Kingston, 2001. Four songs, and money I had begged from my family to pay for the session.
Three albums, two EPs, a mixtape and a long run of singles later — all of it independent, none of it with a label — I was still guessing about the money. I knew my songs were earning something, somewhere. I could not have told you who was holding it, or what I was supposed to do to make it arrive.
Nobody is hiding it from you. It is written on the collecting societies’ own help pages, in public, for free — just in a language nobody translates.
So you find out late, or you find out never. I found out late. This book is the translation.
