Each strike through feels like another nail in the coffin.
“I’ve noticed on all your contracts is a clause saying, I agree that the company owns all the music produced during the time this contract is valid. That means you won’t be able to perform any of the music you’ve written under this label, after you separate from it. If I were you, I’d make sure you aren’t handing in any song ideas until you’ve decided what you’re doing about this.”
Blake sits forward in his seat, clenching his fists and jaw. “What? We can’t sing our own songs?”
“You’d have to pay royalties to perform the songs produced with this company.”
“That’s bullshit. We wrote those songs. They are our songs. All he does is produce the ones he approves of. The rest of it is our work. Is there anything we can do to get our
