In 2018, I started reporting the story of a cult album called Eyes of Love. It was recorded by The Edge of Daybreak, a band comprised of eight black musicians who were serving prison time in Richmond, Virginia throughout the 1970s. The band recorded eight songs during a single marathon recording session inside Powhatan Correctional Facility, and the album was released as a local pressing in 1979.

The group was quickly disbanded after the album was released to positive reception as a result of newfound notoriety from outside media and local radio rotation. As the years passed, the original members never fully reunited or recorded additional music as the Edge of Daybreak, and Eyes of Love grew in its cult status as a “grail” record among collectors and proprietors of rare soul classics.

Eventually, one of the key members of EOD who arranged the original album’s recording, Steve Carrington, sold the rights to Eyes of Love to the Numero Group in XXXX. The album was reissued on vinyl and rereleased on digital streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music, and songs from the LP were “synced” across film & TV, appearing in the soundtrack of Oscar-winning film Moonlight and Roxanne Roxanne.

In uncovering details of the band members’ personal stories and connecting them with legal assistance from the University of Southern California’s IP Clinic, I learned of some of the questionable practices of the reissue business. In 2020, I stopped documenting the story after an unfortunate turn of events in my dealings with three of the surviving members, but I came away from that period with a great deal of empathy for their situation.

There’s a good deal of nuance that should be considered in this conversation around ownership of art and who is entitled to what. There are plenty of good-hearted individuals, even companies, who are purely motivated to find great undiscovered records and bring out and into the world. But there are too many instances of musicians of color getting caught in the snare of showbiz predation. Countless stories exist of (often BIPOC) artists selling away or licensing their rights to their master recordings for meager sums while white-owned labels turn that music into assets, stockpiling an ever-growing catalog of music to exploit in perpetuity.

I guess some of them feel guilty about it now.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBV_AEMl1L4/

With the advent of web3, I feel that there’s a meaningful opportunity to reset the way in which undiscovered musicians and their rare songs are discovered and distributed worldwide.

Enter Jewel Case.

A few years out of the rabbit hole of the Edge of Daybreak, I joined my friend, the rapper, entertainer and all-around renaissance man Fat Tony, to create a new podcast project that spotlights rare music recordings — regional tapes, out-of-print vinyl releases, etc. — to present their unique stories to a global audience of music fans. As Black independent creators ourselves, we hope to engineer a more equitable exchange of profits back to the musicians with mechanisms designed by web3 applications.

There’s a ton of excitement around how ownership and distribution are negotiated between creators and patrons in the near future through web3. As shine a light on more music and stories, the musicians and responsible parties could “mint” their songs as the treasured artifacts they are while being remunerated transparently and directly from patrons through the blockchain and smart contracts.

We are working to find a partner — entertainment studio, technology company, really anyone — who shares our passion for music doc storytelling, record collecting, and reimagining music distribution.

We’re only at the beginning, but I’m encouraged by what technology and web3 can offer to create a new treasure hunt enjoyed by all.