It probably feels like we are going in circles, but this is one of those things we need to go over again. A song sounds like one thing.
When it comes to ownership, however, it is really two things: the composition and the actual recording of that composition.
I call it the “two body problem”. It sounds complicated, but it really isn’t once you understand what the two bodies are.
It is Friday afternoon in Windhoek and somebody has just called a musician with the usual words: “Bro, I have a nice beat. Come to the studio tonight.”
By Saturday morning, there are six people in the room. One wrote the lyrics. Another came up with the melody. Somebody played guitar. The producer changed half the arrangement. The singer added a few lines. And the guy who paid for the studio is already telling everyone, “This is my song.”
Everybody is happy for now.
Then the song is released, starts being played and, somewhere down the line, money enters the conversation. From experience, that is normally when the smiles disappear and the WhatsApp messages become longer.
The problem is that musicians often talk about “the song” as if it is one thing. Legally, it isn’t.
There is the composition, which is basically the creative work that makes up the song, such as the lyrics, melody and other original musical elements.
Then there is the sound recording, which is the particular recorded version of that song.
Think of it this way. You can write a song with a guitar under a tree at Okahandja and never see the inside of a recording studio.
The composition already exists. When you later take that song into a studio and record it with a band, you now have a sound recording of that composition.
The two are connected, but they are not the same copyright.
This matters because different people can have rights in those different things.
Namibia’s Copyright and Neighbouring Rights Protection Act treats musical works and sound recordings separately. So when your producer says “But I made the beat”, that is not automatically nonsense.
But it also does not automatically make him a songwriter.
The real question is what he actually contributed creatively.
The same goes for the guy who played bass. Playing bass on somebody else’s song does not automatically make you a co-owner of the composition. Neither does owning the studio. Neither does buying everybody kapana after rehearsal.
If, however, you actually contributed original material to the composition, that is a different story. If two or more people create a song together, questions of joint authorship and ownership can arise.
This is why it makes sense to talk about the songwriting split before everybody becomes famous in their own imagination.
Then we get to the recording.
Stay with me. We are going in circles again.
Who owns the master?
This is where things can get particularly interesting.
Copyright ownership in a commissioned sound recording can depend on the circumstances, including who commissioned the recording and the terms under which it was made.
That is exactly why a clear agreement between the people involved is important.
The person who wrote the song and the person who paid for the recording do not necessarily end up owning the same rights.
And then there is the singer.
The singer may have separate rights as a performer. So now you can have the songwriter, the owner of the recording and the performer, all sitting around the same song while holding different rights.
This is why “We’ll sort it out later” can become one of the most expensive sentences in Namibian music.
Sort it out before the recording.
Who wrote the lyrics? Who wrote the melody? Who contributed creatively? Who owns the recording? Who paid for it? Who gets what from the different income streams? Who has the authority to license the song or recording?
Put it in writing, even if it is just a simple agreement between three friends who currently trust each other completely.
Why?
Because once the song starts making money, everybody’s memory suddenly becomes very good.
The guy who “only played guitar” remembers that he practically wrote the whole chorus. The producer remembers having “created the song”. The person who paid for the studio remembers that he “owned everything”.
And suddenly the friendly WhatsApp group becomes a legal evidence bundle.
It is much better to have the conversation while there is still nothing to fight about.
You can own a piece of the composition without owning the recording. You can own the recording without having written the composition. And you can perform on the recording without owning either one.
That little distinction can save a Namibian musician a very big headache later.
