What I’ve learned the hard way about songwriting, splits, and everything in betweenFor a long time in songwriting, there’s been this unspoken default.“Nashville rules.”If you’re in the room, you get a cut. Everyone splits it evenly. No arguments. No maths. No awkward conversations.When I was coming up, that was just… the way it was.And honestly? Most of the time, it works. Until it doesn’t.I’ve been in writing sessions across Australia, the US, Malaysia, Indonesia, New Zealand, the UK. I’ve had cuts, I’ve lost cuts, I’ve been the guy who wrote the whole song and I’ve been the guy who barely touched it. Nashville rules came up every single time.What “Nashville Rules” Actually MeansIf you’re new to this world, Nashville rules basically means: every person in the writing session gets an equal share of the publishing.<ul><li>Two writers? 50/50.</li><li>Three writers? 33.3% each.</li><li>Four writers? 25% each.</li></ul>It’s simple. It’s supposed to avoid conflict. It keeps the room positive.And 99 times out of 100, it’s fine.Because let’s be real. Most songs aren’t making millions. Most songs aren’t getting huge syncs. Most songs aren’t life-changing money. So the splits don’t feel life-changing either.Until one day… they are. When I First Thought It Was FairWhen I first started calling myself a “professional songwriter” (basically when I got signed to a publishing deal), I thought Nashville rules made perfect sense.At that stage, I just wanted credits. Cuts. Placements. Momentum.I wasn’t thinking about percentages. I wasn’t thinking about long-term income. I was thinking: How do I get in more rooms? How do I get on more cuts? How do I build a name?So if everyone got an equal split, cool. Let’s go.It only becomes a problem when it becomes a problem. Where It Gets BlurryThings get tricky when songs evolve. Because songs rarely stay the same. Especially now.You write it.Then it gets rewritten.Then a producer comes in.Then someone adds a hook.Then someone tweaks the bridge.Then someone refines the melody.Then someone brings in another writer.So what happens?Does the pie just keep shrinking? Does Nashville rules still apply forever?If you wrote 80% of the song… should you still get 25%? Or even less.If you brought the whole concept in… should you still be equal?If someone barely touched it… should they get the same as you?There are no easy answers. But I’ve awkwardly lived both sides of this.Case Study 1: Writing the Whole Topline, Getting 16%Early in my career, I worked with a cool Aussie dance duo. A music bed. No song. They had already pitched a collaboration with a big-name US house vocalist, someone with real hits with big name DJs like David Guetta. But they needed a song. So they came to me.I wrote the entire topline. Lyrics. Melody. I recorded the demo. Delivered the full song.Under another model, it could’ve been 50% music / 50% lyrics. If we’d done that, I would’ve had 50%.But we did Nashville rules. Three people. 33.3% each. Already, I’m behind.Then the big-name artist comes in. Part of his deal: he takes 50% publishing. Even if he doesn’t write.So now:<ul><li>He takes half.</li><li>The remaining half gets split 3 ways.</li><li>My split reduces from 33% to 16%. For a song I essentially wrote.</li></ul>And I agreed. Because at that time I wanted the credit. I wanted the association. I wanted the career momentum.So I took it. No regrets. But lessons. Case Study 2: Existing Song, Still 33%Another time, I had already written a topline. Fully formed. Lyrics and melody. I pitched it over a new music bed. Two DJs worked on it, one American, one Australian. They built the track around my song.Again: Nashville rules. Three writers. 33% each.But realistically? The song already existed. They essentially produced and remixed it into a release. Should that have been 50/50? Maybe.I was also the vocalist on the release. I provided the master vocal, they used my recording. So there were layers: publishing, master, performance. And it didn’t feel fully equitable.To make it more difficult: this ended up being a #1 ARIA Club charting song. And I was removed as the feature vocalist because the US artist didn’t have features on his songs.But again… I wanted the credit. I wanted the release. I wanted the momentum.So I said yes. That one definitely left me with a bad taste. Not for the publishing split though. <img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!R0-1!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Faa46c79b-196d-4513-a987-4535c8fedafa_1080x565.jpeg" containerstyle="" wrapperstyle="display: flex">50 Songs In 5 Days Writing Camp 2013Case Study 3: When I Was the Bad GuyThis one’s uncomfortable. Because in this story, maybe I’m the problem.This song was written at a writing camp, an APRA SongHubs, with an artist I’d worked with since they were young. Someone I now consider a friend. It was me, my songwriting and production partner, and the artist. Three of us.We wrote a song. Great hook. Strong idea.Nashville rules. 33.3% each. All good.Then the song sat on the shelf and did nothing.Around this time, I was in my “leave no song behind” phase, personally pitching everything. I pitched this one to some friends who were artists and producers in New Zealand, connected to a boy band. They took the base idea and placed it. But in the process they did a rewrite. The main hook stayed. But the verses changed. They cut themselves in.Which, to be fair, reflected the work they did.But suddenly everything got blurry. More writers. More publishers. More opinions.Now instead of three people on 33.3%… we’re all on about 20%. Three original writers = 60%. New people = the rest.So I became “that” guy. I went and had the conversation with our original 3rd writer.I said: We’ve placed this song in NZ with a boy band. The splits have changed. But I want 25%. My production partner wants 25%. And we think you should take less.Saying it out loud now makes me feel a bit dirty. But that’s where I was at.Then that artist’s manager came for me. A major Australian publisher came for me. The song was already out. And we were still fighting about splits. Emails. Tension. I’m honestly not even sure it ever got fully resolved.I use this story now as a reminder. This stuff gets messy, fast. And sometimes you’re not the hero. Sometimes you’re the one making it harder.Case Study 4: And Then There’s the Flip SideI brought a friend in on a session once. I knew we could knock it over easily. It was a sure thing opportunity and I wanted him in the room.Nashville rules. Should’ve been simple.But he had something to say about the splits.And I remember thinking: mate, I found this. I brought you in. We’re arguing about 10% on something that’s basically already done.Sometimes people lose sight of what the split actually represents. It’s not just a number. It’s the access that came with it. It’s the credit. It’s the door that opened.I’ve learned to pick those battles carefully. And I’ve learned that how someone reacts to a split conversation tells you a lot about whether you want to be in a room with them again.“We’re All Willing Participants”That’s the thing. In a lot of these situations, no one forced me.I chose it. Because early in your career, exposure and opportunity feel more valuable than percentages.Sometimes they are. Sometimes they aren’t. Both things can be true.Other Ways to Split SongsNobody told me any of this when I was starting out. I had to learn it the hard way. So here it is.Worth knowing: APRA AMCOS actually describes Nashville rules on their own website as giving “an equal percentage of ownership to everyone who was in the room during the writing of the song, regardless of how much each person contributed.” They even use it at SongHubs, which, interestingly, is exactly where Case Study 3 happened. But they’re also clear that there are no set rules or formula. It comes down to what co-writers agree is fair.Nashville rules isn’t the only model. Some people split:<ul><li>Music vs. Lyrics (50/50)</li><li>Concept vs. Execution</li><li>Topline vs. Production</li><li>Primary writer vs. contributors</li></ul>There are lots of frameworks. But you only get to use them if you know they exist.Which is why education matters. Know the Rules Before You Break ThemThis is my main point.You need to know what the baseline is. What the industry default is. What you’re entitled to.So that if you choose to give something up, it’s a conscious choice. Not ignorance. Not victimhood. A choice.<img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!Z1iQ!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffbe14892-9ff8-47ec-8126-47862c7a420f_881x461.jpeg" containerstyle="" wrapperstyle="display: flex">Abbey Road Institute Global Graduation - Writing Camp Pep TalkQuestions I Get From Younger WritersI get asked this stuff a lot: Should I get a publishing deal? When do I talk about splits? Should we agree upfront? Is it awkward?Short answer: yes, it’s awkward. But it’s part of the job.My advice: have the conversation early. Over coffee. Casually. Like adults. Not after the song blows up. Not when money is already involved. And definitely not when it’s already out.“What do you usually do with splits? Do you work on Nashville rules? How do you like to handle this stuff?”Just clarity. Why This Matters More NowIn the streaming era, sometimes publishing feels “small” compared to masters. So people think: “Who cares about 5%?”Until they’ve got 200 songs.Until sync happens.Until catalogue value matters.Until 10 years passes.Then it matters. A lot.Nashville Rules. Until It Isn’t.Most of the time, Nashville rules works. It keeps rooms healthy. It keeps creativity flowing. It avoids fights.I’m not anti it. I’ve benefited from it.But it isn’t sacred. It isn’t always fair. It isn’t always logical. It isn’t always reflective of contribution.And that’s okay. As long as you understand it.I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve got songwriter friends who’ve wrestled with this stuff their whole careers. If any of this sounds familiar, I’d genuinely love to hear your experience in the comments.<img src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!o7xL!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff34b3639-f13f-48e2-af50-08882586d92c_960x503.jpeg" containerstyle="" wrapperstyle="display: flex">Final ThoughtLearn the rules. Learn your rights. Then decide.Sometimes you’ll give something up for opportunity. Sometimes you’ll stand your ground. Both are valid.But don’t do either by accident.That’s when resentment starts. And resentment kills careers faster than bad songs ever will.More questions than answers, as always.And I’m still learning too.If this resonated and you’re navigating any of this in your own career, whether that’s publishing, co-writing relationships, or just trying to understand how the business side of songwriting works, I’d love to connect.I offer one-on-one mentoring and consults through Mentor Academy, and I’ve built out resources we can work through together. You can find out more and book a session at www.mentoracademy.com.au/ron-haryanto

What I’ve learned the hard way about songwriting, splits, and everything in between

For a long time in songwriting, there’s been this unspoken default.

“Nashville rules.”

Nashville Rules… Until It Isn’t.

Across multiple different short form content streams, our Founders and Industry Leaders explore their key takeaways from industry events, challenges that creatives face, and everything in-between.

Nashville Rules… Until It Isn’t.

Nashville Rules… Until It Isn’t.

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