The poisoned apple
If you do not own the provenance, you own nothing.
I spoke with three creators this morning. Different backgrounds, the same dead end. A Belgian producer, a beatmaker, an independent artist. I asked one question: tell me about the last time you lost control of your work. The answer is always the same. The partner who disappears, the superstar who releases your hook without telling you, or the platform that resells your melody for a few dollars a month.
One of them found the right words: “It’s the poisoned apple.” The pitch is brilliant: an endless library of melodies for the price of a coffee. In reality, it is a cage designed to turn creators into interchangeable commodities.
In 2020, in my bedroom in Brussels, I saw the trap: using an anonymous sample means accepting that your work is worth nothing once the sale is made.
If you do not own the provenance, you own nothing.
Water is the answer. We are not chasing quantity; we insist on the Royalty-Fair standard. We do not ask permission to exist. We own our weapon.