Opinion | Sean Combs Is a Chance to Remake the Music Industry

Twenty-seven years ago, I was on a family vacation in the Caribbean and my brother and I finagled our way into a New Year’s Eve party on a yacht docked at St. Barts. I was a recent college graduate and it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the slew of boldface names onboard. But the sheen of the situation wore off quickly. I thought I was being shown to the disco room when I was directed into a bedroom by a man who seemed to be an associate of the party’s host, Sean “Puffy” Combs.

To this day, I can’t remember how I managed to talk my way out of that terrifying situation. Perhaps my nervous babbling — “My brother’s on this boat, and he’s probably looking for me!” — convinced him to unlock the bedroom door and let me go.

When news broke recently that Mr. Combs, a.k.a. P. Diddy, had been indicted on charges of racketeering and sex trafficking, my mind flashed back to that night on a yacht named, ironically, Dreamseeker.

At the time, I assumed my experience was an anomaly, just one guy behaving badly at a drunken party. I still don’t know who he was or if he had any connection to Mr. Combs, as it seemed. (Mr. Combs has denied the allegations in the indictment against him and pleaded not guilty to the charges.) But I do now know, after 20 years as a music industry executive, that what happened that night was no aberration — it was an indicator of a pervasive culture in the music industry that actively fostered sexual misconduct and exploited the lives and bodies of those hoping to make it in the business.

This toxic situation has been allowed to fester because power has been concentrated in the hands of kingmakers: wealthy, entitled, nearly always male gatekeepers who control nearly every door that leads to success and who can, without consequence, use their power to abuse young women and young men.

Too often, women have not been safe in recording studios, on tour buses, in green rooms or in offices. It’s not a bug of the music business; it’s a major feature.

But there is hope — we might finally be on the cusp of real change in the culture of the industry, thanks to shifts in the business model that have loosened the grip of exploitative gatekeepers. This year, the recording music industry is on track for an anemic 4 percent growth, half of what it was last year. Mass layoffs have hit major labels. The business model is flailing. All of this means we have an opportunity to turn the page on an archaic, sometimes predatory model of doing business in which it was all too common to ignore, protect or elevate predators and their enablers. As streaming growth has slowed and labels struggle to develop and break artists, musicians are gaining more leverage to get better deals for themselves.

To be sure, those guilty of abuses must still be called to account and face consequences. But their power is slipping away. Those of us who have worked hard to introduce a more ethical culture for music — whether artists, representatives or executives — must step up to ensure that a new, more responsible culture rises to replace the old one.

To achieve this, we must push for more representation in positions of power, as well as accountability and transparency across the industry — including minimizing the use of nondisclosure agreements that protect abusers. We should embrace a decentralized model for making and distributing music, in which artists have equitable recording contracts and a seat at the table. And the industry must be more attentive to the systemic abuse inherent in existing power dynamics, and introduce concrete measures to dismantle it — including establishing a code of conduct for recording studios and providing hotlines for artists to report misconduct.

Gatekeepers — whether at labels, studios, management, publishing or radio — who once chose the next hot talent and shaped the public taste in her favor, have less of that power than they used to. They might still dangle the keys to success in front of young artists, but the locks are changing.

After P. Diddy’s arrest, some observers wondered whether the industry would finally face a “#MeToo” reckoning. But reducing the scourge of sexual coercion, harassment and violence to a few notorious individuals — whether Harvey Weinstein or R. Kelly — suggests they’re outliers and obscures the more damning, stubborn, systemic rot that had infected the music business. Now, however, much more power is in the hands of the artist. An emerging artist can record an original song, upload it on Spotify and, with the support of a smart management team, build a fan base, get traction on social media and attract new listeners.

Take Chappell Roan. She had to battle with her label, Atlantic Records, to even release her song “Pink Pony Club” — after which they dropped her when none of their marketing plans led to hits. Ms. Roan moved back to her hometown, retooled her approach, honed her style, released her music independently and built a social media fan base that she leveraged into new distribution and financial backing. Ms. Roan and her collaborator, the producer Dan Nigro, hustled her songs into megahit status, directly reaching audiences on her own terms. In the process, she demonstrated a new truth: The days of the gatekeepers are numbered.

My early experiences with predators, and those that enabled them, nearly led me to give up on the music business. A few years after the boat incident, while pursuing my M.B.A. at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School, I attended a dinner where a senior music executive slipped his key card to me under the table, an unsubtle invitation to his hotel room. I declined.

I only persisted in the industry because, in 2005, an old college friend who was starting to find success as an artist reached out to me. That artist was John Legend and, twenty years later, I am still his manager and partner in multiple business ventures. It turns out that many artists, including John, want to be a part of a different model of business and culture.

How many other women had early experiences similar to mine and abandoned their ambition to be artists — let alone recording engineers, producers or executives? How many women were coerced, abused, assaulted and silenced on their way to their dreams — trapped by men who controlled access and who made us believe that the key to the kingdom was a key card to their hotel room?

Earlier this year, I spoke at the Recording Academy’s A Celebration of Women In The Mix event about my journey and the everyday disrespect, dismissal and outright sexual harassment I’ve faced. Afterward, woman after woman came up to me, some in tears, to share their own stories. It was a reminder of why #MeToo resonated across so many industries and how, despite public proclamations for change, the structures of male power have often been left intact.

The prospect of a world without gatekeepers can be as scary as it is exciting. Even the savviest, most strategic artists can’t necessarily make their way on their own. It’s up to all of us, and in particular the ethical representatives in the industry, to stay wise to the changing landscape, realistic about how we can support artists and hopeful about building a better path forward.

We can turn the page on a culture of exploitation and abuse. We owe it to the countless survivors of sexual assault and misconduct who suffered silently to unearth the truth, encourage people to share their stories and hold perpetrators accountable. We owe it to the next generation of creators to remake the business into something worthy of the art they create.

Ty Stiklorius is the founder of Friends at Work, a management company that works with, among others, John Legend, and is an Emmy Award-winning producer.

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