iWorld
IPRS expands music rights network with new hubs in Kohima and Delhi
India’s performing rights body is building a creator economy one IP hub at a time
MUMBAI: India’s northeast has long made music. Now, for the first time, it has somewhere to protect it. The Indian Performing Right Society (IPRS) launched the Nagaland Music IP Hub in Kohima on March 21, 2026, at the Regional Centre of Excellence for Music and Performing Arts, a move that signals a sharp pivot from urban-centric rights infrastructure towards a genuinely national one.
Led by chairman Javed Akhtar and chief executive Rakesh Nigam, and built in collaboration with the Task Force for Music and Arts (TaFMA), the hub is a physical, on-ground support centre where creators can register their work, enrol as IPRS members, and get practical guidance on rights, royalties, and licensing. The presence of actor Shabana Azmi added cultural heft to the occasion, drawing national attention to the cause of protecting regional artistic heritage through formal rights mechanisms.
The Kohima launch was part of Season 3 of IPRS’s flagship pan-India initiative, My Music My Rights (MMMR), a creator-first programme aimed at demystifying the music business for lyricists, composers, and publishers. The workshop brought together Arpito Gope, chief consultant at TaFMA; Randeep Singh, manager at the Indian Record Manufacturing Company (INRECO); Sabyasachi Bakshi, senior manager at PDL; and Rumpa Banerjee, general manager for corporate communications and member relations at IPRS. The agenda covered music distribution, publishing, copyright, licensing, artist management, and live gigs, followed by expert-led sessions on artist branding and a deep dive into music rights and royalties led by Banerjee. A dedicated IPRS helpdesk handled on-the-spot membership enrolment and fielded creator queries in real time.
Six days later, the initiative landed in the capital. The My Music My Rights Creator Connect session in New Delhi on March 27, held at Lajpat Nagar in collaboration with Furtados, drew artists, composers, producers, lyricists, and independent creators for a session on the business of music. The panel featured Akshay Kapoor of Believe (distribution), independent artist Banjaare, Kshitij Gupta of Nupur Audios (label), and Shijin San, chief executive and co-founder of Blue Turtle (talent and events management), with Harsh Aghhi of SIR Gamma moderating.
The bigger picture is clear. IPRS is stitching together a nationwide Creator Connect ecosystem, decentralised access points backed by government bodies, music institutions, and industry stakeholders, that allows creators, wherever they are, to understand, protect, and monetise their work. The organisation is also turning its attention to thornier questions: the ownership of folk, tribal, and traditional music; the limitations of public domain frameworks; and the rapidly sharpening challenge of AI in music creation and rights management. These themes are expected to anchor IPRS’s programming around World Intellectual Property Day on April 26.
Separately, IPRS is spotlighting the growing influence of women leaders across the music ecosystem, figures who, the organisation argues, are not merely participating in the industry but actively redesigning it. Through initiatives such as Soundscapes of India and My Music My Rights, IPRS is pushing to ensure that folk, tribal, and contemporary traditions are not just celebrated but legally protected.
Music rights in India have long been an afterthought for many creators. IPRS is betting, hub by hub and city by city, that they need not remain one.
iWorld
Inside Studio Blo: Meet Joel James the boy who codes by day and composes by night
The 23-year-old co-founder rewriting India’s AI film story, one algorithm and arpeggio at a time
MUMBAI: Here is a fun riddle: What do you get when you cross a coder with a composer, hand him a film studio, and let him loose on Hindi cinema? The answer, apparently, is Joel James, co-founder and chief of innovation at Studio Blo, India’s pioneering AI film studio. At 23, he is only just warming up.
Ask him how his two worlds, music and technology, manage to coexist without one swallowing the other, and he barely pauses. “They’re more connected than they sound,” he says. “Music is essentially programming, it’s all about patterns. Since day one, I’ve been drawn to finding patterns. In music, it’s about discovering patterns that make people groove, and in tech, it’s about building efficient patterns that make things work. One is emotional, the other is functional, but both come from the same instinct.”
That instinct, it turns out, is rather a useful one to have when your job is to convince an entire creative industry that the robot is not coming for its lunch.
“AI doesn’t replace creativity, it reduces friction.”
The conversation around artificial intelligence and the arts has, for some years now, produced more heat than light. Artists worry. Labels panic. Op-ed writers have a field day. James finds it all slightly beside the point. “Every generation has had tools that were initially seen as shortcuts, synths, sampling, autotune, but they eventually became part of the creative language,” he says. “AI is no different.”
He has a case study to hand. While scoring a feature film, he used AI to explore four distinct choir styles from different regions of India before settling on recording an actual choir in the North East. “AI helped us get there faster,” he explains. “It let us test, iterate, and refine instead of guessing for weeks.” The point, he insists, is not that AI created something impossible. It is that it let him fail fast, test an idea, discard it, and try again, without the usual cost in time and money that makes experimentation a luxury most productions cannot afford.
The synth did not kill the guitarist. The loop pedal did not bury the drummer. AI, James argues, is simply the newest instrument in a very long orchestra, except this one occasionally surprises you.
“There have been moments where AI generates something slightly off, like a vocal texture that isn’t perfect but has character,” he says, with what sounds like genuine affection for the glitch. “Those imperfections can feel very human. I’ve used a few of those because they add unpredictability and texture that I might not have created intentionally.” The machine makes a mistake; the composer hears music. It is, in its way, a rather elegant partnership.
“Creators often lose momentum because production can be slow, expensive, or technically complex.”
This philosophy, that the best technology is the kind that gets out of your way, shapes everything Studio Blo is trying to do. “The biggest problem is friction between idea and execution,” James says. “At Studio Blo, we focus on fixing the boring parts, streamlining tools and workflows so that directors and creators can focus purely on creating.” It is the unglamorous mission statement of a generation that grew up watching brilliant ideas die in pre-production, not for lack of talent, but for lack of time and money.
It is also what brought him to the table with Shekhar Kapur, the legendary filmmaker whose credits span continents and decades. The collaboration, James describes, is less a mentorship and more a genuine exchange. “Experience is honestly the new currency,” he says. “Someone like Shekhar sir brings decades of storytelling instinct and a completely different worldview shaped over time. What I bring is new energy and the ability to enable that storytelling through technology, and sometimes even express those stories through sound in a new way. The intersection of experience and new-age tools is where the magic happens.” At 23, that is either a very wise observation or a very good line. Possibly both.
James has also worked with artists in the UK, and the difference in attitude, he says, is telling. “Interestingly, India is more open in many ways. We move at light speed when it comes to adopting new things. There is still some resistance, but that’s natural. Globally, there’s curiosity mixed with caution, but Indian creators tend to adapt very quickly once they see real value.” Given that India has historically adopted, adapted, and made entirely its own everything from the tabla to the synthesiser, this ought to surprise precisely no one.
“The hardest part is just trying to look serious all the time.”
Running an AI film studio at an age when most of one’s peers are navigating their first performance reviews comes with its own particular pressures. James is refreshingly candid about them. “It’s more psychological than anything else,” he says. “My role is to take on the stress but not let it affect me when it actually matters. I approach it a bit like athletes my age do, staying mentally sharp without burning out.” He pauses, then grins. “And sometimes, the hardest part is just trying to look serious all the time.” Fair enough. Keeping a straight face while building the future does sound like a full-time job in itself.
For all his enthusiasm about what AI can do, James is clear-eyed about what it cannot. A million generated songs a minute, he says, will never replace the thing that makes music matter. “Volume doesn’t replace identity. What makes music special is perspective, your story, your taste, your cultural context. AI can generate options, but it can’t replicate lived experience.” And then, with the confidence of someone who has actually thought this through, “I genuinely believe live music is about to rise more than ever. In India especially, audiences are shifting toward live experiences, and that’s where authenticity really stands out.” A concert ticket, in other words, will always carry more feeling than a playlist. AI can fill your headphones; it cannot fill a room.
Which brings him to perhaps the most paradoxical of his projects, FAIMOUS, a platform using AI to protect artists from AI. As deepfakes grow slicker and voice-cloning becomes trivially easy, the Indian music industry faces an identity crisis, quite literally. “With FAIMOUS, the focus is on identity protection and controlled usage,” James says. “As AI makes replication easier, it’s critical to build systems where artists have ownership over their voice, likeness, and creative output. It’s about enabling ethical, authorised use, not just preventing misuse.” Using the tools of disruption to defend against disruption is a very 21st century sort of paradox, and one James appears entirely unbothered by.
“Just do the hard part, it’s not that deep.”
At the end of all of it, the choir experiments and the AI glitches, the legendary collaborators and the deepfake battles, the composing and the coding and the effort to look serious, we ask him what he would tell a young artist who is afraid that AI will take their job. He thinks for approximately no time at all.
“Just do the hard part, it’s not that deep.”
Five words, delivered with the easy confidence of someone who has already stopped worrying and started building. Which, when you think about it, is the most useful piece of career advice that any algorithm, artificial or otherwise, could ever generate.
