Sveriges Radio (a major radio station in Sweden) aired an interview with The Radio Dept. as part of the Musikguiden i P3 – Följer pengarna series (“Following the money”). The episode covers the band’s contract dispute with Labrador Records and their experience navigating the music industry. Johan and Martin from the band were very candid regarding the challenges of this dispute and the impact on the band.
This interview goes some way to explain and give context to the large gaps between record releases and, most recently, the launch of Just So! records.
Below is an English translation of the interview, however, for full accuracy the original Swedish audio is above. (Length: 26 Mins)
Sections of the Interview
- Opening
- The First Albums and Publishing Contract
- Marie Antoinette and the Reality of Publishing
- The Masters Conflict
- Impact on the Music
- Taking Labrador to Court
Following the Money – Part 10: The Radio Dept. vs Labrador Records
Broadcast on Sveriges Radio, Musikguiden i P3
Reporter: Jesper Engström
The Radio Dept.: Johan & Martin
Opening
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
For more than ten years, the band The Radio Dept. has been a well-known name in the Swedish indie scene. They have released albums, won awards, and toured the world.
But alongside that success, there is another story—one that has significantly affected the music they released, but which fans had no knowledge of: a conflict spanning over a decade, which eventually could not be resolved in any way other than in court.
Signing the Contract
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
It wasn’t just about the money.
When we signed the contract, we didn’t know how much money would be involved. For us, it was more about principle, about how unfair it felt, and how unreasonable it became once we started raising those issues.
It became extremely unpleasant for us to be on Labrador.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
It was pretty frightening, actually. Sitting down in that courtroom, under the dimmed lights, having to admit that you didn’t understand what you had signed, that you hadn’t realised what the terms meant, how naive you had been.
I didn’t sleep the night before.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
This is Musikguiden i P3: Following the Money. I’m Jesper Engström, and today we’re talking about breaking up with your record label.
Forming the Band
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
Johan called me and wanted to hang out. I think it was in ’96, or maybe ’98. And then we just started recording together, as a way to hang out. Eventually, it became a band.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
It was during their time at upper secondary school in Lund that Martin Carlberg and Johan Duncanson met. Johan was playing in a band, and Martin, who knew the band’s drummer—began to visit the rehearsal space more often.
Johan Duncanson (The Radio Dept.):
At the time, I didn’t have much going on. After a while, I started skipping rehearsals with that band to record with Martin instead. I think we liked spending time together, and we had quite similar tastes—we shared a lot of the same melodic instincts.
When I was 17, I met people who were 20, 21, 22, still playing in bands. I thought it was almost a bit tragic. I had this sense of urgency and thought, “No, I have to try and do something real now.”
Early Success and the Labrador Deal
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
They took the name The Radio Dept. and released a vinyl single. But they realised they weren’t very good at handling the practical side themselves.
In the spring of 2002, record labels started contacting them following an article in Sonic magazine.
Johan Duncanson:
We wanted to sign with someone partly out of laziness.
But we were also quite rigid in our thinking early on. It had to be an indie label. If not, we’d send back some pretty arrogant replies. I remember writing back to Sony, when they suggested publishing, and basically calling them capitalist swine.
We compared them to McDonald’s. Like, signing with them would be the same as being associated with McDonald’s.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
They didn’t want to be on a major label. They felt majors cared more about money than music.
Instead, they preferred the idea of a small, family-run label that would give them total creative freedom. That’s when Labrador Records reached out.
Johan Duncanson:
I remember it clearly, it was the evening of my younger sister’s graduation. There was going to be a party, but I told my family I was too tired to go.
Then later that evening I called and said, “We’ve signed a record deal. You have to come out.”
She came out, and we went out drinking. It was great.
It felt like a stamp of approval—that someone wanted to release our music. That was huge for me.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
Yes, absolutely.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Labrador was an indie label run by Johan Angergård. He also played in Club 8 and Acid House Kings, two bands signed to the label.
Labrador was known for releasing gentle Swedish indie pop and was a well-established name in that world.
Johan Duncanson:
We thought, “Yeah, it’s probably alright.”
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
I remember the contract being only two pages long.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Did you read what it said?
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
We did read it. But you still have to interpret what it actually means. And we didn’t have anything to compare it to.
We didn’t understand any of it.
Johan Duncanson:
It was like that scene in Wayne’s World when Wayne reads through a contract. We were just like, “Yeah, looks good.”
We didn’t get a lawyer involved or anything. I remember we were a bit drunk that night. We just wanted to sign.
It was pretty stupid. Very naive.
Part 2 – The First Albums and Publishing Contract
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
In the contract that The Radio Dept. signed that night in 2002, it said Labrador would release one album and had the option on a second, meaning first rights to it. The contract also stated that income would be divided: 30% for the band, 70% for the label.
Johan Duncanson (The Radio Dept.):
We thought that was fine. Our share seemed reasonable enough, so we didn’t question it.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
At that point, all they were really thinking about was their debut album.
That debut, Lesser Matters, was released in 2003. It quickly became a critics’ favourite and won P3 Guld’s Pop Album of the Year. The band also got increasing international attention—three consecutive “Single of the Week” picks in NME, which according to XL Recordings was exceptionally rare.
The same year, British indie label XL—home to artists like Radiohead, Prodigy, Adele, and The xx—wanted to release Lesser Matters abroad and sign the band for three more albums.
Johan Duncanson:
At first, we considered going to XL entirely. They told us we were welcome if we wanted to. But we felt guilty even entertaining the idea, so in the end, we stayed.
We told Labrador we’d stay if we could get 50% of the royalties.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Labrador agreed, but only if the band signed a publishing agreement as well. And the new contract would cover four albums, just as XL had wanted.
Johan Duncanson:
We didn’t really know what the publishing deal meant. We knew it involved giving away part of our Stim [songwriting royalties], but not how much.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
We had no idea what it actually meant at all.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Unlike a record label, which releases the recordings, a publishing company manages song catalogues. They collect royalties when songs are sold, streamed, or used in other ways, for example in films or by other artists.
In Sweden, a publisher usually takes one-third of those royalties. Internationally, they often take half.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
Most bands get an advance when they sign a publishing deal. We didn’t get anything.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
For The Radio Dept., the publishing contract seemed like a side issue at first, compared to the achievement of getting 50% of record sales. They had no idea that record sales would collapse in the coming years, making publishing royalties increasingly important.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
At that point, records were what mattered. Stim money was just a few hundred kronor. We were still early in our career.
We had no idea it would later become so much money.
Part 3 – Marie Antoinette and the Reality of Publishing
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
In the U.S., a man named Brian Reitzell heard about this new Swedish band.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
I heard from a friend that someone had told him, “You missed a band that should have been on the Lost in Translation soundtrack.”
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Brian Reitzell liked what he heard so much that he travelled to Stockholm to meet Johan and Martin.
Johan Duncanson:
It was winter, and I didn’t even have a proper winter jacket. I was freezing, we had no money.
We met him in the lobby of the Grand Hôtel, where he was staying. He had three iPods—back when iPods were still luxury items, and they were all filled with music because he worked on film soundtracks.
We went up to his room and he showed us some early clips from a new Sofia Coppola film.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
The film was Marie Antoinette, starring Kirsten Dunst. Reitzell asked The Radio Dept. to write new music for it.
Johan Duncanson:
They sent us this beautifully put-together booklet—almost like a fanzine, full of photocopied images of French settings. It was meant to inspire us musically.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
But while the band was recording new songs, Coppola and her team edited the film using some of the band’s older songs, and decided they fit so well that they stayed.
Johan Duncanson:
We weren’t invited to anything special. I ended up buying a ticket myself on a regular Tuesday and going to see it in the cinema.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
The band was paid 197,000 kronor for the songs used in the film. That sum was split with Labrador, then between Martin and Johan, and then taxed. Not much was left.
But the big money came later, through publishing income—every time the film, soundtrack, or DVDs were sold.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
That’s when we started looking at the royalty statements and realised just how much money we had given away.
We finally understood how enormous it was.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
The unused songs from Marie Antoinette ended up on their second album, Pet Grief, released in 2006. By then, they were beginning to understand what they had actually signed—and it was also then that the conflict with Labrador began to surface.
Part 4 – The Masters Conflict
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
At the same time as they were preparing their second album, a conflict with Labrador surfaced. It was about a clause in the record contract—one they hadn’t read carefully enough on the night they signed.
Johan Duncanson (The Radio Dept.):
Ola Borgström, who did our mastering, pointed out: “But you don’t own the masters. You record everything yourselves, you pay for everything yourselves—why don’t you own them?”
It was absurd. We were paying for all the recordings, but Labrador still owned the masters. That made no sense.
We went back to the contract and asked Johan Angergård about it: “Do you really own the masters? We’ve done everything ourselves—you haven’t done anything—and suddenly you own it the moment it exists?”
That’s what the contract said: the moment a finished recording existed, they owned it. Without having contributed anything.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
What The Radio Dept. had signed was what’s known as an “artist contract.” Historically, these were common: the record label, which often also owned the studio, would cover the expensive costs of recording. In exchange, they owned everything that was produced.
Per Herrey (Lawyer, Swedish Musicians’ Union):
These days, I advise musicians to make and own their own recordings, and then license them out instead. It’s a much better arrangement.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Licensing agreements have become more common as recording has become cheaper and easier. The artist records and pays for their own album, keeps ownership, and then licenses the rights to a label for a limited time—usually in exchange for a distribution cut.
But The Radio Dept. had already extended their contract. Labrador didn’t just own the first two albums—they also owned the next two.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
It was like building a house, paying for every brick ourselves, and then being told we had to rent it from him because he owned it.
If he had invested heavily—put money in, taken a big risk—I could understand it. But he hadn’t done anything.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
How did Labrador respond when you raised this?
Johan Duncanson:
He just said, “Well, that’s standard.”
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
And, “Now that things are going well, you just want more money.”
But it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t right—no matter how many records we sold, or if we hadn’t sold any at all.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
We contacted Labrador and Johan Angergård for comment, but they declined.
Part 5 – Impact on the Music
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Martin Carlberg and Johan Duncanson say that this was the point where the conflict began to affect the music.
Johan Duncanson:
You can really see it when we stopped releasing singles and EPs. That was when we realised we couldn’t just keep giving music away like that.
One of our original ideas for the band was to release lots of EPs—we loved that format. We thought we might even release just EPs for seven or ten years.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
In the beginning, EPs with four or five tracks were their way to quickly release music and try out new sounds without committing to a full album.
But the contract only counted albums—not EPs.
Johan Duncanson:
If we released a single or an EP with exclusive tracks, Labrador still owned them. But they didn’t count towards fulfilling our contract.
If they had been counted—say, two EPs equalling one album—we would have been free long ago. And we would have released much more music.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
Exactly—long ago.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
The irony was clear: they had deliberately chosen an indie label to avoid being trapped by exactly this kind of situation. Now, they felt locked in, and their fans were left waiting years for new material.
It took four years before their third album, Clinging to a Scheme, was released.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
But a few years earlier, they had managed to win a partial victory in their drawn-out dispute with Labrador.
Johan Duncanson:
It was renegotiated so we wouldn’t just quit the band. We told them we were close to walking away.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Labrador agreed to convert the deal into a ten-year license agreement. That meant the band would eventually get their master rights back.
Johan Duncanson:
Yes, after three years we got them back.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
But while they were busy fighting over the record contract, they hadn’t looked closely at the publishing contract.
They knew it meant sharing Stim royalties with Labrador. What they hadn’t realised was how long it would last.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
We only discovered it properly a few years ago—that it was for our entire lives plus 75 years. That’s the maximum copyright term.
Johan Duncanson:
It felt insane.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Publishing contracts can vary in length, but the upper limit is set by copyright law: 70 years after the songwriter’s death.
Per Herrey (Lawyer, Swedish Musicians’ Union):
That’s an old-fashioned way of doing it. It’s unusual now, but some publishers still use it. Normally, you can negotiate a limit—ten years, fifteen years. But life plus seventy? That’s excessive.
Johan Duncanson:
The first contract was: “I own everything you do.” The next was: “Fine, you can have a higher percentage—but then I own everything you write. Forever.”
When we realised the publishing agreement was also completely unreasonable, we thought: we can’t face another three years of arguments. So we hired a lawyer and took it to court.
Part 6 – Taking Labrador to Court
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Over the years, many people questioned The Radio Dept.’s fight with their label: “But you signed the contract—shouldn’t you just accept it?”
Johan Duncanson (The Radio Dept.):
Yes, we were naive. But how long should you have to pay for naivety?
Should our grandchildren still be paying for it 70 years after we’re gone?
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
But that wasn’t an easy argument to make in court. The band had to show that the publishing contract was no longer valid.
At the same time, they still owed Labrador one more album—the fourth and final one under contract. In other words, they were suing the very company that was supposed to release their next record.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
That had a big effect on us. We talked about keeping it to the minimum—we didn’t want to give them any more money.
Johan Duncanson:
Around 2011–2012, we had almost finished an album. It was sounding great—we were really happy with the songs.
But then we thought: We can’t give this away to Labrador. It’s too good to hand over like that.
We even considered different ideas: making Pet Grief 2, or releasing an entirely instrumental album so we wouldn’t have to spend so much time writing lyrics.
But it dragged on and on. It just wasn’t fun anymore—we lost motivation.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Then came the court date. According to lawyer Per Herrey, such cases are rare in the music world.
Per Herrey (Lawyer, Swedish Musicians’ Union):
Very rare. Too rare, actually. Many artists should challenge unfair contracts, but most don’t.
They’re often afraid of the publicity, afraid of stepping outside their artistic role. But I think standing up in this way shows real integrity.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
And so The Radio Dept. faced Johan Angergård—the man who had released all their records—across a courtroom.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
It was very awkward. Very stiff.
At the same time, there was something almost comical about it. The atmosphere was tense, but also strange.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
The band argued two main points:
- That the compilation album of singles and B-sides, released a few years earlier, should count as an album—meaning their contract would be fulfilled.
- That Labrador had breached the publishing contract, since the contract used the word “publications,” and the label had never actually published anything in the literal sense (such as sheet music).
Johan Duncanson:
That compilation had 21 tracks that weren’t on any other album. That’s basically two albums. But they refused to count it as one (passive aggressive).
And with the publishing deal—if someone is going to own our work for life plus 75 years, it has to be airtight. It can’t be this Mickey Mouse contract with holes in it. He had already made hundreds of thousands of kronor from it. Maybe it was time to tear it up.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
Our whole lives were tied up in this publishing deal just because of poor wording in the contract—wording that was completely against our interests.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Labrador declined to comment on either the publishing agreement or the court proceedings.
Now it was up to the judge: Was the compilation an album? And was the publishing contract invalid?
The answer was no. The Radio Dept. lost the case.
Johan Duncanson:
I haven’t had the energy to think about it much since. It’s exhausting. A lawsuit is incredibly expensive—lawyer fees and everything else.
If you lose, you pay for everything. And if we lost again, it could ruin our lives completely.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
When I met the band on a Monday in April, the date of their appeal was approaching.
A few months later, in June, just before the case was due in the Court of Appeal, I received a text message:
“We’ve settled. We’ve reached an agreement.”
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
Under the settlement, the band had to cover the legal costs. But they regained ownership of their song catalogue. After the release of their fourth album—eight years later—their obligations to Labrador would finally end.
Martin (The Radio Dept.):
It became clear pretty early that we couldn’t just rush something out. Even if it took a long time, the album would last forever—it had to be good.
And in the end, it was.
Jesper Engström (Reporter):
You’ve been listening to Musikguiden i P3: Following the Money.