Why Rising Artists can no longer Afford to be Musicians
Since 2018, it has been a yearly tradition of mine to watch the GRAMMYs live from the comfort of my home. I still remember the first time—I was curled up in my blankets at 4 AM, exhausted but too excited to sleep. The energy of the audience thrilled me, the artist’s outfits inspired me, from de La Renta to Cavalli. Every year, I eagerly awaited January and February, counting down the days until I could hear those words: “...And the Grammy goes to…”—the brief hush before an explosion of cheers and applause. I loved that energy, and I obsessed over the unique vibe the show brought each year.
This year was no different—in fact, I’d say it was even better than last year’s and the year before. But one moment stood out to me the most.
Picture this: an artist you’ve been listening to for over a year is nominated for one of the Big Four categories—Best New Artist. That artist was none other than Chappell Roan. I sat with my fingers crossed, heart pacing, as Victoria Monét announced the nominees and, finally, the winner. When Chappell’s name was called, I couldn’t contain my excitement—she deserved it.
But to my surprise, her speech wasn’t just a series of thank-yous like you’d expect it to be, especially from a new artist. Instead, she used her moment on music’s biggest stage to shine a light on something much deeper—the financial struggles and lack of support many emerging artists face. She spoke about being dropped by her label, the difficulty of making a living as a musician, and the lack of health insurance in an industry that thrives on young talent. It was raw, honest, and a stark reminder that success in music isn’t always as glamorous. I was even more in awe when she put the Grammy down on the floor, further emphasizing the importance and urgency of her concerns.
Her words lingered with me long after the applause faded.
The Rolling Stone Magazine, 2025
“I told myself if I ever won a Grammy…I would demand that labels and the industry profiting millions of dollars off of artists would offer a livable wage and health care, especially to developing artists.”
Roan explained that when she was first signed to a label, she was still a minor, and when they later dropped her, she was left with no work experience, struggled to get a job during the pandemic, and couldn’t afford health insurance. “It was so devastating to feel so committed to my art and feel so betrayed by the system.” (Walsh 2025).
Chappell’s acceptance speech peeled back the curtain on an often-ignored reality, one that many emerging artists face in the music industry. Beneath the glitz and glamour, the road to success is filled with financial instability, career uncertainty, and a lack of basic support systems like health insurance.
Two Truths, One Lie
For as long as I can remember, it has seemed (at least from the outside) that many artists view signing with a record label as a golden ticket to success and fame. But the truth is, like in any corporate setting, businesses comes first, and artist support comes with certain conditions and clauses. For an example, if an artist doesn’t produce immediate commercial success, they can be dropped without a second thought. Roan herself was signed to Atlantic Records in 2017, only to be dropped in 2020 after her debut single didn’t perform as expected. Left without a label, she had to start over from scratch, funding her own career and rebuilding her audience independently.
This follows the profit-maximization model in economics, where businesses prioritize short-term gains over long-term investment, often at the expense of capital, in this case, that would be human capital. Record labels operate under a portfolio theory approach, signing many artists but only investing heavily in those who show the highest return potential. Much like venture capital firms, they spread their resources across multiple artists, hoping a few will yield massive profits while the rest are discarded if they don’t show immediate viability. This system prioritizes scalability and marketability over artistry, leaving many musicians in financial uncertainty. Business comes first!
As I’ve discussed in previous articles, the rise of the streaming era has been an exciting time for new and emerging artists, thanks to platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and X. These tools allow artists to forge parasocial relationships with fans and media, catapulting them to new levels of fame. But does that necessarily mean they’re making a sustainable living?
Streaming platforms pay artists fractions of a cent per stream, with Spotify averaging between $0.003 and $0.005 per play. That means an artist would need 250,000 streams just to earn $1,000, and that’s before record labels, managers, and distributors take their cuts. And this is a truth that is not talked about enough in the industry, and is much maligned.
This aligns with the principal-agent problem, where the interests of the artists (agents) are misaligned with those of the record labels and streaming platforms (principals). Platforms like Spotify and Apple Music generate billions in revenue, but their compensation structures are designed to benefit shareholders and major stakeholders rather than the artists themselves. Economies of scale favor companies with extensive content libraries, allowing them to maximize profits by reducing payout ratios per artist. This results in a “winner-takes-all” market, where only the top 1% of musicians earn a sustainable income, while smaller artists struggle despite achieving significant streaming numbers.
Atlantic Records Building, 2017
Now, here’s the lie, the very foundation of Chappell’s entire speech, the reality of it all. One of the biggest and most overlooked myths in the music industry is that record labels and streaming platforms guarantee artists’ financial stability and well-being. In reality, most musicians lack basic benefits like health insurance or job security. A 2018 study by the Music Industry Research Association found that 34% of musicians lack health insurance, compared to only 8% of the general U.S. population.
This reflects labor market disparities often seen in gig economies where workers operate as independent contractors without employer-provided benefits. The music industry’s economic structure mirrors that of other creative fields, where job precarity (employment that is insecure, unstable, or uncertain) is high, and income volatility creates financial instability for those without alternative revenue streams.
To add to this, the monopsony power* of record labels like Atlantic Records and major streaming platforms further extend this issue, leaving new and emerging artists with little bargaining power. As a result, they’re often forced to accept unfavorable contracts just to gain exposure. In 2025, and if i’m being honest, since 2018, it has become significantly harder to define what it means to be a "successful artist." I’ve had a front-row seat to the industry’s transformation over the past decade, experiencing it firsthand from the inside. Is success measured by streams, sales, or chart position? Either way, being "at the top" is no longer the primary goal for many new artists, nor does it hold the same weight it once did.
The rapid turnover of hits has made mainstream success feel fleeting. There’s a new song at the top of the charts almost every day, and if you asked ten people to name the most popular song right now, you’d likely get ten different answers. This wasn’t the case in the early 2010s or late 2000s when cultural moments were clearer, chart dominance felt more concrete and there existed a monoculture. A culture where everyone was tuned in at the same frequency and experienced internet culture simultaneously . I feel like I grew up at the heart of the pop culture landscape, witnessing its evolution through various eras. From the bubblegum pop of the early 2010s to the EDM boom of the mid-2010s, and the darker, moodier pop-R&B wave of the late 2010s, the industry has transformed entirely.
I believe that visibility no longer guarantees longevity, and virality doesn’t necessarily translate to financial security. In this era, artists must navigate a system that prioritizes exposure over sustainability, leaving many to wonder: does making it big even mean making a living anymore?
Kendrick Lamar, 2025 GRAMMYs
As the industry continues to evolve, one thing remains clear: fame and financial security are no longer synonymous as they once were, not so long ago. For today’s artists, success isn’t just about breaking through, it’s about finding a way to stay afloat in an industry that often values trends over talent. The question is, how many will be able to? Watching this unfold from the front row, I can’t help but wonder, what does the future of music look like? And more importantly, who gets to define success in an industry that seems to constantly rewrite the rules?
*the ability of a single company or group of companies to control prices in a market
