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Paul Bender’s music has been sampled by Beyoncé and Kendrick. His band, Hiatus Kaiyote, has three Grammy nominations. His side project, The Sweet Enoughs, racks up millions of streams. So it came as a shock when fans started hearing tracks on his Spotify profile that he didn’t recognise — or approve.

Tracks that sounded like they’d been composed by an AI trapped in an elevator.

“It was probably the worst attempt at music I’ve ever heard,” Bender told Brisbane Times. “Just absolutely cooked.” His reaction soon gave way to a grim realisation: someone was uploading fake music — apparently AI-generated — directly to his artist profile. And it wasn’t just Spotify. Apple Music, Tidal, YouTube Music and Deezer all carried the same fakes.

No passwords were stolen. No logins compromised. Just a ticking time bomb in the music distribution supply chain.

The Loophole That Became a Business Model

The scam works like this: a grifter uploads garbage tracks via a digital music distributor, assigns them to a known artist name, and — voila — the platform “maps” it to the artist’s official profile. Instant legitimacy, with algorithmic discovery to match.

No ID check. No consent. No authentication.

This isn’t just a quirk of one platform’s back end. It’s systemic. And it’s being exploited on an industrial scale. One vlogger, TankTheTech, showed how anyone can assign AI music to an artist profile in under ten minutes.

And the numbers are staggering:

  • Deezer reports that 18% of its daily uploads in 2025 are AI-generated.

  • Mubert, an AI music tool, claims over 100 million tracks were made on its platform in just the first half of 2023.

  • The Music Fights Fraud Alliance estimates 10% of all global music streams are fraudulent, with some distributors seeing fraud rates as high as 50%.

That’s not fringe — it’s a revenue model. And it’s bleeding real artists.

Legal Implications: Between Passing Off and Platform Apathy

Let’s be clear: uploading fake music under someone else’s name looks a lot like impersonation, if not passing off, especially where artist reputation and income are at stake. There may also be:

  • Copyright infringement if elements of an artist’s work were used in training or replication.

  • Moral rights violations under the Copyright Act 1968 (Cth), especially the right of integrity where a fake work is falsely attributed.

  • Misleading or deceptive conduct under section 18 of the Australian Consumer Law.

Yet despite the legal exposure, platforms and distributors are playing hot potato with responsibility. Spotify calls it a “mapping issue.” Artists call it what it is: a scam that platforms are structurally enabling.

Why This Matters — Beyond Music

This isn’t just a niche concern for indie musicians. It’s a case study in what happens when:

  • AI-generated content floods creative ecosystems,

  • platforms prioritise volume over verification,

  • and IP rights become an afterthought to scale.

In short, it’s the algorithm’s world — and creatives are just living in it.

But not quietly. Artists like Bender and Michael League (of Snarky Puppy) are now speaking out and pushing for industry action. With growing numbers of testimonials and escalating complaints, the music world may be the canary in the coal mine for a broader wave of AI impersonation and platform indifference.

Until then, don’t be surprised if the next time you hit play on a favourite artist’s profile… what comes out is 100% algorithm, 0% soul.

Here’s a thought: 2FA authentication before allowing uploads? Verify before you amplify!

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Whose Work Is It Anyway? The Remix War, AI, Coffee Plungers and Swimsuits

From Elton John to anonymous meme-makers, a battle is raging over what it means to be “creative” — and whether it starts with permission.

Two stories made waves in copyright circles last week:

  • In the UK, Sir Elton John, Sir Paul McCartney and other musical heavyweights called for stronger rules to stop AI from “scraping” their songs without a licence.

  • In India, news agency ANI drew criticism for aggressively issuing YouTube copyright claims — even for sub-10 second clips — triggering takedown threats against creators.

At first glance, these might seem worlds apart. But they highlight the same question:

At what point does using someone else’s work become exploitation, not inspiration?

And who decides?

Creators vs Reusers: Two Sides of the Copyright Culture Clash

On one side: Creators — musicians, writers, filmmakers, photographers — frustrated by tech platforms and algorithms ingesting their work without permission. Whether it’s AI training data or news footage embedded in political commentary, their message is the same:
“You’re building on our backs. Pay up.”

On the other side: Remixers, meme-makers, educators, and critics argue that strict copyright regimes chill creativity. “How can we critique culture,” they ask, “if we’re not allowed to reference it?”

This isn’t new — hip hop, collage art, satire, and even pop music are full of samples and nods. But AI has industrialised the scale of reuse. It doesn’t borrow one beat or a single shot. It eats the entire catalogue — then spits out something “new.”

So what counts as originality anymore?

Australian Lens: Seafolly, Bodum, and the Meaning of “Original”

Seafolly v Madden [2012] FCA 1346

In this high-profile swimwear spat, designer Leah Madden accused Seafolly of copying her designs. She posted comparison images on social media implying that Seafolly had engaged in plagiarism. Seafolly sued for misleading and deceptive conduct under ss 52 and 53 of the Trade Practices Act 1974 (predecessors to s18 of the Australian Consumer Law – which had by then commenced but the relevant conduct being sued for took place before it had commenced).

The Federal Court found that Madden’s claims were not only misleading but also unsubstantiated, because the design similarities were not the result of actual copying. The case reinforced that:

  • Independent creation is a valid defence, even if the resulting works are similar

  • Superficial resemblance isn’t enough — there must be a causal connection

It’s a reminder that derivation must be substantial and material, not speculative or assumed.

Bodum v DKSH [2011] FCAFC 98

This case involved Bodum’s iconic French press coffee plunger — the Chambord — and whether a rival product sold by DKSH under the “Euroline” brand misled consumers or passed off Bodum’s get-up as its own.

Bodum alleged misleading or deceptive conduct and passing off, based not on name or logo, but on the visual appearance of the product: a clear glass beaker, metal band, and distinctive handles, which had come to be strongly associated with Bodum.

At trial, the Federal Court rejected Bodum’s claims. But on appeal, the Full Federal Court reversed that decision, holding that:

  • Bodum had a substantial reputation in the get-up alone;

  • The Euroline plunger was highly similar in appearance; and

  • DKSH’s failure to adequately differentiate its product through branding or design gave rise to a misleading impression.

Both passing off and misleading/deceptive conduct (also under the old s52) were found. The Court emphasised that reputation in shape and design can be enough — and differentiation must be meaningful, not tokenistic.

The AI Angle: Who Trains Whom?

AI tools like ChatGPT, Midjourney, and Suno don’t just copy works. They learn patterns from thousands of inputs. But in doing so, they arguably absorb creative expression — chord progressions, phrasing, brushstroke styles — and then make new outputs in that same vein.

AI developers claim this is fair use or transformative. Artists argue it’s a form of invisible appropriation — no different from copying and tweaking a painting, but with zero attribution or compensation.

It’s the Seafolly and Bodum problem, scaled up: if AI’s “original” work was trained on 10,000 human ones, is it really original? Or just a remix with plausible deniability?

The Bottom Line

Copyright law is meant to balance:

  • Encouraging creativity

  • Rewarding labour

  • Allowing critique and cultural dialogue

But that balance is breaking under the weight of machine learning models and automated copyright bots. As Seafolly and Bodum show, the law still values intention, process, and context — not just resemblance.

Yet in a world of remix and AI, intention is opaque, and process is synthetic.

So where do we draw the line?

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Who Owns the Music? Taylor Swift and the Master Rights Nobody Talks About

She might be Swift, but she wasn’t quick enough to catch the Scooter back in the day.  But now all has changed …

It’s the music industry story that refuses to fade: Taylor Swift may finally have the chance to buy back her original masters — the recordings that launched her global superstardom. If the deal happens, it would close a saga that began in 2019, when her former label sold those recordings to private equity giant Shamrock Capital, following an earlier sale by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings.

For Swift fans, it’s a long-awaited victory. But for lawyers — and especially those in IP — the story is a masterclass in what most people don’t understand about music rights.

Let’s break it down.

It’s Her Song, But Not Her Recording

When people say “Taylor Swift owns her music,” they’re often talking about copyright in the song/composition itself — comprised of the lyrics, melodies and chord structure. And yes, she owns or co-owns the copyright in many of her compositions, particularly the later albums.

But that’s not the same as owning the recordings. The actual sound recordings of her early music — the studio masters — were owned by her former label, Big Machine Records. That’s standard in the music industry. Unless you’re a major independent artist or had rare contract leverage, your label usually controls the master rights from day one.

So even though the voice on those original albums is Taylor’s, and even though the songs are her words and melodies, the master recordings were never hers to begin with.

Why Master Ownership Matters

Owning the masters means controlling how the recordings are used, licensed, sold, or synced in media. If someone wants to use the originally recorded “Love Story” in a film, the master rights holder — not Taylor — says yes or no and collects the licensing fee.

It also means revenue. Master owners collect royalties from streaming, downloads, radio play, and physical sales. For a catalogue like Swift’s, we’re talking tens of millions of dollars per year.

In fairness, so does Taylor as the songwriter – but not as many as she’d collect if she owned the masters too.

When Swift lost control of her masters, she didn’t just lose licensing rights — she lost influence over how those recordings were represented commercially, something she’s made clear she cares deeply about.

The Re-Recording Strategy — and What This Offer Means

Swift’s response was bold: she began re-recording her albums (as “Taylor’s Versions”) to reclaim both control and commercial value. Because copyright law allows the same songwriter to create a new recording of their own work, she’s been able to rebuild her catalogue under her own terms.

But this new offer — to buy back the original recordings — is different. It’s about reconciling emotional legacy and legal control. For Swift, it could mean regaining ownership of the original audio associated with her rise to fame … and far more royalties.  For Shamrock Capital, it could mean cashing out at a high watermark while retaining goodwill.

The Legal Lesson

Here’s the IP truth every artist — and every lawyer advising creators — should remember:

  • Songs and recordings are separate IP assets with separate ownership structures.

  • A performer can own either, neither, or both.

  • Contract terms set at the start of a career can shape or strangle an artist’s control for decades.

For artists, the Swift story is a cautionary tale — but also a blueprint. For lawyers, it’s a reminder to explain the difference between composition rights, performance rights, and master rights clearly — preferably before the artist becomes a household name.

And for Swifties? It’s one more reason to stream the hell out of 1989 (Taylor’s Version).

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How Not to Avoid Copyright Breach

In a podcast earlier this month, pop star Ed Sheeran said that recent copyright disputes have changed how he makes music.

While he has been involved in several copyright disputes where someone has accused him of plagiarising/copying their original music, he says that he has never lost any such claim since 2017, and he puts it down to the fact that he records all of his writing/jam/practice sessions now.

The theory is that if he records the sessions, he has recorded evidence that any music that comes out of the sessions he made up himself and wasn’t a copy of anyone else’s music.

Erm … sorry, Ed – that’s like videoing a road you cross every day to avoid getting hit by a car.  You can still get hit, but now it’ll be on video.

Even if you don’t consciously copy someone else’s music during a session, that doesn’t mean that you haven’t actually done so.  All you’re doing is recording the moment you incorporated their music into something you play during a session.

You see, you can innocently infringe someone else’s copyright.  Any writer/composer will tell you that new music they create, whether in a jam session or otherwise, is always inspired by something – sometimes events, sometimes emotions, and sometimes by music heard recently.  If your music is inspired in part by music you heard recently, it’s not a big jump from there to being in breach of copyright.

The legal test is not a subjective one about whether you intentionally copied someone’s music – the test is an objective one involving what a reasonable person would conclude after considering your music, the other music, the various components of each and whether you had the opportunity to copy the other music (for example, is there evidence that you had previously heard the other music?).

This is not a criticism against recording your practice sessions – that’s always a good thing (especially when something catchy comes out of it – you don’t have the problem then to try to remember later what you played) … but it is not a good way to avoid breach of copyright – it’s simply a way to record it.

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A Less than Merry Pair of Perrys

It was Firework vs Fabric in the High Court recently when famous singer Katy Perry (real name Katherine Hudson) battled it out with clothes designer Katie Taylor over Ms Taylor’s registration of the trade mark “Katie Perry”.

It’s taken a while for this fight to get going, though – it all started back in 2008 when Ms Taylor (whose birth name was in fact “Katie Perry”) lodged a trade mark application to protect that name as her proposed clothing label.

By that stage, Katy Perry the singer was well-known but did not have a reputation in Australia in respect of clothing, so Ms Taylor was able to register the mark.

The timeline is interesting:

Timeline: Katie Perry vs Katy Perry

Year Event
September 2008 Katie Taylor lodges the Australian trade mark application for “Katie Perry” (for clothing).
Late 2008 Katy Perry (the singer) becomes internationally famous with her hit songs (“I Kissed a Girl”, etc.), but had not yet started selling clothes or merchandise in Australia under her stage name.
2009–2010 Katy Perry begins launching more merchandise globally (including clothing lines), but after Ms Taylor’s trademark filing date.
2010 Ms Taylor’s “Katie Perry” trade mark is officially registered in Australia.
Early 2010s Katy Perry’s brand and merchandising activity (including clothing sales) expands significantly, including in Australia.
2019 Katy Perry’s companies apply to cancel Ms Taylor’s “Katie Perry” trade mark in Australia (leading to the later court battles).

You can see both sides … Ms Taylor says she is just using her own birth name and not in the entertainment industry, while Ms Hudson (the singer) says Ms Taylor has done the equivalent of a guy named John Pope registering PopeMobile as a trade mark and starting up a car yard in Vatican City.

Unsurprisingly, Ms Hudson tried to knock out Ms Taylor’s “Katie Perry” trade mark. There are various reasons you can do that, and the Roar singer’s reasons included that:

  • The trade mark caused confusion with her own “Katy Perry” trade mark in which she had a real reputation (under s60 of the Trade Marks Act 1995 (TMA))
  • Ms Taylor’s use of her “Katie Perry” mark was likely to cause confusion (under s88(2)(c) of the TMA)

The trial judge in the Federal Court wasn’t having it.  In his view, singer Katy Perry did not have a reputation in Australia for the sale of clothing, there was no real likelihood of confusion occurring, and he exercised his discretion (under s89 of the TMA) not to cancel Ms Taylor’s mark since she has adopted and used it innocently.

The Full Federal Court, though, were on Team Hudson on appeal, reversing the first decision and ordering cancellation of Ms Taylor’s mark because, in their view:

  • Katy Perry’s reputation at the priority date was strong enough (even in name alone) to cause likely confusion (s60 again)
  • Even though she wasn’t yet selling clothes in Australia at the priority date, it was common practice for pop stars to sell clothing and merchandise, so confusion was likely
  • Ms Taylor’s use, even if limited, was likely to cause confusion in the future
  • The trial judge was wrong to use his discretion under s89 because Ms Taylor’s act of applying to register her mark (while knowing of Katy Perry’s fame) contributed to the confusion.

So, off we go to the High Court.  The first hurdle was to get the High Court to grant “special leave” to appeal the Full Court’s decision (you have to ask for that leave because, unlike when you go from a trial judge to a Full Court on appeal, you are not automatically entitled to appeal to the High Court just because you didn’t like the Full Court’s decision).

Ms Taylor’s lawyers argued on the special leave application that the Full Court got it wrong because:

  • The “likely confusion due to reputation” argument (under s60) only applies if the person has a specific reputation in relation to that trade mark for the relevant services, and Katy Perry the singer was not known at that time for her clothing sales – so the Full Court blurred her general fame with the requirement for a trademark-specific reputation
  • The likelihood of confusion at a later date argument (under s88(2)(c)) focused improperly on the singer’s potential future use of her mark (that is, on the basis that one day she might sell clothes) rather than her actual use (which did not originally involve that at all)
  • Filing a trade mark application like Ms Taylor did is not an “act” causing confusion that might prevent the trial Judge from exercising his discretion under s89 to cut Ms Taylor some slack.

The singer’s lawyers got a bit more technical but, essentially, argued that all of the above is really interesting but complete rubbish.

The High Court granted special leave and arguments begin in the High Court in early May … watch this space!