COLUMNS
A Story About Management , Trust & Self-Reliance
By Roland Pemberton , a . k . a . Cadence Weapon
When I was a teenager , I signed a 360 deal with an independent label . A 360 deal is when the label gets a cut of everything you do instead of just record sales . This includes live performances , publishing , syncs , merch sales , endorsements , and any other entertainment income . I signed a management contract with them where they received 20 % of gross proceeds from my career . I signed a publishing contract where they received 50 % of my publishing revenue forever ( they currently still get money quarterly from my first three albums ). I signed a record contract where they owned the masters and I ’ d only start seeing income when I recouped the expenses for the albums .
I never had an entertainment lawyer look at the paperwork , just a regular lawyer . Reluctant to lose my shot at success , my mom and I signed . Initially , the label believed in me and worked really hard to get my music out there . We had some great successes in those early years : I was shortlisted for the inaugural Polaris Music Prize in 2006 , I got to play Glastonbury , signed licensing deals with Anti and Big Dada , and received critical acclaim .
But during the first 10 years of my career , I basically didn ’ t make a dime . Everything went to the label , even my honorarium for becoming Edmonton ’ s poet laureate . I travelled the world and played hundreds of shows but I was penniless the entire time ; always hungry , living off whatever per diem or rider the venue would give me . When I wasn ’ t on the road , I was a seasonal temp worker in the shipping department at Holt Renfrew in Edmonton and I wrote for the alt-weekly papers in town .
Either way , I was just happy to make music . After Hope in Dirt City came out in 2012 , I was primed to build on the momentum of that album getting on the Polaris shortlist and coming off of a series of sold out dates with Japandroids in the U . K . and U . S . I got ghosted by the label and management , who stopped responding to my emails and demos . They ignored me for so long that I shifted to focusing on DJing in Montreal and essentially stopped making music for a few years . I felt trapped in the label situation , on the verge of quitting permanently .
The label never accounted to me once over the first 12 years of my career , so I never had any idea when things would balance out and I ’ d start seeing some money . This hypothetical debt became an albatross around my neck . When I ’ d ask what I owed , they would say , “ You don ’ t wanna know .” I never sold a ton of albums but I was always pretty organized and kept records of how much cash I had sent them over the years and it wasn ’ t nothing . By my count , I had sent them around $ 255,000 over the years and they ’ d gotten grants on top of that . My exgirlfriend connected me to a music lawyer she knew who linked me with a litigation lawyer who helped me move on from the contracts . This whole situation is why I didn ’ t release an album for six years .
I wanted to talk about this to show that these exploitative artist / manager / label relationships don ’ t only happen in the major labels and they aren ’ t just a vestige of the 20 th century . I ’ m just another musician in a long line of Black artists taken advantage of by an industry that is inherently extractive and predatory .
I ’ m still dealing with the fallout of having bad management today . These experiences made it difficult for me to trust people in the music industry . This is why I began managing myself at the end of 2015 . I moved to Toronto and started my career over from scratch , having lost all momentum and buzz I had built up previously . I didn ’ t have a job and cobbled together a living with freelance writing , DJ gigs , and voiceover narration . I was determined not to become a Canadian rap footnote and worked ceaselessly , finding a recording arrangement that worked for me , an engineer I really liked working with , and a new label .
I did extensive research and connected with producers , photographers , visual artists , directors , and collaborators in person and on social media . I shaped my vision and found the people to help me execute it . I booked my own shows until I got an agent again , coordinated my own travel and lodging , and tour managed for myself on the road . I negotiated deals on my own behalf . It ’ s been like this for years and it ’ s been really gratifying to learn that I have the capacity to do it .
But recently I ’ ve gotten to the point where it makes sense for me to work with a manager again . It ’ s exciting to think of a world where I can spend more time making music , working on my book , and writing newsletters and less time creating invoices and doing admin . But I ’ ve also been emotional thinking about getting into that type of relationship again . Finding people who have your best interests in mind and are willing to work with you to reach your goals are priceless . When it comes to this side of the industry , I ’ m finally optimistic to see what the future has in store .
This column has been reproduced with permission and was first published on Cadence Weapon ’ s Substack on July 6 , 2021 . Subscribe to his newsletter at Cadenceweapon . substack . com .
Cadence Weapon is a critically-acclaimed Canadian rap artist and writer . His latest LP , Parallel World , is currently shortlisted for the 2021 Polaris Music Prize . www . cadenceweapon . net .
PHOTO : COLIN MEDLEY
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