This post is part of a broader collection of music-related articles, OFFTRACK — a weekly series curated by the CEO of Fankee with industry news and highlights. Read the full collection here.
Time to continue with music stories.
The kind of stories that start by chance, the classic one of someone starting from zero, chasing a dream, and making it. Sure, we’re talking about one in a million, but if these stories didn’t exist, how could artists keep dreaming, believing they might just have that one shot that takes them all the way to the top?
And this time, we’re not talking about just any artist, but probably one of the top three most successful artists of the past ten years.
In 2010, Ed Sheeran was just a kid with a loop station, a handful of demos recorded in his bedroom, and a ticket to Los Angeles. No plan, no manager, no label. He was sleeping on friends’ couches. Playing wherever he could: open mics, bars, gardens, living rooms. No strategy, just a dream. The urgency to sing and to be heard.
And then he meets Jamie Foxx. Here's the story:
“I was doing a radio show, so he comes to my radio show, ‘Hey Jamie, I’m trying to get my music out, I’d love for you to hear it.’ I was like, ‘Well what up? Let me hear it.’ You know, I would always champion the artist.”
“So he lets me hear his music, comes to my crib, I had the big crib and the studios. My daughter was like, ‘Who do you have over here now?’”
“He plays on the guitar and I’m like, ‘Yo, he’s incredible.’ So I said, ‘Listen man, I know you don’t have anywhere to go, just chill here.’ I said, ‘You can sleep on my couch.’ For six weeks, he was going in.”
Jamie didn’t stop at giving him a place to stay. He put him to the test. He brought him to perform at a hip-hop club in South Central, where Jamie hosted a live show every Monday. He told him, “This isn’t your crowd, but if you win them over, you can win over anyone.” Ed said yes. He walked into the venue with his red hair, the face of a British student, and a guitar. People looked at him. Some laughed. A white boy with a loop station, in a Black club. It felt like a joke
“He went out there on that guitar and got a standing ovation in 12 minutes. And the rest is history.”
Foxx would later tell it like this: “That red-haired kid got a standing ovation in twelve minutes. In a place where no one knew who he was.”
From there, Ed went back to London. He recorded the EP Loose Change, with The A Team on it. No label, no press office. Just the passion of someone who now felt like he might actually have a shot. The track started to spread, people began to share it. At his shows, fans brought physical copies, burned at home. They sold them, shared them with friends, like we all do.
They also began writing about him on blogs. Some hosted him, others organized gigs. A handmade ecosystem, a grassroots push from regular people.
In the summer of 2010, Ed organized a 300-date tour across the UK. By himself. No agency, no team. He stayed with fans, and used social media — Twitter mostly — to ask for help. He took the risk, trusting only his fans, knowing that every night would be uncertain. But people’s enthusiasm pushed him forward. Step by step, word spread. The song gained traction. So did his fanbase. And his confidence.
By the time Atlantic came knocking with a record deal, the work was already done. The train had left the station. The public had already fallen in love and played a massive role in his early success. The label didn’t discover him — they intercepted him. They jumped in to scale what was already happening. Classic venture capital move, right? Spot the talent, throw in some cash, and lock it in for as long as possible. Because the success — the real one — had already been generated, or as I like to say, co-produced by hundreds of people who believed in him long before the label did.
Years later, Ed would become one of the biggest pop stars in the world. But he never forgot where he came from. In 2025, in New York, he disguised himself as "Frat Poison" — dark glasses, piercings, hoodie — and went down to the subway with his guitar. No one recognized him. He started playing. People stopped. Filmed. A few began to recognize him. And once again, a public space like a metro station turned into a stage, just like at the beginning.
A few months later, he did it in London. Then on a pink bus at King’s Cross. Then in India, in the Bengaluru metro, where hundreds of people sang Perfect, not knowing it was about to go viral.
It wasn’t a marketing move. It was him, his natural self, his personality. It was staying true to his path, and the desire to play for people, not for algorithms.
Let’s rewind the tape.
Jamie Foxx is me. He is you. Jamie didn’t choose based on numbers or followers. He felt the talent. He used the tools he had, gave Ed trust, and offered him a stage that became his launchpad.
And it wasn’t just Foxx. It was the crowd in that club. The ones who burned CDs at home. The ones who gave him a couch. The ones who booked his first shows. The ones who shared a video when nobody knew who he was.
None of them are in the credits. None of them took a percentage. But without them, Ed wouldn’t have signed any deal.
That’s the point.
Today, social media is the stage and the amplifier for music. And it’s people who are there first, sharing, recommending songs to friends, creating content that goes viral alongside the music.
But those who discover artists today count for nothing. Those who push remain invisible. They have no voice in the system.
But what if the opposite were true?
What if those who believe, promote, and support were part of the value they help create?
What if discovering an artist wasn’t just a passion, but also something recognized?
Because if you’re the one discovering, sharing, believing, promoting — then you should be part of the story. Not just a follower or a "fan", but a co-producer. Not just a spectator, but leverage, real momentum.
That’s why I believe the future of music lies in the connection between artists and fans, in an ecosystem that feeds itself.
The majors know they show up late now. They operate more like big investment funds. (Wonder why Warner just launched a $1.2B fund to buy music rights? Yeah, I wonder too.)
Twelve minutes changed Ed Sheeran’s life. But only because someone listened first.
And today, out there, another artist is waiting for the same thing.