Thuh Musik Industry Sux!

Mister Ten Percent (Bad Deal) from one of my favourite albums (TRIUMVIRAT - Illusions On A Double Dimple):

Hands off, mister ten percent!!!
We've got a gig tonight! Ha!!
Do you think we're gonna pay your rent?
Working for you 'til the end of our life!!

Your stories of success and fame
have turned the eyes quite wet, yeah!!
And striving for a better life...
We filled your money bag!!!!

A big mercedes
a house on a hill
a week in sweden
and we're paying the bill!

We paid your dinner
but not for long,
as we get thinner
taxis, hotels,
so on, and so on...

Hands off, mister ten percent!!!
We've got a gig tonight! Ha!!
Do you think we're gonna pay your rent?
Working for you 'til the end of our life!!

At first you took ten, tomorrow it's twenty!!
The more we give the more you want, ha!!
How could you think that you're still a friend??
It might be fifty in the end!!

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers' song Joe:

My name's Joe, I'm the CEO
Yeah I'm the man makes the big wheels roll
I'm the hand on the green-light switch
You get to be famous, I get to be rich

Go get me a kid with a good lookin' face
Bring me a kid can remember his place
Some hungry poet son-of-a-bitch
He gets to be famous, I get to be rich

Or bring me a girl
They're always the best
You put 'em on stage and you have 'em undress
Some angel whore who can learn a guitar lick
Hey! Now that's what I call music!

Well they'll come lookin' for money when the public gets bored
But we'll fight 'em with lawyers they could never afford
Yeah I'll make her look like a spoiled little bitch
She gets to be famous, I get to be rich

Or bring me a girl
They're always the best
You put 'em on stage and you have 'em undress
Some angel whore who can learn a guitar lick
Hey! Now that's what I call music!

So burned out Johnny thinks the books are shifty
What good's that alchy to me when he's fifty?
Well we could move catalog if he'd only die quicker
Send my regards to the gig and a case of good liquor

He gets to be famous, I get to be rich
He gets to be famous, I get to be rich

My name's Joe, I'm the CEO
I'm the man makes the big wheels role

Peter Hammill, "Two or Three Spectres", from his album "Nadir's Big Chance".

Two or Three Spectres

"Sod the music," said the man in the suit,
"I understand profit and without that, it's no use.
Why don't you go away and write commercial songs;
come back in three years, that shouldn't be too long..."
He's a joker and an acrobat,
a record exec. in a Mayfair flat
with Altec speakers wall to wall,
a Radford and a Revox and through it all he plays
strictly nowhere Muzak.
        
"Hey, listen, baby, this band's got a lot of soul...
if we can beat that out of them I see a disc of gold!
Give them an image, maybe glitter, maybe sex,
maybe outrage, maybe elegance -
how about as nervous wrecks?"
Signs up the product at two percent,
justified by vinyl shortage and the increased rent
on the yacht he has to hire to make his pitch at Midem
and all the press receptions for his business friends
who spill their Taittinger upon the floor
while the band sip English lager just outside the door.
        
Treble, alto, bass clefs on the page,
crotchets, quavers, minims all the rage
but you'll never find a pound note in the score -
it's there when it's strictly merchandise,
through all the propagated lies about what the whole thing's for.
He'll make you a star, he'll make you so famous
that all you desire is to be left nameless,
drained of all you felt you had to offer at the start.
        
Not without blame, either, are the gentlemen of the press:
you can talk about the state of music,
they will write about your dress.
Play them the new album, they will say it's great (or not) -
when the articles come out, they're all about
how many dogs you've got.
God to keep the human interest high,
and the hacks are only too willing to comply,
pander to the ego, build up frail men as gods -
but somewhere in the process, the prime purpose is forgotten.
        
Groupies offer their bodies, the hangers-on their coke;
it's all very jolly - what a joke!
Fellini creatures cluster round the dressing-room,
the heavenly bodies all got to have their moons.
In the cult of the superman the music plays a supporting role
and far more important is the shape of his nose,
the size of his codpiece and the cut of his clothes...
soul and feeling always take second place
to the bump and grind of a Fender bass.
Frankly, most musicians bore me - but not as much as those
who chase the glory to bask in reflected light,
making the man much more important
than his arpeggios and mordants,
when it's the other way that's right.
        
On the values by which this world makes its heroes
then the best violinist ever was Nero,
because he had the most Press
and his fire gimmick was simply the best.
        
We got the live thing too,
the Human Zoo:
Ten thousand arms are raised, just like the Hitler Youth -
ten thousand peace signs mark the entry of the sax.
Ten thousand peace signs,
but they're different from the back.

Golden Earring - Ce Soir

Remember that song called "Kill me"
From Vick Timm's last LP
Too much of a risk
for a golden disc
The price he paid for money

Ce soir, Ce soir
Assassination d'un rock 'n roll star

Sing your song, you can't go wrong
Attempted his business adviser
No need for alarm
you'll come to no harm
He didn't mention the sniper

Ce soir, Ce soir
Assassination d'un rock 'n roll star

The news is read, the meaning spread
One yawn, two yawn, and back to bed
Turn off the light and hold me tight
Come on maman, bend down your head
And just sing on, immortal song
Fini belle vie, bonne nuit

Remember that song called "Kill Me"
A lecture on political chicanery
of people's rape
recorded on tape
Bought shame to the presidency

Tonight, tonight
One more point for human right

Remember that song "Kill Me"
once used by a man from Galilee
He had nothin' to lose
He was king of the Jews
Secured his place in history

Ce soir, Ce soir
assassination d'un provocateur

The news is read, the voice is spread
One yawn, two yawn, and back to bed
Turn off the light and hold me tight
Come on maman, bend down your head
And just sing on, immortal song
Fini belle vie

Vick played the part, with all his heart
He wasn't prepared for the shock
When howling lead
bit into his head
A new martyr for the book of rock

Ce soir, Ce soir
Assassination d'un rock 'n roll star

this is the first one to spring to mind, together indeed with the ones you already mentioned.