The Agreement Nobody Signed on Day One, Part 2 of a Series
by Silvia Passiflora, Editor | Scriptaluna
April 7, 2026
I walked out of my first recording sessions years ago without my stems and without work-for-hire agreements — WFHs, in industry shorthand — signed by anyone in the room.
A WFH is a contract establishing who owns what before the session ends. Ownership matters because it determines what the music can do next — whether a song can be placed in a film, licensed for a commercial, used in a TV soundtrack, or submitted for industry consideration. Without that paperwork, those doors don't open cleanly. Sometimes they don't open at all.
Handshake agreements feel sufficient in the moment, especially among friends and collaborators who trust each other. But memory is imperfect, circumstances change, and creative partnerships don't always stay simple. When time passes and people move on — or when someone is no longer here to speak for themselves — the question of who owns what doesn't disappear. It lands on whoever is left, and on whatever paperwork exists to answer it.
By the time I reached Grammy-level submissions and spaces where professional standards run legal-adjacent, I had to backtrack through years of undocumented collaboration.
I pulled in a lawyer. I paid Docusign fees. I untangled what should have been simple from the start.
The standard advice is to consult an attorney. I used to read that line as jargon — the kind of thing people say to pass the buck. I don't read it that way anymore. In a single paid consultation hour, my attorney walked me through the WFH landscape and gave me an impromptu tutorial on filing for sound recording copyrights. That's the kind of relationship that develops when you find the right person early and stay.
The most practical advice I can offer any new artist: reach out to a music attorney before a manager, before a publicist, before almost anyone else. If that feels out of reach right now, follow respected music rights educators on social media first. It's a low-stakes way to get oriented — and a good way to find out whether a particular attorney's voice and philosophy might suit yours over the long haul.
The biggest reason to find a music attorney early is that context is everything.
An attorney who knows your catalog, your entity structure, your collaborators, and your goals over time will give you counsel that no template, no online search, and no well-meaning colleague can replicate. That context accumulates. It becomes its own kind of asset.
In Part 1 I said producers should keep blank WFH agreements in the studio. I still believe something in place is better than nothing. But after sitting with this longer, the stronger advice is this: establish a relationship with a music attorney and have that conversation before you need it. They may provide a template. They may tell you something more specific is warranted depending on who is in the room. Either way, you'll be making an informed decision rather than reaching for a blank form that may not be enough — or may be too binding to accommodate a changing landscape you can't yet foresee.
When you're ready, get an attorney to help you draft agreements that fit your situation, your career, and the state where your business is registered.
To read Part 3:
What Your First Meeting with a Music Attorney Might Look Like