SEPIAN THOUGHTS – THE OTHER SIDE OF COPYRIGHT
Richard Tay’s office is an aural museum of the impressive kind. Many hundreds of old 78 rpm shellac discs plus vinyl long-players from the ‘50s litter his shelves and gangways. Predictably, as the owner of Sepia Records, one of Britain’s leading reissue labels and a prime mover in the field of rare original cast recordings, his attitude to the subject of out of copyright recordings differs to those of the British Phonographic Institute and those it represents.
“Most of the CDS that Sepia releases are out-of-copyright and contain music that was first released over 50 years ago”, he explains, acknowledging that, as British law stands, the artists and companies that made the original records now have no monetary claim on his reissues.
“It’s always going to be a thorny issue” he admits, “We’re talking about money here, the fact that some artists regard royalties from their old recordings as part of their pension.
I appreciate that, I believe that if anyone has worked hard they should benefit from their labour. But I’m coming from being a lover of a particular kind of music and the need to preserve it. Most major labels are concentrating on reissues by such as Elvis Presley or others whose records are guaranteed to sell, whatever their age. But there are also many recordings that can only sell maybe a thousand units worldwide. And I know, having worked for major labels in the past, that they’re not in the least interested in those. Releasing such records can be expensive – putting out a CD that sells just one or two thousand copies is not going to make money for majors. Much of the time I’m putting out records that they, never in a million years, want to put out themselves.”
On Tay’s desk are copies of original cast CDs that have have won Sepia friends among those who love musicals – the 1956 London version of Grab Me Gondola, starring Joan Heal and Denis Quilley: Free As Air, a Julian Slade and Dorothy Reynolds show that opened at the Savoy during 1954: plus the soundtrack to London Town,a 1946 J Arthur Rank film hailed as the first big-budget Technicolour production to be made in Britain.
He gazes at them and muses: “I’d love to work in tandem with major labels in a way that we complement each other. I want to say ‘I’m not treading on your toes’. I’m not into challenging them or competing with them – I’m just releasing records that ensures that the consumer ultimately has a choice.”
Though those who have profited from releasing from out-of- copyright reissues are often viewed as money-seeking opportunists, Tay has become something of a hero with those who adore the sounds of yesterday.
“Some of my releases are personal ambitions – records I used to dream about and those that formed a hit list, things that needed to be rediscovered, needed to be heard. This is why I’ve always worked closely with a network of music lovers. They inform me of recordings I’m not aware of, or maybe just suggest things.
For instance when I thought about putting out a London Cast recording of The Jazz Train, they helped enormously. I knew that there were four sides released on two 78’s that I’d found. What I didn’t realise was that there were many recordings of the period made by American black performers who, because they couldn’t make a living in their own country, they would come here and work in a show or at nightclubs. Companies like Decca and EMI would take them into studios and then produce
records by such as Elisabeth Welch, who chose to remain here, or Marie Bryant, who returned home again. I didn’t know about these recordings, presumably because they didn’t sell well. It was record collectors who informed me that these were available and would make good bonus tracks.”
Though Tay sparked Sepia into original cast life via records that had guaranteed sales -“In the first year, I did Rodgers And Hammerstein In London, which was a compilation featuring West End cast recordings of South Pacifc, Oklahoma and Carousel “ – he’s never forgotten to dig for real rarities.
“The oldest recordings I’ve used stem from the ‘20s, two sides from Peter Pan performed by J.H.Squire’s Celeste Octet. They formed part of a CD titled One Hundred Years Of Peter Pan,
that also included six tracks recorded by HMV just before the second world war featuring Jean Forbes-Robertson, who’d been playing the role of Peter for years, along with Dinah Sheridan who was Wendy.”
Thoughts of releasing such old material reminds Richard Tay of talks with some of the artists whose material he’s re-released.
“They tell me that contracts were often very different in their day. Some of the artists whose records have appeared on Sepia are performers who were paid five pounds for a recording session and then never heard from their record companies again. Additionally there have been many cases where the record labels have disappeared. So even if they did have contracts that allowed them some payment for the next 10 or 15 years, how could they apply to get the money?”
Meanwhile, Tay’s continuing to live his dream, record collectors are still able to obtain CDs that the major labels would never dream of thrusting their way and few record labels and artists, if any, are really missing out on payments. So is everybody happy?
Not quite.
Tay picks up a copy of Once Upon A Time, a Julie Andrews compilation that commences with a track made when she was 12 years old and appearing at Val Parnell’s Starlight Roof show at the London Hippodrome in 1948.”
“I hear Julie is not too happy with this release,” he admits. Then gives a sigh.



2 Responses to sepian thoughts – the other side of copyright
More power to Mr Tay’s elbow, says I.
While I understand the value of copyright payments to artists and composers, I strongly feel there should be some kind of ceiling. It seems disproportionate that an already well-established multi-millionaire performer can go on earning the kind of money that would fund a small nation in the third world for a piece of work that perhaps took him/her ten minutes to write and and half an hour to record.
After all, most ‘artists’ (ie painters, sculptors etc etc) create works which they sell once. If they become successful they can demand more money for their pieces, and the pieces themselves appreciate in value for the buyers.
I can see to that there’s a supply and demand aspect. If a contemporary painter, for example, can sell prints based on his/her work and get a percentage of the sale, that seems fair to me.
But wouldn’t it be nice if, perhaps, after a certain level of income is achieved from a single piece of work, or after a number of years have passed (and fifty doesn’t seem unfair to me), some proportion of the royalties might be applied to, for example, providing musical facilities for schools, so that the next generation of musicians can get a decent start?
And let’s not forget that a diamond miner, for example, works for years in apalling, life-threatening conditions for a fixed wage. He doesn’t get a percentage of the sale price of the diamonds he extracts. It’s easy to say ‘tough shit, dude’ but I’d like to live in a world where the riches could be shared round a little more equitably.
Julie Andrews, I’d imagine, could buy and sell Mr Tay’s Sepia Records operation several times over. If he didn’t re-release her 1948 Hippodrome recordings, who else would? He’s certainly not going to get rich on it. Why would someone as adoreably nice as Mary Poppins resent his actions?
Besides, even if a major label was to re-release Julie’s histroic recordings, they’d do it in a massive box set with major advertising and very probably a tv anniversary spectacular and Julie’s last live tour ever to promote it. That’s a very different kind of product, with which the Sepia Records release is presumably not competing.
Hail Your Dellarship,
Top article. Hats off.
As you’re a man who oozes music I wondered if you fancied gettin’ on your scuba gear and divin’ down, down, deeper and down with me into the murky music waters under the itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny tip of the rock iceberg? You can get into the whole gig at http://www.rockmusicblog.co.uk – a trawl thru the obscure sock drawer of rock.
May your stylus gather no dust,
Keef