Avery Chauhan

What you see of me online is nothing but smoke and mirrors. It feels about time I shared the true story of how I went from a small town in India to building an 8-figure record label: My early life was spent in Goraya, India. Growing up in a loving household with my parents and sister, my early years were shaped by the values of hard work, education, and spirituality. My mother, a dedicated educator, owned a school where I attended kindergarten and elementary school. My father ran a pharmacy and later ventured into other businesses, instilling a mindset of entrepreneurship and resilience within me. When I was 11, my family embarked on a life-changing journey to Italy seeking better opportunities. The transition was far from easy, with language barriers and cultural differences. We moved from city to city making it difficult for me to maintain friendships. To make matters harder, my parents’ degrees from India weren’t recognised in Italy, which brought financial challenges to our household. In those years I found solace and passion in creativity. At fourteen, I helped my parents at their grocery shop and internet café, immersing myself in the digital world. This led to a love for video games, where I met a fellow Indian gamer online who was also a musician and artist. I brought his music to life through graphic design and video editing. Little did I know, this is where everything would change for me. Taking a leap of faith, I started uploading his music—along with other artists’ songs—to a YouTube channel. Within a year, the channel grew to 800 subscribers. By the second year, it reached 100,000. I had a thirst for more. By 19, this venture led to me earning my first million dollars. A long way from where my journey began. With some poor investment advice, this quickly led to significant financial losses, and my parents began to doubt whether my chosen path was sustainable. Come to think of it, so did I. Sticking with it, the streams turned from millions to billions. My playlists had more followers on Spotify than Eminem. I had a successful record label showcasing a number of artists and just shy of 4 million YouTube subscribers. I was living in a dream world. Admittedly, new challenges presented themselves, and not just learning how to handle the scale of the operation. I was thrusted into a life of abundance beyond my own expectations, figuring out who I was and what I valued along the way. Something that continues to evolve today. From living in a house on the water in Stockholm, receiving 8-figure offers for my business, and throwing mid-six figure events, my story is being carved in real time. I’m grateful for all the people I’ve had the pleasure of sharing it with. Now I get to share it with you too.

I got 1,099 applications to our Head of A&R role (talent scouting in music.) Grammy-winning producers. People who'd built $100M catalogs. Last week I interviewed them and realized a teenager might be a better hire: Whoever we hire will lead our biggest growth division. We’re hiring because six months ago, we noticed something big: A competitor went from zero to 1 million streams per day in 45 days. It took us twice as long to go from 0 to 1M/day (despite 5+ years of experience) The difference wasn't budget. Or connections. Or even talent. It was understanding. This competitor understood phonk music very, very deeply. What’s phonk? It’s the biggest up-and-coming genre. It’s already generating billions of streams through football edits, anime clips, and car drifting videos. It’s a rapidly developing genre, changing by the day. We’ve seen it skyrocket in the past year. Massive opportunity. We'd analyze the trends. Study the data. Run the numbers. But we were always 3 steps behind. Then I met someone from Jordan who changed everything. They'd been releasing music since they were 10. Done impressive work in the industry. And dropped knowledge bombs that made me realize: We were too mature for our own market. Sounds ridiculous to say it. But this teenager from Jordan made it clear when he said: "The artwork needs specific anime characters from these three shows..." "The font has to match what the community expects..." "These colors signal authenticity to the culture..." Seemingly random and minor details. But they’re vital. And you’d only know by having insanely deep understanding of this space. And there’s only one way to get that level of understanding: Be an obsessed teenager. Spend 24/7 on Discord. Play Fortnite until 3 AM. Building real connections online. Understand what drives consumers. Speak their language. They manage armies of content creators — paying them $10 per TikTok video. When they mentioned they couldn't do Monday morning calls because of school, it hit me: This person IS the culture. We were trying to study it. What better way to study it than hiring the person who IS the culture? So I made the call: Let someone still attending classes lead our entire phonk division. Those Grammy-winning major-label execs with decades of experience that I interviewed probably think I'm insane. One of them was asking for $12,000/month. Traditional record label background. Impressive resume. Would've been the "safe" choice. But safe is rarely the best choice when you’re going into entirely new territory. What I've learned from being in the game for over half a decade: Experience can be a curse. "Best practices" can literally kill you. You need adaptability, and lots of it. Teenager-like adaptability.

Most people think artists get rich when their songs blow up. But that's not the reality. The music industry can leave artists in deep debt for years (while the label makes bank) As a record label owner, let me show you exactly how it works ↓ There are dozens of examples I could use. But TLC tells the story best. TLC was one of the biggest bands of the 90s. CrazySexyCool went multi-platinum. They dominated MTV. Their songs were everywhere. Then in 1995, they declared bankruptcy. $3.5 million in debt. How does a band at the peak of their fame go broke? Here's what most people don't understand about record deals: When an artist signs, they get an "advance." Sounds like free money, right? It's not. It's a loan. Every dollar goes into a bucket. Recording costs, marketing, music videos, studio time—all of it piles into that same bucket. The artist doesn't see a single royalty check until that bucket is completely full. For TLC, their label kept filling that bucket with expenses. Tours. Videos. Promotion. The costs kept stacking while royalties trickled in. Multi-platinum album. Cultural icons. Still "in debt" to their label. But that's only half of it... Because the (major) label gets paid first. Always. When a song generates revenue, the label takes their cut immediately (usually 55-60%.) That money is theirs. No waiting. The artist's smaller share? That goes toward paying off the "debt." So the label profits from day one. The artist might never see a dime. And it gets smarter. Labels know only about 5% of signed artists will produce a hit. So they use recoupment math to make winners pay for losers. Sign 20 artists. 19 flop. But that one hit? Its royalties stay locked in the bucket while the label already cashed their check. The artist funds the label's failed bets—without even knowing it. You might think this is ancient history — like the predatory nature of the 80s, 90s, 00s which Prince and Michael Jackson has been outspoken about. In 2020, rapper Kreayshawn tweeted: "Do not buy or stream my 2011 single... I'm in debt to Sony for $800k." Her song "Gucci Gucci" was a massive hit. Millions of streams. Millions of sales. The math? 2 million album sales plus 595,000 singles generated roughly $103,000 in artist royalties. But her label's advance and costs? Over $1 million. Commercial success meant nothing. Thankfully, some of the major labels eventually admitted the system's broken. In 2021, Sony made a historic announcement. They would stop applying unrecouped balances to thousands of artists signed before 2000. Artists who'd been locked out of streaming royalties for years (despite their music generating new revenue!) finally got paid. It took streaming breaking the entire financial model for majors to admit what artists knew all along. This is why I built Afterpeak differently. Artists deserve to get paid fairly and understand what they're signing. Know the bucket. Know who gets paid first. Know your deal.

TL;DR a song doesn’t go viral because it’s exceptional. It goes viral because it hit critical momentum in 72hrs (engineered via resources), got playlisted (relationship advantage), the algorithm interpreted early engagement as quality, and platform incentives favor certain labels.

Most people think viral hits happen because the music is exceptional. They’re wrong. It's a rigged game, carefully orchestrated by deep pockets... Here’s the uncomfortable truth: In most cases, a song goes viral because of the pay-per-play system’s mechanics — not the musician’s talent. Just think about that person at church who's got an angel-esque voice, or the golden-buzzer-musicians from X Factor or America's Got Talent — they're exceptional musicians, but go nowhere. Why? Because the game is about more than musical talent. The real game is more about playlist placement than mere streams or a great voice. Research shows 25-50% of major releases’ streams come directly from playlists, not organic discovery. Being on “New Music Friday” alone is worth ~$100,000 in additional revenue. Here’s how it actually works: Spotify’s algorithm evaluates early momentum velocity, not long-term quality. If you hit 2,500 streams in the first 7-21 days with 1,000 unique listeners, the algorithm interprets this as a quality signal and starts testing the song widely. If you reach those same 2,500 streams gradually over three weeks, the algorithm sees weak signals and stops recommending. Same song. Same quality. Different outcome based entirely on coordination and timing. Major labels win because they have resources independent artists don’t: minimum payment guarantees with Spotify (creating subtle platform incentives to feature their music), direct relationships with editorial curators, capital to run coordinated pre-save campaigns, and metadata infrastructure. A study from 2022 proved this isn’t speculation ; the same artist releases differently on a major label versus independently, with measurably different streaming outcomes. It’s systemic platform bias. (source study: Franco Mariuzzo, 2022, “Independent v major record labels: Do they have the same streaming power (law)?”)

What your city choice says about your ambitions NYC: You're dreaming of making it Dubai: You already did Bali: You gave up Miami: You're pretending London: You're old money or wish you were elsewhere

I lost 6 months of my life to ADHD medication. Mood swings. Anxiety. Talking so fast nobody could follow. My girlfriend only knew me during this period. When I finally quit, she said something I'll never forget: "I like this version of you a lot better." I wasn't myself for half a year. I sorta realized, but I was in such a mental fog. Here's the thing — I should've seen the signs long before medication was ever on the table. The suitcase unpacked for weeks after every trip. Laundry piling up until nothing was left. My high school thesis started 3 days before the exam while everyone else had 5 months. I thought I was lazy. Undisciplined. Maybe broken. May 2023, I finally got diagnosed with ADHD. Medication felt like the obvious fix ↓ It wasn't. So I took a different path. Health coaches. Blood work. Discovered I had insulin resistance. Years of low energy suddenly made sense. One idea changed everything: Healthspan over lifespan. Living to 90 means nothing if you can't walk at 60. The goal is more capable years, not just more years. ADHD works the same way. It was never a flaw to fix. When I lock in, I *lock in*. It's a strength I hadn't learned to channel yet.

This is going viral everywhere. A random Jon Hamm meme just turned a 15-year-old song into a global hit. But there are now THREE different versions of that song making money. So who actually gets paid? Let me explain ↓ It picked up quietly in October 2025. Russian TikTokers began using a 3-second clip of Jon Hamm dancing in a club scene. Just vibes. Nothing special. They paired it with "Turn The Lights Off" — a 2010 cover by Danish DJ KATO. By November, the meme had spread globally. By December, the song was everywhere: → 40 million Spotify streams in about a month → No. 2 and 4 on the Global Top 50 of Viral Songs (crazy!) A song most people had forgotten suddenly dominated the charts. Here's where it gets interesting... Spinnin' Records saw this happening in real-time. They moved fast. They got the original vocalist, Jon Nørgaard, to re-record his vocals. Paired him with two rising DJs — Jaxstyle (Jacob Krull, one of Denmark's biggest creator/"influencers") and Justė (a 23-year-old Lithuanian producer). Released a brand-new 2025 version on November 7th. Same song. Fresh recording. Completely separate product. So now you have: (1) KATO's 2010 version — the viral one, #1-2 on iTunes Dance (2) The new 2025 version — released by Spinnin' Records (3) DJ Jose's 2007 original — the actual first version that almost nobody remembers Three recordings of the same song. All out there. All generating revenue. But who actually gets paid from what? This is what confuses most people about the music industry: Master rights = you own a specific recording Publishing rights = you wrote the song itself KATO owns his 2010 recording. Every stream of the viral version pays him. Spinnin'​ Records owns the 2025 recording. Every stream of the new version pays them. But the original songwriters — A. Perls, L.T.R. van Schooneveld, and Reinold Hoogendoorn — they get paid every time ANY version streams. One song. Three masters. The writers win no matter which version you play. And nobody's fighting over it. KATO called the whole thing "surreal" and thanked fans for creating with the song. Jon Nørgaard said re-recording felt like "closing a beautiful circle" — using a song that shaped his career to help launch two new artists. None of this was planned. A meme spread. A label moved fast. And multiple people — from the original writers to brand-new artists — all ended up benefiting from the same viral moment.

Rick Rubin can't play or read music, yet he's won 8 Grammys and produced for legends (Jay-Z, Johnny Cash, Adele, Metallica) Rolling Stone called him "the most successful producer in any genre." So what does he actually do? He helps artists access their creativity. 6 lessons from Rubin that changed how I think about the creative process ↓ 1) Be a reducer, not a producer Most people think creativity means adding more. More ideas. More layers. More complexity. Rubin does the opposite. When he worked with Johnny Cash in 1994, Cash's career was considered dead. Labels had dropped him. His albums weren't selling. Rubin's solution? Strip everything away. He recorded Cash in his living room. Just a man and his guitar vibin'. The result was American Recordings — one of the greatest comeback albums in music history. Lesson: Remove until only the truth remains. 2) Trust your taste over your technical skill When asked what Rick does as a producer, he told 60 Minutes: "I have no technical ability and I know nothing about music. I'm paid for my taste." You don't need to be the most skilled person in the room. You need to know what feels right. 3) Create for yourself first Rubin believes you can't make great art with someone else in mind. If you're constantly thinking about what the audience wants, you'll create something generic. Make what excites you. If you have good taste, others will find value in it too. 4) Creativity is like tuning a radio You don't invent the signal. You tune into it. This means staying aware. Paying attention to the world around you. Noticing what others miss. The ideas are already out there. Your job is to receive them. 5) Lower the stakes Feeling blocked? Give yourself permission to make something terrible. Tell yourself it doesn't need to be a masterpiece. It won't impact your career. You don't have to show anyone. The pressure of perfection kills creativity. Remove it. 6) Self-doubt never disappears Even the greatest artists feel fear before they create. Rubin says they don't create in the absence of doubt. They create in spite of it. The difference between amateurs and professionals? Professionals show up anyway.

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The music industry knows exactly which frequencies hijack your brain. They use them in every hit: Sound frequencies (Hz = vibrations per second, the actual pitch): 440 Hz: Standard tuning that creates subtle anxiety (keeps you seeking resolution) - every pop song since 1953 528 Hz: The "love frequency" - why certain songs make you cry instantly - "Imagine", "Someone Like You"-vibes 40 Hz: Triggers dopamine release - "Sicko Mode", most Swedish House Mafia drops 432 Hz: Natural harmony frequency - Pink Floyd albums, "Stairway to Heaven" (why old records hit different) 8-10 Hz: Alpha waves - that trance state during long drives - "Weightless" by Marconi Union Sub-bass 20-60 Hz: Felt not heard - "Mask Off", any Metro Boomin production (why you need another drink at the club) 2,500-3,000 Hz: Baby cry frequency - Ariana Grande's whistle notes, "Stay" chorus (why some vocals are impossible to ignore) 16,000-20,000 Hz: Teen repellent frequency adults can't hear - hyperpop, 100 gecs-vibes (TikTok exploits this) Tempo/rhythm (BPM = beats per minute, the speed): 60-80 BPM: Matches resting heart rate - "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran, "Someone You Loved" (why ballads physically relax you) 120-140 BPM: Exercise/sex rhythm - "One More Time", "Levitating", every Calvin Harris track (club music isn't random) Brain manipulation (Hz but targeting your mental state directly): Binaural beats at 4-7 Hz: Theta state - every Headspace track, "8D Audio"-vibes (meditation apps are drug dealers) Every Spotify playlist is frequency-optimized for behavior. Travis Scott's engineer admitted to using 40 Hz loops. The Weeknd layers 528 Hz under everything. You're not choosing what you listen to. Your brain is being chosen for.

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Sometimes there's merit to the industry standard (Chesterton's Fence) — but often, it's fugazy fugazi ; made up and very negotiable if you just know the business.

The music industry is just Wall Street with better marketing. Banks loan at 8%. Distribution companies loan at 20%. Labels loan at 70%. The truth is, major labels operate more like a bank than a music company. Here's how the money actually flows ↓