Christopher C. “Rusty” Close

The practice of music sampling, which is the integration of pre-recorded sounds into new musical gestures, experienced a golden, unregulated age in the late 1980s that is almost unimaginable today. Major works like Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988) and De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising (1989) layered dozens of samples on a single track, while massive commercial hits like Tone-L?c’s “Wild Thing” (1988) openly lifted core musical elements.

For many guitarists, finding the right tone is a lifelong pursuit. It’s the quest for the perfect sound—a sound controlled not only by the guitar or the amplifier but also by the complex chain of electronics connecting them. Central to this are the effects pedals, and few pedals have the same mythical status as the Klon Centaur. This legendary pedal, built by guitarist and designer Bill Finnegan in the 1990s, was the subject of a recent trademark lawsuit that drew a line between a respectful “klone” (often spelled with a “K”) and an infringing counterfeit.

Hollywood has a long history of building on success, which is why every television season brings a new wave of familiar teen dramas and medical shows, and why the “Law & Order” universe now includes more than half a dozen interconnected series. While these shows often borrow from the same bucket of typical genre tropes, the line between inspiration and infringement can sometimes lead to court cases.

Does owning a piece of property give you the absolute right to alter or remove any art that’s on it? That question was asked in the recent, high-profile dispute in Manhattan over the Elizabeth Street Garden, a public space beloved by residents that was transformed from a once-abandoned city lot into a sculpture-filled garden three decades ago. The city planned to demolish the garden to build affordable housing for seniors. In response, the garden’s advocates filed a federal lawsuit in February 2025, arguing the entire garden was a “physical and social sculpture” protected from destruction by the Visual Artists Rights Act (VARA).

Think of the distinctive lightning bolt scar on Harry Potter’s forehead, or the iconic “S” on Superman’s chest – certain images are so ingrained in our consciousness, they become inseparable from the characters themselves. Tattoos, in today’s era, have achieved a similar cultural ubiquity, morphing from personal statements into globally recognized symbols on the bodies of athletes, musicians, and movie stars. From Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s elaborate Polynesian sleeve to Post Malone’s face covered in ink, these designs are often as famous as the individuals sporting them. But when a tattoo becomes a fixture in the pop culture landscape, who truly owns its image? The legal landscape surrounding tattoo copyright is still being shaped, with recent court decisions adding layers to the debate.