Who Owns the Sound of a Film: The Composer, the Producer or the Platform?

Kojo, an upcoming musician in Ghana, is scrolling through Instagram when he hears his song playing beneath a short comedy film. He recognises the melody, the vocals, and the recording he spent weeks creating.

The filmmaker has used it to make a scene funnier, and viewers are sharing the clip. But Kojo cannot tell whether the person who made the film obtained permission, whether he will receive anything from its success, or whether he can ask for the song to be removed.

video is already travelling farther than his music ever has, but its popularity does not answer the question of who owns the sound. This is a question facing African filmmakers, musicians and producers as films move from cinema screens to YouTube and other digital platforms.

Music can give a film its emotional identity, make a scene memorable and help an audience connect with its story. Yet the relationship between the person who creates the music and the person who uses it is not always as straightforward as the credits suggest. A song appearing in a film does not automatically make the filmmaker its owner, just as composing a song does not necessarily mean the composer controls every recording of it.

The Law Behind Soundtracks

Copyright law recognises different creative works within what audiences experience as one soundtrack. The musical composition, including its melody and lyrics, is distinct from the sound recording: the particular performance captured in a studio or elsewhere.

A composer or songwriter may own the composition, while a record label, producer or another party may own or control the recording, depending on the agreements involved. A filmmaker seeking to use an existing song may therefore need permission covering both the composition and the recording.

This is commonly handled through a synchronisation licence for pairing music with moving images and a master-use licence for the specific recording.

In Nigeria, the Copyright Act 2022 recognises copyright in musical works, audiovisual works and sound recordings. Section 9 sets out the exclusive rights attached to literary and musical works, while Section 11 addresses audiovisual works, including their reproduction, communication to the public and making available online.

Section 28 establishes the general principle that copyright initially vests in the author, subject to the Act and any applicable agreement. Ghana’s Copyright Act 2005 (Act 690) also protects musical works, sound recordings and audiovisual works; Section 7 provides that, in the absence of a contrary contract, economic rights in work created during employment or a commission vest in the employer or commissioning party.

The precise result therefore depends on the relevant national law, the nature of the arrangement and the contract signed. Neither payment alone nor a credit in the film settles every question of ownership.

This is where filmmakers can encounter trouble. Paying an artist for a song, obtaining permission to use it in one production, buying a beat or downloading music from a library does not necessarily grant unlimited rights across every platform, territory, duration or future use.

The agreement must cover the intended exploitation, including online distribution and monetisation where applicable. Filmmakers need to establish who controls each relevant right, secure the necessary permissions and retain written evidence.

Musicians, in turn, need to understand what they are licensing and whether the agreement transfers ownership or simply grants permission for specified uses.

When Platforms Become Part of the Problem

The dispute involving Nigerian filmmaker Bimbo Ademoye illustrates how quickly a soundtrack issue can become a financial problem. In January 2026, Ademoye said a copyright claim over a song used in her YouTube film Where Love Liveshad affected its monetisation.

She alleged that another individual had claimed the song and redirected revenue; she later announced that the dispute had been resolved in her favour. This was a reported dispute and platform resolution, not a court judgment establishing a general rule about music ownership.

Still, it demonstrated how a claim involving a few minutes of music can affect an entire film’s earnings.

YouTube’s Content ID system automatically compares uploaded videos with reference material supplied by eligible rights holders. A match can lead to a video being blocked, tracked, or monetised by the claimant, sometimes with revenue shared with the uploader.

A claim is not, by itself, proof that the claimant legally owns the disputed work. YouTube also states that it does not mediate copyright disputes. Creators may have to provide evidence, dispute a claim through the platform’s process or pursue other legal remedies where necessary.

There is a wider imbalance here. YouTube is a US-based platform, not an African institution, yet it has become an important distribution and revenue channel for African films. It does not own every song or film uploaded to it, but its systems can determine what happens to a video’s visibility and advertising income while a claim is active.

African creators consequently depend on a platform whose procedures, technical systems and commercial rules they do not control. The answer is not to dismiss these platforms; their reach is valuable. It is to recognise the vulnerability that comes with depending on them.

African film industries need clearer contracts, better rights documentation and stronger knowledge of copyright law. Producers should establish music permissions before release, while musicians should keep records of ownership, licences and agreements. Industry bodies and collecting societies can also help creators understand and administer their rights.

The question is not simply who owns the sound of an African film. It is whether the people who create that sound can prove their rights and benefit fairly when their work travels. Kojo’s song may help a film reach thousands of new viewers. But unless the rights were clearly agreed, its journey could leave the musician with recognition and little else.

African storytelling deserves global audiences; the people behind its sound deserve arrangements that make that success work for them, too.