Insert Coin: Pay to play

We love saying we support artists. We repost their songs. We add them to our playlists. We comment under their posts. We buy tickets when they come to town. We wear their merch. We tell people, “You need to listen to this person.” We like being the kind of people who support artists. But how much of that support is actually material?

Earlier this year, there was renewed excitement around physical music media. Vinyl, CDs, record stores, collecting music. There is something romantic about it. Sitting with friends, putting on a record, listening to an album from beginning to end. The music becomes an object, an experience, and something you have physically invested in.

But even that revival is happening through the internet. We discover records online. We find artists through TikTok, Instagram and YouTube. We join communities around music on Instagram, WhatsApp, Reddit and Facebook. The internet has made music more accessible than ever. And that accessibility has created a strange contradiction.

We often wonder why artists aren’t making enough money from their art while we actively participate in systems that allow us to consume their work for next to nothing. This isn’t an argument against streaming. It isn’t a pro vinyl argument either. This is an observation on what happens when we choose to participate in the economy around the music, because if we love the music as much as we say we do, then we should concern ourselves about the ecosystems that have become part of the music.

The Licensing Economy

Consider what happens when music moves into public and commercial spaces. If a business, venue, promoter or other music user plays music as part of its activities, there are licensing obligations attached to that use.

SAMRO administers performing rights for composers, authors and publishers, while SAMPRA administers rights relating to sound recordings and the recording artists and record companies connected to them. In many circumstances, music users need licences from both organisations.

That might sound like boring industry administration. It isn’t. Licensing is one of the mechanisms through which music that is being commercially or publicly used can generate royalty income.

SAMPRA’s 2026 tariff for background music at festivals and related ticketed events, for example, sets a fee of 1.5% of gross ticket sales, subject to a minimum of R992.15 per day per event, before VAT. Other forms of music use fall under different tariffs, so this isn’t a universal “festival licence” price.

SAMRO similarly states that music users such as promoters, pubs, mobile DJs, clubs, restaurants, shopping malls and live music venues are required to pay licence fees, with the money collected distributed to creators as royalty income. Even mobile DJs have a specific licensing structure. SAMPRA’s 2026 annual tariff is R3,100.49 per DJ unit, excluding VAT. And importantly, a DJ’s licence doesn’t automatically cover the venue or premises where the music is being played.

This matters because the music doesn’t stop creating value simply because the artist isn’t standing in front of an audience. Not every artist is gigging every weekend. Some are still trying to get their first proper booking. Some are developing their careers. Some are between projects. Some have stepped away from performing altogether. Some may never have been major live performers in the first place.

But their recordings can still be used. Their compositions can still be performed. Their catalogue can still be part of someone’s business, event or experience. Licensing creates a legitimate mechanism through which that use can generate royalty income.

It doesn’t guarantee that every artist will receive a meaningful amount, or that an individual artist will suddenly be able to live off their catalogue. Royalty distributions depend on actual usage and the systems through which that usage is tracked and distributed. But the mechanism matters. Because we often talk about artists as though their only opportunity to make money is to get on a stage. It isn’t. The more interesting question is what happens to the music between those moments.

The Informal Economy

Alongside the legitimate systems of payment, we have built a culture around getting music for free, cheaply or through unofficial channels.

We see it with DJ packs. Someone has spent time making music. A producer has made a beat. An artist has recorded vocals. A label has released a project. A track has been mixed and mastered, uploaded, distributed and promoted. Then somewhere in a WhatsApp group, Facebook group, Telegram channel or random website, someone is selling a collection of music for R100, R200 or R500.

The transaction still exists, money is still changing hands. The difference is that the person who created the music isn’t necessarily part of that transaction.

And this is where the conversation about piracy becomes more uncomfortable. I can’t tell you that this informal economy costs South African artists a specific number of millions. And I think pretending otherwise would weaken the argument. There are too many different forms of unauthorised distribution and informal exchange, and not enough reliable data to confidently put one giant number against the problem.

But we don’t need an invented number to recognise the principle. The argument is not that every R100 DJ pack would otherwise become R100 in an artist’s pocket. It’s that we have normalised transactions around music in which the creator can be completely absent from the payment. That should bother us.

What Material Support Looks Like

Because we are very quick to blame streaming platforms. We blame labels, promoters, venues and the industry for not paying artists enough. Sometimes those criticisms are completely justified. But consumers are not outside the system. We participate in it.

Every time we buy a ticket, download music, subscribe to a service, purchase merchandise, pay for a DJ service or consume music through a business, we are participating in an economy around music.

So perhaps “supporting artists” needs to mean more than saying the words. Maybe it means asking where the money actually goes. Maybe it means using legitimate channels when we can. Maybe it means paying for the music we are commercially using. Maybe it means understanding that a licence isn’t just another expense on an event budget – it is part of the infrastructure through which creators can receive income from the use of their work. And maybe it means accepting that supporting an artist doesn’t always look glamorous. It isn’t always a sold-out concert. It isn’t always a vinyl record. Sometimes it is a licence fee. Sometimes it is buying the track. Sometimes it is paying for the service instead of finding the free version. Sometimes it is simply not participating in a transaction that deliberately cuts the creator out.

The point isn’t the format. The point is the transaction. Vinyl doesn’t automatically mean you care more about artists. Streaming doesn’t automatically mean you care less. Buying a physical record can be meaningful, but so can paying for legitimate access to music in a digital economy. What matters is whether value is moving back towards the people who create the thing we claim to love.

Instead of asking why artists aren’t making enough money. Maybe we should also ask what we’re doing that helps them make it. We cannot demand that artists build sustainable careers while treating the economic value of their work as someone else’s problem. And we cannot say we support the culture while constantly looking for ways to consume it without contributing to it.

The uncomfortable truth is that we’re all in it. Artists, promoters, venues, DJs, platforms, labels, businesses and audiences. We all occupy different positions in the ecosystem, and we don’t all have the same power. But we do have choices.

So maybe it’s time to move from slogan to action. Instead of only chanting “support local artists”, let’s advance to the “how”. Not in theory. Not with a repost. Not with a comment. Not with a playlist we never pay for. But materially.

Because if the music is creating value, someone should be willing to pay for it.

Pay to play.