Matt Yas, The Daily Record Newswire
Earlier this month, multi-platinum-selling pop singer Robin Thicke and his production team sued the family of the late, legendary Marvin Gaye “in the face of multiple adverse claims” — specifically, that Thicke’s worldwide summertime smash “Blurred Lines” is too similar to Gaye’s material (“Got to Give it Up,” in particular).
The latest shenanigans among big-time music movers reminds us that where there’s a tune, there’s a tiff — and a ton of money — and inspired the staff at Lawyers Weekly to take a look back at a few of the landmark
lawsuits in the always-entertaining annals of rock-and-roll litigation.
By George, he’s playing our song
As many audiophiles will tell you, when it comes to pop musical firsts, it all begins with the Beatles — and courtroom tussles are no exception.
Former Beatles guitarist George Harrison was among the first to be hit with what would become the go-to complaint in the impending proliferation of rock suits — copyright infringement — when he released his first solo hit, “My Sweet Lord.”
The song reached No. 1 all over the world, but before it could even complete its run on the charts, Bright Tunes, the copyright holder for the Chiffons 1963 hit, “He’s So Fine,” filed suit against Harrison and his publishing companies in 1971.
A judge found that the tune indeed too closely resembled the Chiffons’ and ordered Harrison (who was never deemed to have committed outright tune theft but was found responsible for “subconscious” plagiarism) to pay out 75 percent of the royalties.
The verdict against Harrison was upheld after decades of appeals and reviews, and to this day is viewed by many as the template musical-plagiarism action that taught us not even rock royalty is immune from coincidental copycatting — or a lawyer with a sharp ear.
One was Johnny
Lawyers for Fantasy Records didn’t do the legal profession any PR favors when they decided to sue a renowned folk-rock singer for sounding too much like … himself.
In the 1994 lawsuit Fantasy v. Fogerty, Creedence Clearwater Revival lead singer and songwriter John Fogerty was actually sued for “self-plagiarism” by his former record label.
The suit came about because Fantasy believed that a song on one of Fogerty’s solo albums sounded like an old Creedence tune — written and performed by Fogerty, of course — and since Fantasy owns the rights to the old CCR records, they sued John Fogerty, in essence, for sounding too much like John Fogerty.
The suit’s premise, which surely would have manifested into more than just a premise had the case gone Fantasy’s way, theoretically opened Fogerty to any number of plagiarism actions, as one could argue that the same influences that affected him as a young musician undoubtedly continued to shape him as a solo artist.
But “Fantasy” turned out to be more than just the name of the plaintiff in the case; it also summed up its prospects of winning. The courts ruled in Fogerty’s favor.
We don’t need no separation
Perhaps more than any other band, Pink Floyd made albums — music meant to be listened to as a cohesive whole. But that was before the rise of the singles-craving iTunes hordes made it virtually impossible for working musicians to resist selling their work in any way other than one itty bitty ditty at a time.
In a move few 21st century bands could afford to make, the Floyd — who spent the better part of their career shunning the single format — remained steadfast in the face of both advancing technology and a receding economy by dusting off a decades-old recording contract and blocking their label from breaking up their material and selling it track by track.
The record label, EMI, claimed the clause in the band’s contract was negotiated before the advent of iTunes and other online retailers and thus applied only to physical albums, not Internet sales.
Sir Andrew Morritt, chancellor of Britain’s High Court, disagreed, backing the band by saying the contract covered more than just vinyl and plastic; it protected “the artistic integrity of the albums.”
So while earbudded youngsters raised on piecemeal playlists may not comprehend a band’s denial of single-song access to a potential new generation of fans, Steven Kurutz of the Wall Street Journal may have put it best: “You wouldn’t buy a few chapters of ‘War and Peace’ for your Kindle, ignore the rest and expect to come away with any real understanding of the novel.”
Or as Floyd might say, what’s one song but just another brick in the wall.
