The Greatest Heist in Cultural History

Scene from Ryan Coogler's film "Sinners"

You ever sit with the audacity of it all? Every time someone strums a banjo in Nashville, every time a rock guitar screams through stadium speakers, every time the radio plays what they call "American music" – you're hearing the echo of the greatest heist in cultural history.

Let me break this down for you.

Our DNA in Every Note

We didn't just contribute to American music. We are American music. From the coded spirituals that guided the Underground Railroad to the hip-hop beats making billionaires today, Black hands, Black voices, Black genius built what the world celebrates as America's soundtrack.

The banjo twanging through country songs? Caribbean-born, African-made, taught by enslaved musicians to white plantation owners who then claimed it as theirs. Rock and roll? Sister Rosetta Tharpe was bending strings and breaking barriers while Elvis was still in elementary school. Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Ike Turner – they didn't just create a genre, they birthed an entire cultural revolution.

But here's where it gets sinister, where my blood starts to oscillate between rage and determination.

The Business Model of Erasure

This wasn't accidental oversight. This was strategic economic warfare wrapped in entertainment packaging.

While Black songwriters got $25 for complete ownership of their songs, white artists negotiated six-figure contracts with royalty structures. Think about that math. The creators got pocket change while the copycats built generational wealth. The same families eating off catalogs built on our ancestors' survival songs are the ones telling today's artists that "music doesn't pay anymore."

That's bullshit, and they know it.

The "struggling artist" narrative only applies if you don't own your masters, don't control your publishing, don't have equity in the system. Meanwhile, the executives perpetuating this mythology are still getting rich off sync deals and catalog sales that trace back to music we created for liberation and they transformed into oppression dividends.

The Modern Con Game

Fast forward to now. Lil Nas X gets kicked off country charts for not being "country enough." Mickey Guyton faces industry resistance for existing in a genre our people helped create. Black rock artists get told they don't fit the "demographic."

They've gotten more sophisticated with their theft. Now they call it "genre-bending" when white artists adopt our sounds, but it's "inauthentic" when we reclaim what was always ours.

Every genre they call theirs has our fingerprints all over it. But recognition without reparation is just another form of exploitation.

Here's What They Don't Want You to Know

The technology exists today to bypass their entire machine. We can create, distribute, promote, and monetize without surrendering our rights to people who never respected our contributions. But it requires us to think like owners, not just creators.

This means learning the business with the same intensity we learn our craft. It means supporting Black-owned platforms and building networks that circulate wealth within our community instead of extracting it. It means teaching the next generation to retain ownership from day one.

When they question whether we belong in spaces we created, show them the receipts. When they profit from sounds we originated while excluding us from compensation, stop giving them permission. Our presence in "their" genres isn't appropriation – it's homecoming.

The Bottom Line

This isn't just about individual success. This is about cultural sovereignty. About ensuring the wealth generated by our creativity benefits our communities. About our children never having to beg for seats at tables we built.

Every time we accept unfair deals, celebrate recognition without reparation, or let them tell our story without us controlling the narrative – we participate in our own exploitation.

The music is ours. The history is ours. The future can be ours too.

But only if we stop asking for permission to exist in spaces we created.

Remember: every major shift in music history happened because someone refused to accept the limitations others tried to place on them.

It's time to be that someone.

They need us. They always have. Their entire industry is built on our foundation. The question isn't whether we belong – the question is when we're going to stop letting them profit off our heritage while keeping us locked out of ownership that should be ours by birthright.

We are the originators. We are the heartbeat.

As always, stay tricky, be open-minded, and get curious about who really owns what you're listening to.

Until next time,

Tricky Sol