The Rock N’ Roll True Stories podcast

Michael Bolton's $5 Million dollar mistake - the most expensive theft in songwriting history

The story of Michael Bolton's Disastrous Songwriting Lawsuit
 
Today I tell the story of one of the most famous and costly music plagiarism cases in history: the legal war between the Isley Brothers and Michael Bolton over the song “Love Is a Wonderful Thing.” It opens by framing the conflict as a battle of soul versus pop, legacy versus chart success, and explains that a little-known 1964 Isley Brothers track became the center of a multimillion-dollar lawsuit that forced the music industry to reconsider where inspiration ends and infringement begins.Decades later, Michael Bolton, now a massively successful pop-soul balladeer, releases his own “Love Is a Wonderful Thing” in 1991, a polished power ballad and major hit that helps his album sell 8 million copies. For most listeners, Bolton’s song completely eclipses the Isleys’ forgotten original.The turning point comes when Ronald and Ernie Isley hear Bolton’s track in a furniture store. At first, Ronald is pleased—until he checks the credits and finds no mention of the Isleys. Feeling disrespected and dismissed after trying to resolve the issue quietly, the group eventually sues Bolton, his co-writer Andrew Goldmark, and Sony Music in 1992. The case, Three Boys Music Corp. v. Bolton, centers on two issues: whether Bolton had access to the Isleys’ song and whether the two works are substantially similar.Bolton insists he never heard the original and argues that it was too obscure to have influenced him. The Isleys’ team counters by portraying Bolton as a lifelong soul fan who likely encountered the song, citing his own praise of Ronald Isley and testimony that he claimed to know “everything” the singer had done. They argue this could be a classic case of subconscious plagiarism. Musicological testimony focuses on the shared hook, particularly the way the phrase “Love is a wonderful thing” is sung in both songs—the long “Love” note followed by a similar melodic descent.A key moment occurs when work tapes from Bolton’s writing sessions reveal him asking if his melody sounds too much like a Marvin Gaye song, showing he was drawing heavily on 1960s soul and worried about similarity, even if he cited the wrong reference. Ultimately, a jury finds Bolton, Goldmark, and Sony liable for infringement. In the damages phase, the jury concludes that Bolton’s song significantly drove album profits and that much of the song’s success came from the infringing elements, resulting in a $5.4 million judgment—then the largest award in a music plagiarism case.Bolton reacts angrily, suggesting the verdict involved racial bias, and spends years appealing, all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, which refuses to hear the case, leaving the verdict intact. In a strange epilogue, Bolton later tries—and fails—to buy the Isley Brothers’ catalog during Ronald Isley’s bankruptcy. This video closes by emphasizing the case’s lasting impact: it cemented subconscious plagiarism as a serious legal risk, made labels more cautious, and stands as a cautionary tale about how memory, influence, and ownership collide in popular music.I cite my sources and they may differ than other people's accounts, so I don't guarantee the actual accuracy of my videos.
 
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Why Queensrÿche fired Geoff Tate: The Backstage brawl and the lawsuits

The story of why Geoff Tate was fired from Queensrÿche
 
A groundbreaking progressive metal band fractures from the inside, and the story begins in 2012, when Queensrÿche is literally at war with itself. Two rival lineups are touring under the same name: one featuring most of the classic members with a new singer, the other led by original frontman Geoff Tate and a fresh backing band. Fans are confused, the brand is tarnished, and a pioneering “thinking man’s metal” band is publicly cannibalizing its own legacy.This rewinds to the rise: early‑80s Bellevue, Washington, where Michael Wilton, Chris DeGarmo, Eddie Jackson, Scott Rockenfield, and eventually Geoff Tate forge Queensrÿche’s cerebral style. Operation: Mindcrime and Empire turn them into critical and commercial heavyweights, but even at their peak, exhaustion and tension simmer beneath the surface. DeGarmo, the key songwriter, voices burnout and ambivalence as early as the Empire era before officially leaving in 1997, later pivoting to a career as a commercial pilot. His departure permanently scrambles the band’s internal balance.Into that vacuum, Tate’s influence grows. In the mid‑2000s, his wife Susan becomes the band’s manager and his stepdaughter helps run the fan club, blurring lines between band business and family business. Other members claim in legal documents that they feel sidelined and financially exposed, alleging nepotism and questionable accounting, while Tate’s camp insists Susan stepped in reluctantly and professionally. Creative control shifts toward Tate and outside writers, leaving longtime bandmates feeling creatively shut out and financially suspicious, with resentments building silently for years.The breaking point comes in São Paulo, Brazil, in April 2012. After learning that his wife and stepdaughter have been fired by the rest of the band, Tate confronts them backstage. What happens next becomes a central dispute: the remaining members describe spitting, equipment being knocked over, and punches thrown; Tate admits to losing his temper and getting physical but disputes parts of their version. The band finishes the show with security onstage, but internally, the relationship is dead. Weeks later, Wilton, Jackson, and Rockenfield vote to fire Tate.What follows is a bizarre legal and branding war. Tate sues for wrongful termination and claims rights to the Queensrÿche name, while the other members recruit Todd La Torre and continue under the same banner. For a time, two competing Queensrÿches tour and release albums simultaneously, deepening fan division and industry confusion. Eventually, a 2014 settlement gives Wilton and Jackson full rights to the name, while Tate gets limited rights to perform key concept albums and later launches a new band, Operation: Mindcrime, plus solo and side projects.The episode closes on the long tail of the fallout: later lawsuits among remaining members, parallel careers (Queensrÿche with La Torre and Tate as a solo/Project leader), and a legacy permanently split. Rather than a single dramatic collapse, the band’s implosion is framed as a slow decay: the loss of a central songwriter, the entangling of family and business, communication breakdown, and one explosive moment of violence that makes reconciliation impossible. The story becomes a cautionary tale about ego, control, and how a band built on intricate, intelligent music can be undone by very basic human conflicts.
 
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Stabbed, Shot At, and Dropped by a Major Label: The Totally Chill Story of Corrosion of Conformity

This story traces the history of Corrosion of Conformity from their formation as Raleigh teenagers in 1982 through their evolution from hardcore punk into southern‑tinged metal and politically charged heavy rock. It describes early lineup instability, relentless DIY touring, and how their provocative flyers and outspoken left‑leaning views on issues like the Cold War, environmental destruction, and police brutality put them at odds with local authorities but helped define their identity. Key early releases like Eye for an Eye, Animosity, and especially Blind mark the shift toward metal, greater musical sophistication, and more pointed political commentary, even as they endure stabbings, being shot at, and clashes with critics who accuse them of promoting violence.
The story then focuses on their 1990s commercial peak and subsequent decline, highlighting Pepper Keenan’s rise from second guitarist to frontman and the creation of landmark albums Deliverance and Wiseblood, which blended heavy southern grooves with radio‑ready songs like “Clean My Wounds” and Grammy‑nominated “Drowning in a Daydream.” Despite touring with Danzig, Soundgarden, and Metallica, going gold with Deliverance, and earning MTV and radio exposure, label politics and changing trends (especially the rise of nu metal and pop‑punk) leave the band undersold, misunderstood, and ultimately dropped by Columbia. Internal tensions, Reed Mullin’s back injury and addiction, Keenan’s growing commitment to supergroup Down, and lukewarm commercial response to later albums like America’s Volume Dealer push the band into a long hiatus.
In the 2010s, the narrative turns to resilience and reinvention as the classic punk‑era trio reforms, reconnecting with their raw roots before Pepper Keenan’s full return leads to the 2018 album No Cross, No Crown, their highest‑charting release ever and a creative rebirth. Even after founding drummer Reed Mullin’s death in 2020 and founding bassist Mike Dean’s amicable departure in 2024, the band chooses to carry on with new members Bobby Landgraf and Stanton Moore and a planned 2025 album. The video closes by framing Corrosion of Conformity as enduring underdogs who outlasted trends, labels, and personal tragedy by refusing to compromise who they are.
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