Resolving Songwriting Splits and Royalty Disputes in Bands

Few things break a band apart faster, or more permanently, than an argument over songwriting splits and royalties. Bands survive bad tours, difficult producers and weeks of no sleep in the back of a van. Money tied to authorship is different, because in music, publishing isn't just income. It's credit, it's status, and it's who gets to say they built the thing.

I've worked as a mediator in the music industry since 2008, and a large share of the disputes that reach me come back to splits in one way or another. Sometimes they were never properly agreed. Sometimes they were agreed once and no longer reflect how the band actually works. And sometimes an old royalty argument comes roaring back the moment a member leaves. The good news is that many of these disputes can be worked through with early conversation, mediation and specialist legal advice where needed, before court proceedings become necessary.

The handshake split in early-stage bands

When a band starts out, equal splits can feel like the only decent way to do things. There are four of you in a rehearsal room, nobody's earning a penny, everyone's loading the gear, and splitting everything 25% each feels fair, loyal and simple.

The trouble is that a handshake agreement is built for the rehearsal room, not for the moment a song gets a sync, picks up radio play or starts doing real numbers on streaming. Once proper money arrives, it often turns out that everyone had a slightly different deal in their head, and nobody's lying about it, because each of them remembers it the way it felt to them at the time.

Top line and lyrics, or arrangement. One person brings in a chord progression, a melody and a finished lyric. Someone else spends three days on the drum groove or the guitar hook that makes the track work. Without an agreed way of looking at it, the first person sees their song and the second sees a co-write, and both of them can feel completely sure they're right.

Writing income and touring income. Live income is often thin once crew, fuel and production have been paid for, while publishing keeps paying long after the tour has ended. If publishing goes only to the writers, the members who don't write can end up relying on the road for their living while the writers' income pulls further and further ahead. If everything is split equally, the writers can start to feel they're carrying everyone else. Either way, a difference in income that nobody ever talked about tends to turn into resentment.

Assumptions nobody wrote down. Years later, nobody remembers the conversation in the pub after the demo session in quite the same way, and every argument that follows drags that old uncertainty back into the room.

Who counts as a writer

Industry bodies don't offer a definition of a writer. PRS for Music says it doesn't advise on splits, and pays royalties according to the splits registered on each song. In the US, ASCAP says producers often contribute to the composition and can be credited as writers if they do, but "ultimately, the decision is up to you and your co-writers." The Musicians' Union tells session players that "those that have created any part of a song/composition have the right to a percentage", to be agreed with the other writers. If the people involved can't agree, it can end up in court.

This is where the law can surprise people, in both directions.

A riff sometimes can make you a co-writer. In 2003, the session violinist on The Bluebells' version of "Young at Heart" was ruled a joint author of that version because of his violin hook. In 2009, Procol Harum's organist was given a 40% share of the music copyright in "A Whiter Shade of Pale" for the organ line, decades after the record came out.

Drum parts can count too, but they're harder to win on. In 1999, three members of Spandau Ballet tried to claim a share of Gary Kemp's songwriting. The judge mostly treated their parts as performance rather than writing, and held that working up Kemp's songs in rehearsal and in the studio didn't make them co-writers. The one exception was "Glow", where the drum and percussion parts were prominent enough that the drummer and percussionist were found to be joint authors. Even then they lost the case overall, because they'd let Kemp treat the songs as his for years.

The current test is closer to how bands actually work. The current test comes from a 2019 Court of Appeal ruling that wasn't about music at all, but about who wrote the screenplay for the film "Florence Foster Jenkins". The court said it's "never enough to ask 'who did the writing?'" What matters is whether someone made their own significant creative choices while working with others towards the finished piece. Nobody needs to have set out to be co-writers, and the shares don't have to be equal. A one-off suggestion, without any wider collaboration, doesn't count. When the case was reheard, the opera singer who'd worked on the script was found to be a joint author with a 20% share. In music terms, that suggests it would be harder to justify a credit for someone who made a single suggestion in rehearsal that was taken up, than for someone who added significant depth or direction through consistent creative contribution during the writing process.

Outside the courtroom, it's messier. Credits are usually agreed between the people involved, and memories of who came up with what don't always line up. "Layla" shows how messy this gets in practice. The song is credited to Eric Clapton and the band's drummer, Jim Gordon, who's credited with the hugely emotional piano piece at the end (my favourite bit!) and played it. Rita Coolidge has said she co-wrote that melody with Gordon, and the band's keyboard player backed her up, but the credit has never changed. Clapton himself has said it was Duane Allman, playing as a guest, who came up with the famous opening riff. The songwriting credit is still Clapton and Gordon's.

Grooves are still an open question. I'm not aware of any recent UK ruling about a groove on its own. The big US case this year, over the "Dembow" rhythm at the heart of Reggaeton, saw its broad claims thrown out in September. The judge didn't say a groove can never be owned. The problem was that the rhythm being claimed had been pieced together from three different recordings. Smaller parts of that case are still going.

Not every musician wants a share, though. Al Kooper played the famous organ parts on Bob Dylan's mid-60s records, including "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Positively 4th Street". Talking about "Like a Rolling Stone" in 2000, he said: "I wrote the organ part, but I would never go to Bob Dylan and say, 'I should get a piece of this.' I wrote the organ part. That's my job."

Where the disputes tend to happen: publishing, masters and lineup changes

In my experience, royalty disputes in bands tend to gather around three pressure points.

1. Mixing up publishing and master rights

Many emerging and mid-level bands treat the two sides of music copyright as one thing. Publishing covers the song itself, the words and music. Master rights cover the particular recording of it. They're separate, and they can be split differently. A band might decide that whatever master income comes to the band is shared equally by everyone who played on the record, while publishing is weighted towards the people who wrote the songs. Or it might settle on something in between. The confusion usually starts when nobody separates the two until a label deal, a distributor or a PRS or PPL registration forces someone to put a number on a form.

2. When a member leaves

When a founding member leaves, or is asked to leave, the financial ties don't end on the day they walk out. Straight away there are questions about whether they keep their royalties on the back catalogue, how ongoing merch and touring income relate to records they played on, and what happens to unreleased demos they worked on. And if the band's attention shifts from making music to punishing the person who's leaving, both sides usually lose.

3. Old records, new money

Even bands that parted on good terms ten years ago can hit trouble when an anniversary reissue, a documentary or a sync brings an old record back to life. Old grievances come back up alongside the new money, and it's often more complicated second time round, because there are now managers, publishers or estates involved who weren't in the room when the music was made.

Mediation and legal advice: protecting the catalogue and the relationships

When a royalty dispute gets stuck, a specialist music lawyer can help you understand your rights, assess the options and protect your position. That doesn't have to mean starting court proceedings. You can ask your lawyers to help agree and appoint an independent mediator as an early step, while they continue to advise you. Some disputes need a court decision, but others may be worked through without one.

Releases and syncs can be delayed. When ownership is formally in dispute, labels, distributors and sync agencies may hold tracks back or keep the royalties in escrow until it's resolved. A deadlock can stall a release cycle, and a sync opportunity may be lost if the rights can't be cleared in time.

The costs need to be proportionate. Music litigation can involve substantial costs, sometimes more than the royalties being argued over. A specialist lawyer can help assess what's at stake and whether negotiation, mediation or court proceedings are the most appropriate route.

The industry is watching. Promoters, labels and agents notice how a camp behaves under pressure. A public falling-out can damage relationships across the industry long after the percentages have been settled.

Confidential mediation can offer a more private way to work through a dispute and, in some cases, a quicker route towards agreement than court proceedings. An independent mediator can work with the band members, and with their managers and legal advisers where appropriate, on both the commercial numbers and the personal friction underneath them. Mediation and legal advice can complement each other: lawyers can advise throughout and, if an agreement is reached, help turn it into a legally binding settlement.

Inviting an informal mediated conversation can often be a really useful first step, before positions become entrenched. It gives people a chance to hear one another and explore what might be workable, without expecting anyone to give up their rights or go without legal advice. It won't be the right approach for every situation, and nobody has to agree to an outcome that doesn't work for them.

I'm qualified as a family and business mediator, and bands are often both: close-knit relationships with a shared history, and businesses with money, rights and livelihoods at stake. I bring that training together with my experience in the music industry and as an artist manager to help create an environment where everyone involved can be heard. The aim is to make room for an honest conversation about the relationships as well as the numbers, alongside specialist legal advice where it's needed.

If your band is already caught up in wider friction about roles, money or communication, it might also help to read my piece on practical conflict resolution for musicians and bands before positions set.

Getting ready for a useful conversation about splits

Whether you're sitting down as a band to head off a future row or getting ready for a mediated session to sort out an existing one, it helps to prepare for more than a conversation about percentages. The money matters. So does what each person means to the band, and what you want your life together to look like after this conversation.

1. Separate the past catalogue from future releases. Trying to renegotiate five years of historic splits at the same time as agreeing how the next album will work usually stalls. Treat them as two separate conversations.
2. Recognise contributions that don't fit neatly into a split. Be clear about lyrics, melody, music, arrangement and production, but leave room for what isn't easy to measure. Someone might give another member the confidence to try an idea, hear what a song needs before anyone can explain it, or help everyone keep working together when things are difficult. Those contributions can be deeply important even when you can't put a percentage against them. Ask each other what you've valued, what you've relied on, and what may have gone unacknowledged.
3. Talk about presence, not just output. A person's contribution isn't always a part you can isolate on a recording. It can be their humour, their listening, their feel for the room or the way other people play when they're there. Ask yourselves what the band would look and feel like without that member. What would change in the music, the relationships and the day-to-day experience of being in it? This isn't about making anyone feel guilty for leaving, or suggesting they have to stay. It's about recognising the whole person before reducing their place in the band to a number.
4. Think beyond the immediate settlement. What do you want to preserve over the next few years: the ability to write together, a shared livelihood, friendships, or a respectful relationship after someone leaves? A split that looks attractive today might not feel workable over several albums or years of touring. Equally, asking someone to accept an arrangement they can't live on won't protect the band for long. Try to talk about what would allow each person, and the band as a whole, to have a future they can feel comfortable with.
5. Bring the real statements, and make room for what they can't tell you. Actual PRS, PPL, distributor and label statements help everyone work from the same financial picture. They won't tell you who felt overlooked, who carried the uncertainty, or why a particular credit matters so much to someone. Both kinds of information belong in the conversation. Being listened to and acknowledged can matter alongside the financial outcome, not instead of it.
6. Have it somewhere neutral, with room to listen. Avoid having the conversation in the studio, backstage or in a WhatsApp thread that never ends. Give each person time to explain what matters to them without having to defend every feeling as a financial claim. If trust has already worn thin, an independent mediator can help make space for that conversation, so nobody has to referee while also defending their own share.

None of this means that every valued contribution automatically creates a songwriting credit or a legal entitlement. Rights, agreed splits and the wider way a band recognises its members are related, but they're not interchangeable. Specialist legal advice can help keep those distinctions clear. The aim is to look honestly at both the financial position and the human one, so the conversation goes beyond what each person is owed to what each person brings, needs and hopes to be part of.

Disputes over songwriting splits rarely happen because musicians are greedy. They happen because creative partnerships move quickly, the paperwork falls behind, and nobody wants to look mercenary while the music's going well. Getting the splits clear early, or mediating a fair exit when things change, looks after both the catalogue and the people who made it.

This article is general information, not legal advice. For anything binding about rights, ownership or registration, talk to a specialist music lawyer.