YouTube Partner Program

"You'll have to ask DJ Khaled about that—I don't know dance music." Ludacris shook his head.

Scooter nodded.

"What, thinking about getting into electronic music? I'd say take a trip to Europe." Ludacris said casually.

"Buying a lottery ticket requires going that far?" Scooter laughed.

Scooter had been trying to "buy lottery tickets" for the past two years, and every single time failed to make any splash. The rise of YouTube gave Scooter a new channel to scout talent—it was on YouTube that he'd discovered that Little Justin and successfully convinced the kid's mother to bring him to the States.

Just recently, he'd found another new investment target on YouTube...

Right then, Ludacris noticed a teenager lingering at the door, occasionally peeking inside. Sensing the kid was too afraid to come in, he actively waved him over.

"Come here, kid. Want to try some real stuff... Never had it before? That's great, you're about to have a blast." Ludacris didn't wait for the boy to agree before pushing him forward.

·

"Sorry, I still have major coursework and sorority activities are already plenty, and I have to arrange all of that myself, so I'm afraid I can't accept your invitation..."

[Delete?]

Ryan pressed the confirm button without hesitation. Elizabeth Olsen had turned him down, which annoyed him slightly, but he didn't think much of it.

Three-legged toads are hard to find; two-legged women are everywhere.

[Leg Girl!]

[Elizabeth!]

[hello?]

Ryan glanced at the time, realized it was still early morning over there, and closed the private chat window. Then he opened his Myspace, wrote a recruitment post for a social media operations person, and finally clicked send.

Next, Ryan habitually opened YouTube again, searched "Harlem Shake," and saw the video count had grown once more. The corners of his mouth lifted.

If the first song "Tremor" that Déjà vu had given him was just a quick tour of life as a "DJ," then this second song, Harlem Shake, was what truly let him build fame fast...

...or was it?

Ryan suddenly noticed a video in his feed. Unlike other viral videos that were pure imitation, this one was titled "We Interviewed the Harlem Shake Creator—Hear What He Has to Say!"

He clicked in. What appeared was a fat guy Ryan had never seen before, sporting lip and nose rings, his face covered in tattoos.

The so-called "interview" was just someone holding a DV camera—crude as could be—but that didn't stop this bastard from solemnly talking about the "hardships" of creating Harlem Shake and how "genuinely happy" he was about its explosive popularity.

He scrolled to the comments. A flood of "Thanks for bringing everyone joy," "This song is really great," "You're a genius producer"...

Ryan quickly closed the page, his heart pounding.

I got replaced?!!

Ryan opened iTunes and searched "Harlem Shake." The results made his vision go dark.

The top dozen or so were all fakes. His "official" Harlem Shake was stuck at the bottom of the first page.

The search results were ranked by downloads—meaning all these fakes were selling better than his original!

Roughly speaking, he'd lost a fortune.

"What's up? I'm busy filming." Trey's voice over the phone was a bit noisy.

Ryan told her about the problem.

"Just contact my lawyer about this—he'll handle it. Also, remember to report those infringing videos on YouTube." Trey reminded him.

Ryan hung up and called the lawyer first.

"Charged per case?!" Ryan's voice rose.

"Of course. Different infringers mean different cases—they can't be consolidated." The lawyer said matter-of-factly.

Harlem Shake hadn't made him any money yet, and he had to throw some out first?

"Haven't you signed with a record label?" The lawyer asked again.

"What?"

"I mean, a record label would handle all this for you. They have fixed legal partners." The lawyer reminded him. He'd worked with Trey for years and was an old acquaintance.

"Not yet." Ryan shook his head.

After completing the commission, Ryan called YouTube's complaint hotline.

"Please prove you're the original creator of this song and hold the master copyright." The customer service rep said lazily.

This wasn't hard for Ryan. He asked for a work email, sent over a copy of his copyright registration and a screenshot of his Harlem Shake upload time as evidence.

This time, the person who replied wasn't customer service but someone calling themselves the head of the music channel.

"We noticed three days ago that Harlem Shake was spreading like crazy on YouTube at an insane speed. We asked VEVO's staff, but they couldn't find the relevant copyright holder either." The person explained.

"What's VEVO?" Ryan was unfamiliar with the name.

"You're probably just a regular music fan who hasn't signed with a label yet, right?" The person began to explain.

The playback rights for an MV usually belong to the record label, but the artist also gets a share of the revenue. As the broadcast platform, TV stations and video sites—as "channels"—are also entitled to a cut. The problem is how to distribute that revenue and when.

VEVO was created to solve this complex distribution issue. As a multinational video hosting service, VEVO was jointly founded by the three major labels—Universal, Sony, and EMI—to negotiate with video sites and put their massive MV catalogs on platforms like YouTube.

Currently, the vast majority of the highest-viewed videos on YouTube are MVs. You have to understand that these MVs play ads before they start, generating a considerable amount of revenue. Most of this goes to video hosting services like VEVO, which then deducts operating costs and profits before distributing the rest to record labels.

Out of a dollar in revenue, maybe $0.50 remains at this stage, of which $0.20 needs to be split between the songwriters and performers. But even that $0.20, the record labels will find various ways to withhold—whether through cost allocation or extending payment terms. In short, they take their cut however they can. Of course, this is also "industry standard practice."

Ryan, as an "independent musician," ironically managed to dodge the scythe of this profit-harvesting scheme.

"Since you haven't signed with a record label, you can directly apply for the YouTube Partner Program, or YPP for short. Once approved, all videos using Harlem Shake as background music will bring you ad revenue shares. Although YouTube takes a higher cut of the ad revenue, the money you receive will be more and arrive on time. We encourage artists like you to showcase your work and creativity on YouTube," the other party said with a smile, then proactively offered to handle the copyright-infringing videos on YouTube.

Just an hour later, Ryan noticed that the "clone video" had been "red-flagged"—YouTube officially stepped in and marked it as a copyright-infringing video. Meanwhile, the new replies had all turned into righteous charges and verbal condemnations. The uploader quickly issued a new statement, claiming they were "just joking" and "meant no harm."

You're not regretful; you know you're about to crash and burn. Ryan sneered.

He then downloaded the video for archiving and emailed it to his lawyer, adding a new copyright infringement claim to the case.

Though he was out a lawyer's fee for now, it would bring in more revenue in the future. Looking at it this way, did he really need a record label to take a cut?

Probably still did. He got lucky with Harlem Shake this time, but who knew what the next song would be?

Wasn't Tremor a perfect example? The track itself was fine, but it just didn't blow up...

Or did it?

Ryan opened Beatport's backend and was stunned to find that yesterday's daily sales had hit a terrifying 6,000+, shooting straight up to fifteenth place on the sales chart.

Ryan couldn't figure it out. If it were just word-of-mouth spreading organically, the sales data wouldn't have jumped this much all at once.

Eventually, Ryan found the answer on Twitter.

The renowned Dutch DJ Tiesto had posted a separate tweet recommending two of Ryan's tracks to the public! Not only that, but these two songs had also been featured on Tiesto's personal radio show, Club Life, on Netherlands' Radio 538, and played as the grand finale.

Ryan recalled his earlier conversation with the VJ in the backend. Tiesto, besides running his own record label, also had business ties with Spinnin Records.

Chances were, he had caught Spinnin Records' attention too! Ryan's lips curled into a smile. His earlier vision was gradually coming true.

Dear readers, if you like it, please spare a little effort—throw in some Monthly Votes and recommendation tickets, water this little seedling for me. I'm counting on you.