaign. But what do you remember about that song coming together? It was your friend Declan [Hoy] who did the beats?

Yeah he sent me the original beat, and I played the chords on it, and I rapped on it, and I did the chorus and I rearranged it and all that stuff. Usually I make the beat, and finish everything myself. But this time I took what he sent me, made my version of it, and at first I—I kind of hated the song. [Laughs.] I sent it back, he was in the same city with my friend Harm Franklin, and he sent me his version back. I put Auto-Tune on it, mixed and mastered it, finished the song. And I just didn’t know what I was gonna do with it, because I was really trying to do songs more in the realm of "The feelings tend to stay the same," just reflecting all this stuff that I had been going through emotionally, right? And then I had "Stunnin'," which felt like a detour from where I was trying to go artistically. But, then corona happened, and so I was like, "Okay, no more sad music. Everyone’s already sad. Let’s cheer people up." So I teased it, saw the response, and then I was like, "Wow, okay. This is not a bad song. People love the song." It got such a crazy reaction. 'Cause usually the people who react to my music are a certain demographic, you know? I mean, I know who likes sad, emo pop-punk, whatever you wanna call the type of energy I’m on usually. And "Stunnin'" was a different energy, and it was like—not to say "normies," but the casual listeners were really in for it. So, you know, when it’s reaching the casual people that’s when you know, it’s like, "Okay. This is not just for me."

I thought of your now-infamous "Good p*ssy sound like pasta" line when Cardi B talked about hers being like "Macaroni in a pot" in "WAP"! You guys were in sync there!

Yes sir! Known fact! [Laughs.] But the thing about that is—the shit that I say in "Stunnin'"—that doesn’t have to be me. You know, I could be an actor in a movie and do all this crazy shit, and no one’s gonna be mad at me, because I’m acting, right? So I can just take on this dickhead character in a song, where I just say vulgar stuff. You know what I mean? But sometimes people message me like, "I can’t believe you said this!" And I’m like, "Why would you believe that—I'm not…! It’s just a fun song!" It’s entertainment.

But lines like that one, or "I can go slow or go faster, if I bust quick that’s a bastard"—you can play that stuff for your parents?

I don’t think they even understand most of what I’m saying. Uh…which allows me to get away with stuff? But there’s like an unspoken rule where, if there’s some lyrics that are questionable, we don’t talk about it? You know, they listened to "The feelings tend to stay the same" and they read the lyrics and they were like, "Yeah this is amazing" and they loved it and we talked about it. But we’ve never talked about "Stunnin'" lyrics and I hope we never do. [Laughs.]

This year alone you’ve shown a lot of variety. You think it’s reductive to call Curtis Waters just a hip-hop artist?

I don’t think any label is accurate. I don’t know what I am—I’m finding out every day. Some people will tell me "You’re a pop artist" or "You’re a hip-hop artist," you’re this, you’re that. I’m just a dude making stuff that I like every day. I mean the way I think about my albums is like, eras of Kanye, or eras of Tyler, the Creator. You know what I mean? I mean I am already thinking, "What is the next era?" And not even albums—even just songs. Those three songs—"System," "Stunnin'" and "The feelings…"? For me, those are completely different songs. I don’t know what genres they are. And I love that. You know, I want to keep doing that. I want to keep challenging, pushing myself, pushing whatever boundaries there are already. I feel like my music is not even weird enough right now. I want to get weirder!

Curtis Waters' "Freckles" is out now. His album Pity Party is set to drop Oct. 9.

Read more: Dua Lipa Talks 'Club Future Nostalgia,' Working With Madonna And How She's Navigating The Music Industry In The COVID-19 Era

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Kiana V

Kiana V

Photo Courtesy of 88rising

 
 
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How 88rising's New Label Spotlights Filipino Music 88rising-paradise-rising-interview-sean-miyashiro-kiana-v-leila-alcasid

PARADISE RISING: How 88rising's New Label Is Pushing Filipino Music And Culture To The Forefront

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GRAMMY.com caught up with 88rising founder Sean Miyashiro and Filipino artists Kiana V and Leila Alcasid to talk about how PARADISE RISING is spotlighting the blossoming music scene in the Philippines
Anjana Pawa
GRAMMYs
Aug 30, 2020 - 7:00 am

From the start, 88rising was always a passion project, with founder Sean Miyashiro at the forefront of a dream. In 2015, he started the company, which takes its name from the Chinese symbol for "double luck and fortune," hoping to create a label that could represent and showcase the talent of underground Asian artists. Fast-forward five years later, and 88rising has become a global brand, bridging the gap between Eastern and Western pop culture and representing some of the most fervent Asian acts in the music industry. But was it really "double luck" that propelled them to the top?

 

Regularly collecting millions of views per video on their YouTube channel, 88rising has launched multiple newcomers into superstardom, in turn creating a space for Asian rappers, singers and artists to thrive in music. The company's roster includes Rich Brian, the Indonesian-Chinese rapper/singer behind the 2016 viral song and video "Dat $tick"; Chinese hip-hop quartet Higher Brothers, who have been revered for bypassing several censorship regulations in their homeland with their lyrics; and Indonesian R&B songbird NIKI, who, at 21, has opened for Taylor Swift, Halsey and other major stars on tour. 

88rising artists have also secured high-profile collaborations with some of the biggest names from the East and West, including Hong Kong-native rapper and K-pop idol Jackson Wang, Korean rock/pop group DAY6 and former EXO member Kris Wu as well as rap giants likes 21 Savage, Playboi Carti and Wu-Tang Clan member Ghostface Killah.

Both the artists and the mass media company itself have grown cult-like followings via their groundbreaking music and the globally inclusive multimedia world they've created, which collectively celebrate Asian and Asian-American culture and identity. 88rising's annual Head In The Clouds Festival, dubbed the "Asian Coachella" by Rolling Stone, emphasizes the importance of representation, one of Miyashiro's main goals behind the label. (Head In The Clouds was due to debut in Jakarta, Indonesia, this past March before it was postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. 88rising was scheduled to host its Double Happiness event series at this year's Coachella before the festival was postponed in June.)

"88rising is a culture that people want to get behind," Miyashiro explains to GRAMMY.com via email. "It's the type of movement that makes people wanna get tattoos of the logo on their bodies. That doesn't just happen to any media company or record label. We mean something intangible to people."

Now, the collective is expanding into Southeast Asia with the launch of its new sister label, PARADISE RISING. 

In July 2020, 88rising partnered with Globe Telecom, the Philippines' biggest telecommunications company, to create PARADISE RISING, a label focused on highlighting Filipino artists and culture. The imprint's inaugural mixtape, semilucent, released last month (July 31), spotlights the rising artists putting the island country on the music map, including Jason Dhakal, Leila Alcasid, Massiah, Fern., and Kiana V. Collectively, semilucent embodies the individual artists' Filipino heritage and culture.

GRAMMY.com caught up with 88rising founder Sean Miyashiro and Filipino artists Kiana V and Leila Alcasid to talk about how PARADISE RISING is spotlighting the blossoming music scene in the Philippines, the rising influence of Asian artists in R&B and hip-hop, and the ongoing journey toward "true Asian representation in pop culture."

How did 88rising start?

Sean Miyashiro: 88rising started with a small dream in a parking lot in the Bronx. That's what makes it so crazy. We had no idea what we would become. We're still a small team, and it's always been DIY for us. Being small and scrappy has allowed us holistic creative control of our brand, our vision and our future. We put out things into the world that we believe in. 

You have a very wide array of artists who are given the freedom to express themselves as they see fit. Has this always been your vision with the label?

Miyashiro: We're all family. We provide our artists the space and creative freedom to do what they want. At the end of the day, what we want is the same: to make dope music while trailblazing the way towards a future with true Asian representation in pop culture. 

88rising has collaborated with many artists who are already so successful in the East, including Jackson Wang and Kang Daniel. How do these collaborations come to fruition? Do you think this helps blur the lines that might exist between artists from the West and the East?

Miyashiro: Everything that happens has been serendipitous and natural. We never force anything, but when we see an opportunity, we put our whole hearts behind it. And in the process, if it brings more people together, then we've done our job—and more.

Read: K-Pop Phenom Eric Nam Talks New Mini-Album 'The Other Side' And Life As One Of Korea's Biggest Stars

What prompted the creation of PARADISE RISING? 

Miyashiro: It really just made sense for us. The synergy with Globe was there. With their local expertise paired with 88rising's global infrastructure, PARADISE RISING brings talented emerging Asian artists to the forefront of global youth culture. We're just continuing to do what we do best. 

The label's debut EP, semilucent, highlights the broad diversity of Filipino artists and styles. Is there something about the Philippines, in particular, that led you to explore the artists and music from there? 

Miyashiro: The Philippines has such a vibrant music culture, and there are so many young talented artists who are emerging. We want to amplify this on a global scale. 

What parts of your Filipino culture and heritage do you bring into your music, lyrics and songwriting?

Kiana V: I'd say being a Filipino, we're very passionate people, and you hear that in our music; [whether it's] songs that are lively, our ballads or in our folk music, the vulnerability stands out. That's something I definitely bring into my music. 

Leila Alcasid: I always pay attention to my process; Filipinos always want to give every part of themselves. The way that this translates in music is that we're very vulnerable. If you look at the music that we listen to, it's really all to do with digging deep and having music that relates to the human condition ... I guess I'm trying to be as vulnerable as possible, trying to open myself up. 

Who are your biggest musical influences?

Kiana V: I was always drawn to Solange. When she was able to break away and do her own thing, I followed her immediately. I'm a huge fan of her storytelling and her way of writing. I grew up listening to a lot of Brandy, JoJo and Aaliyah, too. [Laughs.] Oh my God, I'm such a millennial. A lot of R&B and jazz artists. I'd say those are my main musical influences. 

Alcasid: Different aspects of my music are informed by different artists. Norah Jones, a lot of Nelly Furtado, that's an example of who I look to on how to approach my vocals. I'm not a belter, I'm a lot more relaxed when I sing, and I think that was heavily influenced by those artists. From 88rising, I am so inspired by NIKI. I think she is such a talented writer. Her lyrics are so witty, but they're also incredibly poetic; I'm a huge fan. 

Between 2017 to now, which is the bulk of when I started learning how to write songs and figuring out what my sound was, I started listening to a lot of Korean music. There was a point when I was obsessed with BTS, and I feel like my love for BTS was a big part of why I attempted to string a narrative through everything in my first EP. A lot of their work is very narrative-heavy, and I was inspired by that. I wanted to do that for my EP, and it kind of even happened and continued in "Clouds," my song on semilucent.

Read: BTS Talk Inspiration Behind "Dynamite," New Album, Gratitude For ARMY & More

The sounds on semilucent are mainly R&B and hip-hop. Can you speak a bit on the rising influence of Asian artists in this space? 

Kiana V: R&B and hip-hop has been a growing sound in the Asian community. I believe it's always been there. With technology and social media, people have been given a space to grow their own platforms, and these talented artists are finally being able to shine in their own space. As far as evolution is concerned, I think there's just room for so much growth and a burst of more and more artists.

Alcasid: There's such a huge collective of people here [in the Philippines] that focus on those sounds. I wasn't very aware of the hip-hop scene here, but as I've been here longer, I'm noticing that the one thing they're really informed by is politics. I feel like on one end, it can be a bit risky. But on the other, it's a way to express yourself in a way that's very honest and runs historical. 

I learned a lot about how Filipinos are approaching hip-hop through my boyfriend, who's a rapper here. It's been interesting to see what inspires hip-hop and how they're influenced by the West. They're tying in the sounds of the West, but it's still authentically them as possible ... In all different parts of Asia, we're influenced by the West and what's already been done, but you can identify the styles and the way in which they're transformed to become inherently Asian. 

What does the future look like for 88rising and PARADISE RISING? 

Miyashiro: We have a few super-exciting [artist] signings on the way and more mixtape drops incoming. 

Naeem Talks New Album 'Startisha,' Creativity In Quarantine And The Need For Change In America

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Alicia Silverstone as Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' (1995)

Alicia Silverstone as Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' (1995)

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How 1995 Became A Blockbuster Year For Soundtracks 1995-soundtracks-film-batman-forever-clueless-waiting-exhale-whitney-houston

How 1995 Became A Blockbuster Year For Movie Soundtracks

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From 'Clueless' to 'Dangerous Minds,' soundtracks were big business in 1995, but the year's hits offered no clear formula for success
Jack Tregoning
GRAMMYs
Aug 9, 2020 - 4:00 am

Mariah Carey, Alanis Morissette, 2Pac and The Smashing Pumpkins all had No. 1 albums in 1995. Despite such hallowed competition, four movie soundtracks also topped the Billboard 200 chart that year. Two were family-friendly Disney behemoths: Pocahontas and The Lion King, the latter still powering from the previous year. The other chart-topping soundtracks, for the Michelle Pfeiffer vehicle Dangerous Minds and the stoner comedy Friday, were no one's idea of kids' entertainment. 

Beyond those No. 1 spots, 1995 marked a fascinating midpoint in a soundtrack-heavy decade. According to a New York Times report, a new release CD that year typically cost anywhere between $13-$19. At that price, a soundtrack needed major star power or an undeniable concept. 

For movie studios and musicians alike, the format was rich with opportunity. However, there was no certain formula for success. Some soundtracks were guided by a single producer, while others drew on a grab bag of then-current songs. Several featured one clear hit that eclipsed the soundtrack, or occasionally the movie itself. For all their differing approaches, the soundtracks of 1995 epitomized the energy and audacity of the decade, while also establishing tropes for the next 25 years. 

The Bodyguard: Original Soundtrack Album (1992) set the bar high for the decade. With a 20-week reign at No. 1, it remains the biggest-selling soundtrack of all time. Whitney Houston performed six songs on the album, including the titanic power ballad, "I Will Always Love You." (At the 1994 GRAMMYs, the track won the GRAMMY for Record Of The Year and Best Pop Vocal Performance, Female, while the soundtrack itself earned the Album Of The Year award.)

While The Bodyguard magnified their commercial potential, movie soundtracks like Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994) framed the medium as an artistic showpiece. Throughout the '90s, Tarantino and fellow indie auteurs Paul Thomas Anderson, Richard Linklater and Spike Lee made music a key character in their films. (The latter continues the trend on his latest movie, Da 5 Bloods, alongside six-time GRAMMY-winning composer and trumpeter Terence Blanchard.) Both instincts, for commercial returns and artistic validation, were well-represented in 1995. 

Read: 'The Bodyguard' Soundtrack: 25 Years After Whitney Houston's Masterpiece

Batman Forever (1995) epitomized the big-budget, mass-appeal mid-'90s soundtrack. Spanning PJ Harvey to Method Man, the 14-track set employed some tried-and-true tactics. First, only five songs on the track list appear in the movie itself, ushering in a rash of "Music From And Inspired By" soundtracks. Second, its featured artists largely contributed songs you couldn't find on other albums: According to Entertainment Weekly in 1995, U2 landed a reported $500,000 advance for "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me," an offcut from the band's Zooropa album sessions. 

Most significantly, Batman Forever backed a surprise smash in Seal's "Kiss From A Rose." Originally released as a single in 1994, the ballad blew up as the movie's "love theme." In its music video, Seal croons in the light of the Bat-Signal, intercut with not-very-romantic scenes from the film. Outshining U2, "Kiss From A Rose" reached No. 1 in 1995; one year later, the song won for Song Of The Year, Record Of The Year and Best Male Pop Vocal Performance at the 38th GRAMMY Awards.

Both Bad Boys and Dangerous Minds had their "Kiss From A Rose" equivalent in 1995. Diana King's reggae-fusion jam "Shy Guy" proved the breakout star of Bad Boys, transcending an R&B- and hip-hop-heavy soundtrack. Meanwhile, Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise," featuring singer L.V., the key track on Dangerous Minds, became the top-selling single of 1995; it won the rapper his first, and only, GRAMMY for Best Rap Solo Performance the next year. 

Other soundtracks from 1995 endure as perfect documents of their time and place. Clueless compiled a cast from '90s rock radio to accompany the adventures of Alicia Silverstone's Cher Horowitz and her high school clique: Counting Crows, Smoking Popes, Cracker and The Muffs. Coolio, the everywhere man of 1995, contributed "Rollin' With My Homies." 

From the same city, but a world outside Cher's Beverly Hills bubble, came the Ice Cube- and Chris Tucker-starring Friday. Its soundtrack took a whistle-stop tour of West Coast hip-hop and G-funk via Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Tha Alkaholiks and Mack 10. True to the era, the music video for Dr. Dre's "Keep Their Heads Ringin'" is half stoner comedy, half cheesy action movie. 

Waiting To Exhale, the 1995 drama directed by Forest Whitaker, boasted a soundtrack with a clear author. Babyface, the R&B superproducer with 11 GRAMMY wins for his work with the likes of Boyz II Men and Toni Braxton, produced the set in full. Following Babyface's co-producer role on The Bodyguard soundtrack three years prior, Waiting To Exhale featured two new songs from the movie's star, Whitney Houston. 

Read: 'Score': Soundtracks take us on an emotional ride

Houston's "Exhale (Shoop Shoop)" and "Why Does It Hurt So Bad" led a track list that also featured Aretha Franklin, TLC, Chaka Khan, Mary J. Blige and then-newcomer Brandy. A powerful showcase of Black women across generations, the soundtrack has prevailed as a standalone work, going on to receive multiple nominations, including Album Of The Year, at the 1997 GRAMMYs. In a crowded year for soundtracks, which also included Dinosaur Jr. founder Lou Barlow's work on Larry Clark's contentious Kids, Waiting To Exhale demonstrated the power of a singular vision. 

For the most part, the soundtracks of 1995 tried a bit of everything. The previous year, The Crow: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack went all-in on covers, including Nine Inch Nails overhauling Joy Division's "Dead Souls." That trend continued into 1995, from Tori Amos covering R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" for Higher Learning to Evan Dando's update of Big Star's "The Ballad Of El Goodo" in Empire Records to Tom Jones gamely taking on Lenny Kravitz's "Are You Gonna Go My Way"' for The Jerky Boys movie. (Is there a more '90s sentence than that?) 

Elsewhere, the Mortal Kombat soundtrack blended metal and industrial rock (Fear Factory, Gravity) with dance music (Utah Saints, Orbital). For every Dead Presidents, which zeroed in on '70s funk and soul, there was a Tank Girl, which threw together Bush, Björk, Veruca Salt and Ice-T to match the movie's manic tone. 

Continuing from their '90s winning streak, grown-up soundtracks have proven surprisingly resilient. In an echo of Babyface's role on Waiting To Exhale, Kendrick Lamar oversaw production on 2018's chart-topping, multi-GRAMMY-nominated Black Panther: The Album, uniting an A-list cast under his creative direction. On the same front, Beyonce executive-produced and curated The Lion King: The Gift, the soundtrack album for the 2019 remake of the Disney classic, which spotlighted African and Afrobeats artists. In 2016, Taylor Swift and One Direction's Zayn recorded "I Don't Wanna Live Forever (Fifty Shades Darker)," pitching for the movie tie-in bump enjoyed in 1995 by Seal and Coolio. (The millennial stars stopped short of including scenes from the movie in their music video.) 

Like Batman Forever back in the day, the DC Universe continues to put stock in soundtracks. Both Suicide Squad (2016) and its follow-up, Birds Of Prey (2020), are packed tight with to-the-minute pop, R&B and hip-hop. Each soundtrack reads like a who's who of the musical zeitgeist. In 1995, Mazzy Star, Brandy and U2 grouped up behind Batman. In 2016, Twenty One Pilots, Skrillex and Rick Ross powered the Suicide Squad. In 2020, everyone from Doja Cat to Halsey to YouTube star Maisie Peters form Team Harley Quinn. 

As 1995 taught us time and time again, nothing traps a year in amber quite like a movie soundtrack. 

How 1995 Became The Year Dance Music Albums Came Of Age

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Girls Make Beats: Training Future Artists Of Color how-girls-make-beats-making-music-industry-more-welcoming-place-girls-all-backgrounds

How Girls Make Beats Is Making The Music Industry A More Welcoming Place For Girls Of All Backgrounds

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The non-profit that's making music producing and engineering more accessible to young girls hasn't waited on the industry to solve the inequity problem, and it isn't going to start now
Jennifer Velez
GRAMMYs
Jul 29, 2020 - 9:16 am

Inside a rental house-turned-makeshift studio in Los Angeles’ Studio City neighborhood, Girls Make Beats has created another world.

It’s a sunny afternoon in mid-February, and glow-in-the dark stars projected over a walk-in closet’s walls and ceiling have set the mood for a universe of infinite possibilities. The cozy room with a mic set up at the center is now a recording booth where Miss Karissa B, Mak10, C Bleu, DJ JoJo, and Bailey—all between the ages of 7 and 14— will record vocals for an album. For some of these Girls Make Beats (GMB) L.A. chapter members, this won’t be their first rodeo.

Their names may not pop up on social media feeds yet, but these girls are building an impressive list of credits as DJs, producers, songwriters, rappers, and performers; some can already boast about getting industry guidance from popular music stars Janelle Monáe and Tinashe. And if you ask them, they’re just warming up.

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L to R: Bailey, Miss Karissa B, C Bleu, DJ JoJo, and Mak10

Founded by recording artist, producer and engineer Tiffany Miranda, Girls Make Beats is the national organization giving girls between the ages of 5 and 17 the tools to become the industry’s next-generation DJs, engineers, and producers. Through mentorship, summer camps, networking events, workshops—including how to use Pro Tools, Launchpad and Ableton—and more, Miranda, along with other women professionals, are creating opportunities for girls to get real hands-on experience. 

Speaking to GRAMMY.com, Miranda says she founded the non-profit in order to fill a huge void she saw as an aspiring engineer. 

"When I took an initial interest in music production there was no sense of community for girls," Miranda recalls. "I literally had men telling me that girls don't make beats."

In 2020, going into a GMB studio session continues to be more like fantasy than reality. Walk into a professional studio and chances there won’t be several women in the room. While the digital age has made music-making more accessible than ever, breaking into—or being fully accepted by—the industry isn’t a given and women continue to be underrepresented throughout it.

According to the University of Southern California’s USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative, out of all the performers credited on the 2019 Billboard Hot 100 Year-End chart, only 22.1 percent were female. Over an eight-year period, women have made up only 21.7 percent of artists credited on those charts. While the numbers show that over half of artists were women of color in 2019, it’s a different story for them behind the music.

"The music industry has virtually erased female producers, particularly women of color, from the popular charts," USC professor Stacy L. Smith said in a statement released with the study. "As producers fill a leading creative role, it’s essential to ensure that women from all backgrounds are being considered and hired throughout the industry."

Smith, who has been leading research on gender in music and film at the university, added that it is crucial for the industry to recognize the problem and make room for women in all areas of the business. A series of studies she has led reveals a slight rise in some areas for women in music, but the numbers continue to be concerning. The latest study shows 2.6 percent of women were credited as producers on the Billboard Hot 100 Year-End Charts from 2012 to 2019. Across an analysis of five years, only eight of the 29 producing credits by women analyzed belonged to women of color. Meanwhile, the ratio of men to underrepresented women in the industry is 133 to 1.

"I literally had men telling me that girls don't make beats."

When it comes to engineering, the numbers are worrisome as well. In a 2018 analysis, USC found that just 3 percent of mixing and mastering engineers were women. No information was available about how many of them were women of color.

The figures come from a greater study examining gender, race and ethnicity through 800 songs on the charts from 2012–2019. Eight years of GRAMMY Record of the Year, Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Producer of the Year, and Best New Artist nominations were also analyzed in the report.

Looking at the GRAMMYs, there has been a rise in female nominees. In 2020, 20.5 percent of nominees were female. In 2013, that number was at 7.9 percent. The Recording Academy launched its Task Force on Diversity and Inclusions in 2018 to address disparities among nominees. When it comes to Producer Of The Year, Non-Classical, nine women have received the nomination since the award show opened its curtains, according to the Associated Press. The Recording Academy’s Women In The Mix initiative launched in 2019 seeks to give more opportunities to female producers and engineers at the root by asking artists and music professionals to work with more women. Since then, artists like Selena Gomez have taken the pledge. The pop singer said it was important for her to feature women all around on her latest album Rare, which included female producers and engineers.  

Beyond lack of presence and opportunity, a 2018 survey by the Music Industry Research Association (MIRA)  showed that women, who made up roughly one-third of musicians, reported high rates of harassment—72 percent said they were discriminated against because of their gender and 67 percent said they had experienced sexual harassment. 

As the music industry looks to address problems based on racial inequality in the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, the lack of women of color across the industry is more relevant than ever.

Active since 2012, GirlsMakeBeats hasn't left the future of women of color in the industry’s hands and they aren’t going to start now. Every day the organization works towards empowering girls to become the engineers, producers, songwriters and performers the industry lacks. For any girl entering GMB’s spaces, they not only get to dream, but they get to actually create.

"I feel like when I’m working on my songs and my raps, I know what I’m doing," nine-year-old Mak10 says before her L.A. studio session begins. "This is cool. I can do this, nothing can stop me now."

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Mak10 is just one of the girls already deeply shaped by the non-profit. Other girls in the program have DJ’d events for Spotify, the Los Angeles Clippers, ASCAP, and other big-name entities. Girls from the Miami chapter officially remixed Janet Jackson’s "Made For Now" featuring Daddy Yankee. A couple of months after their recording session in Los Angeles, Mak10 and DJ JoJo led a beat-making workshop at Santa Monica, Calif.’s Apple Store using one of Victoria  Monét's songs before the singer/songwriter participated in a Q&A session. GMB has even been recognized by ESSENCE.

Professional mentorship and guidance for women of color is a tool that can mean everything for their future in the industry. For parents, the program isn’t just an opportunity for their child to get one foot in the music door, but to build confidence before they become young women.

DJ JoJo's mother, Lanesha Jones, tells GRAMMY.com how her daughter was bullied because of her mixed racial background. But thanks to GMB, JoJo has overcome it. Jones now hopes that her daughter continues to gain confidence and, if she chooses to stay in the industry as an adult, joins in the effort to make space for girls like her.

"My daughter is going to be one of those young women showing other women that if this is your passion if this is your goal, this what we’re going to do. Not what we think we can do or what we’re hoping we can do. This is what we’re going to do," Jones says.

The mom adds that it makes a huge difference that her daughter is being taught by women: "A woman can relate more with a woman, and I feel more comfortable personally as a parent with my daughter being taught by a woman."

"We definitely want this to be a global movement of confidence for girls all over the world, whether it's expressing that through their music or whatever it is they choose to do," Miranda says. "[We want them to] know that they can break those barriers and do whatever they put their mind to and not be limited."

So far, more than 300 girls have been through one of GMB’s programs and events. 

"[Our girls] are always hungry for more knowledge and more skills and opportunities in these career fields. So the fact that there haven't been women or girls in these fields for so long is really just mind-blowing and it goes to show you that a lot of that lies in if you can see it, you can be it."

GMB's programs make a point of creating opportunities for all girls, but with the awareness that girls of color face additional obstacles. Miranda wants to make the path easier for girls and works with other women through GMB to do just that.

"[I have] that common ground with other women that I see succeeding in their fields and knowing what they must have been through to get where they are and collectively working together to make a brighter future and empower this next generation of girls so that they don't have to face even half the challenges that we've gone through. If we've done that's a huge success for us," she says.

Before COVID-19, girls would host, DJ and perform at in-person studio sessions. Now, GMB, like much of the industry, has pivoted to virtual events. These include a series of MasterClass collaborations (including forthcoming classes in August) and a digital T.V. series that Janelle Monáe helped inaugurate and has also featured Tinashe as well as Chloe x Halle.

A few months after the studio session in L.A., Miranda reflects on how she’s had to change the way she builds community among the girls, who are like family to her, as she continues to lead a small team and wear several hats. To stay connected, the organization has begun to hold calls with girls around the country.

"On these calls, we have all of those girls from different parts of the U.S. [and] being that we're a small team, it was a little more challenging to do things like that when our efforts were in physical locations, working with a small group. So I think the plus side of it is, we're able to stay connected virtually in a larger capacity," she says.

As GMB continues to navigate the COVID-19 world, Miranda welcomes new collaborations for MasterClasses, their online T.V. show, podcasts and remix challenges.

"I think it's definitely more important than ever for the girls to have an outlet to be creative and inspired during these challenging times," she says. "Our girls often refer to music as being an escape and a form of expression. Our program is making a huge effort in providing the tools necessary for them to do so while also keeping our girls connected with one another."

The wave of conversations on race brought by Floyd’s death weeks into the pandemic has only cemented GMB's mission to make space for young girls of color. Miranda knows the challenges these girls are up against as a woman of color herself. "[There] is kind of a double-edged sword that we face as not just women, but as women of color, because it's not only [that] are we constantly being tested on the fact that we're girls and women and we have to prove ourselves, but on top of that, we also have the race card as well to have to go up against,” she explains during a Zoom call a few weeks after reflecting on navigating the pandemic.

"We are extremely passionate about trying to empower girls and women that have not been given the same opportunities as men, but even more so in communities that are typically underserved, which happens to deal with a lot of black and brown young girls."

GMB's programs are scholarship-based (the majority of the program is at no cost) and rely heavily on donations, grants and sponsorships, which help make it accessible to girls from economically disadvantaged backgrounds. This summer, almost 50 scholarships were awarded, thanks to composers Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow, Spotify, Airbit, and Facebook.

As the country looks inward on racial inequality and inequity, Miranda firmly validates what GMB has been doing all along: "We're actually doing the work. We're actually going there, we're actually going into underserved communities, we're actually working with girls who are underrepresented."

Baby Rose On Making Music Amid Protests

 

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