the TrueFans AMP— Magazine 137

Helping Music Artists build real careers
— without selling their soul.

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The gap between mediocre and exceptional music has never been wider.And that gap creates opportunity.
— Benjamin Groff

The platforms don’t just distribute music— they control access to listeners.
— Mark Mulligan

In This Issue... 19 pages (about 28ish minutes to read) You'll Get... 

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• Recommends— Read Both • Your BIZ articles. Please.

• Your BIZ— The New Rules of the Music Business. Part 1: The System That Changed Everything. Part 2: What Artists Must Do Now

• Greatest Music Artist of All Time— Fiona Apple

• in partnership with Xposure Music 

• TrueFans Feature— The Article That Changed Everything by Paul Saunders

• P.S. from JF— When the Three of You Become One

Here’s the playlist

• Recommends— Read Both • Your BIZ articles. Please.

This would be a 'cheap shot' if the articles weren't as good and useful as they are. And, because they're long ones, we've dodged the • Recommends for this issue. Hope the articles serve you.

Every once in a while two different writers— coming from different corners of the music world— describe the same reality from two different angles. Put those perspectives together and the picture becomes clearer.That’s what we’re doing here.

• Your BIZ— The New Rules of the Music Business. Part 1: The System That Changed Everything. Part 2: What Artists Must Do Now

In Part 1, music industry analyst Mark Mulligan explains how the streaming and social media era quietly reshaped the entire music ecosystem. His argument is simple but powerful: the platforms that revived the music business financially have also transformed it culturally— often in ways that disadvantage Music Artists.

Mark calls it the music industry’s “boiling frog” moment— a system that changed slowly enough that most people didn’t realize how different the rules had become until suddenly… everything was different.

Then, in Part 2, veteran music publisher Benjamin Groff looks at the same landscape from the artist development side of the desk. His conclusion is blunt: the traditional structures that once developed artists— A&R guidance, songwriting discipline, long-term patience— have largely disappeared.

But Groff doesn’t just diagnose the problem. He outlines what artists must do differently if they want to build real careers in today’s environment.

Read together, these two perspectives tell a powerful story:

Part 1 explains the system.
Part 2 explains how artists survive— and succeed inside it.

Part 1— The Music Industry’s “Boiling Frog” Moment
Condensed from Mark Mulligan, MIDiA Research

Imagine putting a frog into a pot of boiling water. It jumps out immediately.
But place that same frog in cool water and slowly increase the heat, and it will remain there until it’s too late.

Gruesome metaphor? Absolutely.
Useful metaphor for the music business? Mark Mulligan thinks so.

The modern music industry is built on streaming platforms and social media. These systems have produced enormous commercial benefits— revenues are growing again, global audiences are bigger than ever, and music is more accessible than at any time in history.

But those gains came with hidden costs.

At first those costs were subtle. Over time they accumulated. Now they form the fault lines shaping today’s music business. Or as the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes once put it:

“Day by day nothing seems to change. But pretty soon… everything’s different.”

Mulligan argues that this slow transformation has fundamentally changed how music works. Here’s what happened.

The Platform Owns the Audience
Streaming and social platforms gathered the entire global music audience in one place. Naturally, artists and labels followed. But the tradeoff was control.

Today the platforms hold the audience, and the rest of the industry accesses that audience through algorithms and feeds.

Listeners are divided into tiny niches and served up through playlists, recommendations, and social discovery.

The platforms don’t just distribute music— they control access to listeners.

The “Always On” Economy
Streaming and social platforms operate as giant content machines with endless appetites.

To stay visible inside these systems, Music Artists and labels must keep producing.

More music.
More videos.
More posts.

Mulligan describes the new rule as the double-V strategy: Volume and Velocity.

You must release frequently and move quickly.
Pause too long and the algorithm may forget you.

In earlier eras an artist could disappear for months— or even years— to create something meaningful. In today’s music ecosystem, that silence is risky.

Art In, Content Out
No matter how carefully a piece of music is crafted, once it enters the streaming ecosystem it becomes part of an endless flow.

It shines briefly— then disappears.
There is simply too much new music.

Millions of songs compete for attention, and every release becomes another drop in a vast ocean of content. Yet Music Artists respond to this saturation by releasing even more music.

Why? Because the system rewards activity.
The result is a cycle where art increasingly behaves like content.

Artists Lose Their Story
In earlier eras artists had narratives. Journalists, critics, and cultural media helped create context around music. Interviews, profiles, and reviews gave listeners insight into the people and ideas behind the songs.

Today much of that infrastructure has disappeared. Playlist algorithms replaced editorial curation. Music journalism has shrunk dramatically. Discovery is increasingly automated. Artists now exist largely as tracks within playlists rather than characters within cultural stories. Mulligan’s phrase is stark:

Artists are becoming story-less.

Patience Disappears
Historically many artists took several albums to find their audience. Labels invested in development. Careers grew gradually. The modern system makes that slower path difficult.

Streaming and social media operate at lightning speed. If a project fails to gain traction quickly, attention shifts elsewhere.

The industry increasingly rewards immediate results rather than long-term development.

The Platform Economy
These forces lead to a deeper shift in power. Platforms now sit at the center of the music economy. Music exists inside those systems rather than controlling them. In Mulligan’s formulation:

Music has become the tenant, not the landlord.

Success increasingly depends on optimization— data analysis, algorithmic strategy, and advertising spend designed to maximize platform visibility. But the money used to promote music flows right back into the platforms themselves. As Mulligan puts it:

The house always wins.

The Machine Advantage
A system built around scale and optimization naturally favors machines. Algorithms, computation, and artificial intelligence excel at operating within high-volume digital ecosystems. They can analyze patterns faster, generate content more quickly, and adapt to algorithmic shifts instantly.

In a world defined by volume and velocity, human creativity risks becoming secondary.

Time to Jump?
Mulligan believes the industry may need to rethink the path it is on.

Instead of systems that reward constant output and algorithmic optimization, he suggests building environments where artists can develop careers at their own pace and build meaningful relationships with audiences. Spaces where music itself— not endless content streams— matters most.

Is that realistic?
Perhaps.

But Mulligan warns that continuing down the current path could lead to something darker. Because if the water keeps getting hotter slowly enough…

The frog never jumps.

Part 2— Artist Development Is Over—Now What?
Condensed from Benjamin Groff

Music publisher Benjamin Groff sees the consequences of the modern music ecosystem every day. He signs artists. Analyzes royalty data. Evaluates songs and careers.

And his conclusion is blunt:

Artist development didn’t disappear by accident. It collapsed under the pressure of the modern music system.

At the same time, the volume of music entering the market has exploded. Groff estimates roughly one million songs are released globally every week, and that number could multiply as AI tools accelerate music creation.

In that environment, “pretty good” simply isn’t good enough.

Groff argues the real opportunity today belongs to the small number of Music Artists capable of creating exceptional songs— the kind that rise above the noise and become long-term cultural and streaming successes. But getting there requires confronting some uncomfortable realities.

The DSP Landfill
Streaming platforms have become what Groff calls a “song landfill.”

Millions of tracks are released each year. Most disappear almost immediately. The result is a marketplace filled with music that is acceptable, decent, even occasionally impressive— but rarely extraordinary. Groff believes the industry is producing fewer truly exceptional songs and fewer artists capable of sustaining long careers.

The Streaming Glass Ceiling
Many artists reach what he calls the 1-to-10 million stream ceiling.

They may have a solid fanbase, strong social numbers, and respectable engagement, yet their songs plateau at modest streaming levels.

Why?

Groff’s answer is blunt: the song itself isn’t strong enough to sustain long-term listening.
Algorithms and fans engage briefly after release— but without exceptional songwriting the momentum fades.

The Age of the Internet Hit
Another common pattern is the viral breakthrough.

An artist lands one massive streaming success— 50 million or even 100 million streams— only to see later releases perform far below that level. Groff calls this the era of the “one-internet-hit wonder.”

A single viral moment can create visibility, but it doesn’t necessarily build a sustainable career.

Artists Working Without Coaches
Groff believes the biggest missing ingredient in modern music is creative coaching.

In earlier eras A&R departments provided guidance, feedback, and song selection discipline. Think Clive Davis. Today many artists operate independently, creating music without objective evaluation.

He compares it to Olympic athletes trying to win gold medals without a coach.

Artists often cannot see their own blind spots— and many are surrounded by people unwilling to challenge them.

The Songwriting Gap
Groff also argues that many younger artists lack a deep songwriting vocabulary. Great Songwriters historically studied decades of music before developing their own voice. Today many artists draw primarily from contemporary influences.

Without understanding the craft behind classic songs, it becomes difficult to create new work that can compete with them.

The Real Opportunity
Despite his criticisms, Groff is optimistic.

The gap between mediocre and exceptional music has never been wider.
And that gap creates opportunity.

Artists willing to focus on...

… can still build powerful careers— even in a crowded market.

Listeners still crave songs that move them, songs that last, songs that become part of their lives.

The challenge is not whether audiences exist.

The challenge is whether Music Artists are willing to do the work required to create music worthy of their attention.

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About Mark Mulligan & MIDiA Research
Mark Mulligan is one of the sharpest analysts in the global music business— known for seeing around corners before the rest of the industry even knows there’s a turn ahead. As Managing Director of MIDiA Research, he and his team deliver data-driven insights on streaming, fan behavior, and the future of music monetization. If you want to understand where the business is going (not where it’s been), Mulligan is essential reading.

Learn more at: https://www.midiaresearch.com/ 

About Benjamin Groff
Benjamin Groff is a veteran music executive with a remarkable track record for discovering and developing world-class talent. Based in Los Angeles, he has worked with an extraordinary roster— including The Lumineers, Grimes, Ryan Tedder, Kid Cudi, Tiësto, Kelly Clarkson, and many more. Known for his deep passion for music discovery and artist development, Groff brings both frontline experience and real-world perspective on what it takes for artists to build meaningful, lasting careers today.

Learn more at: benjamingroff.com

• in partnership with Xposure Music

From the moment Fiona Apple emerged in the mid-’90s, it was clear she wasn’t interested in fitting in, smoothing edges, or playing the part. Her music felt less like performance and more like revelation— personal, precise, and, at times, almost uncomfortably honest. Over time, that honesty has proven to be her greatest strength, shaping a body of work that stands apart from trends, cycles, and expectations.

• Greatest Music Artist of All Time— Fiona Apple
She Didn’t Follow the Industry— She Outgrew It

I don’t think​ I would​ be here. But then again,​ I don’t think​ I would need​ tо​ be here. 
— Fiona Apple

Discovery: Not Introduced— Found
Fiona Apple has never been an artist the industry “rolls out” in the traditional sense. For many listeners, she’s discovered rather than delivered.

And for many, it was her radio show.

That detail matters, because it reflects something essential about her career: Fiona Apple often enters people’s lives sideways. Not through saturation, but through moments of connection. A song heard at the right time. A voice that feels like it’s speaking directly with you rather than at you.

That kind of discovery creates a different kind of listener— one who doesn’t just like the music, but keeps it.

“Fiona Apple is one of the best artists we have. Period.” 
— Questlove

Early Impact: Fully Formed From the Start
When Tidal was released in 1996, Fiona Apple was just 18 years old. Yet there was nothing tentative about her work.

Criminal became the breakthrough, but it only hinted at what was underneath: complex arrangements, jazz-influenced phrasing, and lyrics that refused to simplify emotional reality. At a time when many young artists were being shaped by producers and labels, Apple appeared to be moving in the opposite direction— deeper into her own instincts.

She wasn’t emerging into the industry.
She was confronting it.

The Work: No Compromise. Ever.
Fiona Apple’s catalog is remarkably concise, especially by modern standards. But what it lacks in volume, it more than makes up for in intention.

“She’s fearless in a way that most artists only talk about. She actually does it.” 
— Shirley Manson

Each album feels necessary— like it could not have been released any sooner, and could not have been made any differently.

When the Pawn… expanded her sonic palette, layering intricate rhythms and densely structured lyrics that rewarded repeated listening. Extraordinary Machine, despite its famously complicated production history, emerged as a statement of resilience and clarity. The Idler Wheel… stripped everything back, leaving space, percussion, and voice in stark, intimate interplay. And Fetch the Bolt Cutters— recorded largely at home— felt like a creative exhale, raw, unfiltered, and completely unconcerned with expectation.

What connects these records is not a consistent “sound,” but a consistent standard:

She does not release music until it is true.

Writing: Language as Precision Instrument
Fiona Apple’s songwriting is often described as “honest,” but that word alone doesn’t capture what she does.

“She made it okay to be that honest— to say things people were afraid to say.” 
— Billie Eilish

Her writing is precise. Intentional. Constructed with an ear for rhythm as much as meaning. Internal rhymes, unexpected phrasing, and lines that feel spoken rather than performed all contribute to a style that is unmistakably her own.

She doesn’t round off emotions for the sake of accessibility. She names them as they are— messy, contradictory, unresolved. And in doing so, she gives listeners permission to experience those same complexities without needing to simplify them.

Her songs don’t explain feelings.
They embody them.

Sound: Rhythm, Space, and Tension
While her lyrics often receive the most attention, Fiona Apple’s musicality is equally distinctive.

Her work is deeply rhythmic, often driven by unconventional percussion— stomps, claps, ambient sounds, and silence used as deliberately as any instrument. The piano, her primary tool, is rarely ornamental. It’s percussive, physical, and integral to the emotional architecture of each song.

There is tension in her arrangements, a sense that the music could shift or fracture at any  moment. That unpredictability is not accidental— it’s part of what makes her work feel alive.

Personal Life: Presence Without Performance
Fiona Apple’s relationship with fame has always been complex.

She has spoken candidly about personal trauma— extreme trauma— anxiety, and the pressures that came with early success. Yet she has consistently resisted the pull to turn her life into spectacle. When she steps back, she does so completely. When she returns, it is on her own terms.

In an industry that often rewards constant visibility, her willingness to disappear— and reappear only when the work demands it— is both rare and instructive.

“She changed the standard for emotional truth in music.” 
— Lorde

She is present in her music.
She is not performative.

She is present in her life.
She is not performative.

A Career Defined by Choice
One of the most remarkable aspects of Fiona Apple’s career is what she has not done.

She has not chased trends.
She has not overproduced.
She has not adjusted her voice to fit the market.

And yet, she has remained not only relevant, but essential.

Her releases are events not because they are frequent, but because they are trusted. Listeners know that when Fiona Apple puts something into the world, it will be considered, crafted, and real.

Legacy: The Permission She Gave
Fiona Apple’s lasting impact is not confined to her own recordings.

Her legacy lives in the Music Artists who followed— those who feel less pressure to conform, less need to explain themselves, and more freedom to explore emotional complexity in their work.

“There’s a level of individuality there that cannot be manufactured.” 
— Elvis Costello

She demonstrated that an artist can take their time, protect their voice, and still create work that resonates deeply and endures.

She showed that honesty, when pursued fully, is not limiting.
It is expansive.

And perhaps most importantly, she proved that a career built on authenticity is not only possible— it can be extraordinary.

“Her songwriting is just devastating. In the best possible way.” 
— Phoebe Bridgers

Some ideas arrive quietly. But once you see them, you can’t unsee them. For Paul Saunders, Kevin Kelly’s essay “1,000 True Fans” was one of those ideas— and it helped spark the thinking that eventually became our TrueFans 'Everything'. Here’s Paul’s story.

• TrueFans Feature— The Idea That Ignited the TrueFans Movement by Paul Saunders
How Kevin Kelly’s “1,000 True Fans” gave language to something I’d felt in my bones for forty years— and helped spark what is now becoming the TrueFans movement.

I remember exactly where I was when I read it.

The music industry was in freefall— or at least that’s what everyone kept saying. Labels were hemorrhaging revenue. Napster’s ghost still haunted every boardroom conversation. And the Music Artists I’d spent decades championing were being told, in increasingly blunt terms, that the old model was dead.

What nobody had was a convincing replacement.

By that point I’d already lived several lives inside the industry: A&R at a major UK label. BBC broadcasting. The glorious chaos of pirate radio. Festival stages. Artist management. Running my own indie label. Forty years of watching the music business chew through artists and move on.

I thought I understood the problem.
Then I read Kevin Kelly.

His essay— 1,000 True Fans— wasn’t long. It wasn’t technically complex. But it detonated something in me that I’m still feeling the reverberations of today.

Kelly’s central proposition was almost embarrassingly simple: a creator doesn’t need millions of casual listeners. They need a thousand people who care deeply enough to buy everything they make, travel to see them perform, and carry the artist’s story as if it were their own.

A thousand people.
If each of those fans spends about a hundred dollars a year, that’s a living. Not superstardom. But a real, sustainable creative life.

I must have read the piece ten times that first sitting. But what struck me most— and what I still think is under-appreciated about Kelly’s essay— is that it wasn’t primarily about money.

It was about relationships.

Kelly was reframing the entire premise of creative success. He was pulling it away from anonymous scale and mass reach and grounding it in something much older and much more human.

The village musician.
The storyteller who knows their audience by name.
The Music Artist whose work matters deeply to a smaller circle of people.

I’d felt that truth my entire career without ever having the language for it.

I remembered managing artists in the eighties and watching them light up in a two-hundred-capacity venue in a way they never did on larger stages. Not because smaller is inherently better— but because connection is.

The artist can see the audience.
The audience can feel that the artist sees them.

Something alchemical happens in that moment of recognition. Something no algorithm has ever replicated. Kelly helped me understand why that moment matters economically, not just emotionally. And that changed everything.

But the essay also left me restless.
Because while Kelly described the destination with remarkable clarity, the path remained frustratingly vague.

How does an independent Music Artist actually find those thousand people?
How do you move someone from passive listener to TrueFan?
And perhaps most importantly— how do you capture the connection that happens in the real world, in the live moment where music actually lives and breathes?

The industry’s answer, both then and now, was predictable: social media. Grow your following. Post constantly. Build your email list. Run ads. Advice that was everywhere and often strangely unsatisfying. Not because it was entirely wrong— but because it treated the artist-fan relationship as a marketing problem.
When at its core it is a human one.

I kept coming back to the live show. Always the live show. Because that’s where TrueFans are actually made. Not in a TikTok feed. Not inside a Spotify playlist.
In a room.
At eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night.
When an artist plays a song that reaches into your chest and rearranges something.

That’s the moment a casual listener crosses the threshold.
That’s where Kevin Kelly’s thousand TrueFans are born.

And yet the music industry has built remarkably little infrastructure around that moment.

Streaming platforms capture listening.
Ticketing companies capture entry.
Merch companies capture souvenirs.
But the moment itself— the moment of connection between artist and listener— has largely been left to dissolve into applause.

The artist walks offstage.
The lights come up.
And the opportunity disappears with the crowd.

For years that bothered me more than I could explain. Because it felt like the most meaningful part of the entire system was also the most invisible.

It took a long time before I fully understood what I was trying to build. The idea that eventually became TrueFans CONNECT™ didn’t arrive as a single eureka moment. It emerged slowly, sometimes frustratingly, out of that disturbance Kevin Kelly’s essay created in me.

Out of 16 more years of watching brilliant independent Music Artists leave money on the table— not because they lacked talent, but because the system surrounding them had never been designed with them in mind. TrueFans CONNECT™ is one answer to that problem.

Using geolocation technology, it allows fans at a live show to support an artist instantly— in the moment when the connection actually happens.
A way of saying: this mattered.
And giving the artist something tangible in return for what they just gave.

But CONNECT™ is only one piece of something larger that is now beginning to take shape. Because the deeper realization Kelly sparked in me was this:

The real opportunity isn’t just a tool.
It’s an entire ecosystem built around the idea of TrueFans.

That’s what we’re now beginning to build.

• TrueFans AMP™— a publication designed to inform, involve, and inspire Music Artists building real careers— without selling their souls.
• TrueFans CONNECT™— technology that allows fans to support artists directly in the live moment live or on-line.
• TrueFans JAM™— tools to help artists create intimate house concerts and fan gatherings.
• TrueFans PODCAST™ and TrueFans RADIO™— spaces where independent music and artist stories can be heard and shared.

Different expressions.
One idea.

Kevin Kelly gave creators a powerful insight: a thousand TrueFans can sustain a creative life.

What we’re trying to build now is the infrastructure that makes that truth easier for artists everywhere.

Because when I look back at my 40 years in this industry, the thing that moves me most about Kelly’s essay is what it understood about dignity.

It gave independent Music Artists permission to stop measuring themselves against a mass-market standard that was never designed for them. It said something far more radical:

You don’t need to be famous.
You need to be known.

Deeply. Genuinely. Known— by the people who truly care about what you create.
That’s not a consolation prize.
It might be the future.

And it might just be a better definition of success than the industry we inherited ever offered.

__________  

About Paul Saunders
Paul Saunders has spent more than four decades inside the music industry — from major-label A&R to BBC broadcasting, pirate radio, artist management, festivals, and independent label work. He is the co-founder of the TrueFans initiative and a driving force behind the development of TrueFans CONNECT™.

Since Paul did a feature I get to do the P.S. Fair's fair.

Kenny Rogers spent a lifetime watching artists rise, struggle, reinvent themselves, and sometimes break through in ways that seemed almost mysterious. Along the way he offered a simple observation about careers in the arts— one that may explain more about success than most marketing plans ever will.

• P.S. from JF— When the Three of You Become One
Sometimes the best career advice arrives in a single sentence.

Kenny Rogers once said every Music Artist lives with three versions of themselves:
Who you really are.
Who you think you are.
And who the public thinks you are.

A career begins to work when those three finally become the same person.

At the beginning they’re usually miles apart.

You may still be discovering who you really are.
You may have an idea of the Music Artist you hope to become.
And the public— if they know you at all yet— is seeing something only partly formed.

That’s normal.

Careers rarely start with perfect clarity. But something interesting happens if you keep doing the work. If the music is honest. If you keep showing up. The real you gets clearer.

The Music Artist you believe yourself to be becomes less imaginary and more embodied.

And the public begins to see the same person you’re discovering.

When that happens, something powerful clicks into place. The audience doesn’t just hear the music. They recognize you as the artist.

And that recognition is where TrueFans are born. Not manufactured. Not engineered. Recognized.

Sometimes it looks like success happens gradually. Years of effort, a long slow climb. But often what’s really happening is quieter than that.

The artist is simply staying on the path long enough for the truth of who they are to become unmistakable.

And when the real you, the artist you believe yourself to be, and the artist the audience experiences finally line up… things begin to move. Often faster than anyone expects.

Stay on the path.

Both the journey and the destination are worth it. 

Even if we don't speak again... ❤️

Thanks for reading. Give us your feedback.

And PLEASE, if you've got any Music Artist friends, pass the TrueFans AMP™ on, because... It’s Time... for a Change. Big Time. Past Time...