Earlier this month, in a lawsuit filed in federal court, a producer and rapper from Oregon named Aviel Hirschfield claimed he was driving to Seattle last year in a friend’s borrowed Maybach when “I Follow Rivers,” the 2011 indie-pop classic by Swedish singer Lykke Li, started playing. It’d been a minute since he’d heard the song; Hirschfield said he was struck by how catchy its hook was. Hirschfield alleged that he then began writing a Lykke Li-inspired chorus that, less than six months later, would be featured, verbatim, on Drake’s global hit “Janice STFU.”
It would be a stunning story if proven to be true, but that lawsuit is dead for now, raising serious questions about the nature — and legitimacy — of Hirschfield’s claims. Barely 10 days after it was filed, the case has been voluntarily dismissed, according to a recent court filing.
The dismissal marks a sharp turn of events for a case that was covered and dissected endlessly in the week-plus since the complaint was first filed, from music publications like this one to the mainstream Canadian press to a flurry of vlogs, podcasts, and viral threads debating the legitimacy of the allegations against Drake. Through it all, Drake’s team categorically denied the allegations, describing the lawsuit as “manufactured and baseless.”
In an initial interview with Rolling Stone last week, a representative for Hirschfield was confident about the producer’s allegations that Drake had stolen “his copyrighted music and [claimed] it as their own” on the chorus of “Janice STFU.” The song anchored Drake’s comeback on Iceman and is, by some metrics, one of the biggest hits of the rapper’s career. “The complaint speaks for itself,” the representative said during that initial interview. “This song was written specifically for Drake using music provided to [Hirschfield] that was created by Drake’s producers.”
It’s not clear what transpired after that. But, in a surprising twist, just days after Rolling Stone sent several additional follow-up questions to Hirschfield’s attorney, the producer officially withdrew the case in court.
At the center of the short-lived case was a recording leaked to X that purported to be a demo recording by Hirschfield, complete with a pitched-down vocal singing the familiar chorus of “Janice STFU.”
In an interview with Rolling Stone last week, a representative for the producer stood by the legitimacy of the demo recording, stating that “multiple experts” had already examined the metadata Hirschfield provided for the file and deemed it legitimate. But as soon as it leaked online, assorted internet sleuths wondered if the demo seemed suspicious.
When it was first reported, the case raised a number of larger questions: Why would Drake, who’s dealt with his share of controversy, reputational damage, and litigation in recent years, open himself to more legal trouble by neglecting to credit a songwriter who wrote the lyrics to the song’s chorus? How did an essentially unknown producer with no mainstream writing credits prior to 2022 become not only a credited songwriter for Beyoncé (he’s listed on one song from Renaissance), but also, so he claimed, the composer of the entire chorus of one of the biggest pop songs of this year? How could Hirschfield have written a song to a beat in January 2026 when another one of the producers involved with the song’s creation recently told Billboard that the beat wasn’t written until March? And, finally, in a hit that borrows its chorus melody from a well-known song from 2011, how do copyright infringement cases work in a music industry more reliant than ever on interpolations and reinterpretations of older material?
The most basic question of the case was even simpler: Who is Aviel Hirschfield? The 33-year-old Portland, Oregon, musician describes himself on LinkedIn as a “studio manager, audio engineer, and music producer” and states that his clients have included everyone from Playboi Carti and Travis Scott to Star Wars and Disney. (Rolling Stone was unable to reach Hirschfield directly for comment for this story.)
Prior to making headlines for suing Drake, the most high-profile moment of Hirschfield’s career, by a long measure, was when he received a co-writing credit for “Heated,” an album cut on Beyoncé’s 2022 album Renaissance. The writing credits for the song are currently shared by more than a dozen different individuals. One of them is Hirschfield; another is Drake. This connection to Drake was emphasized heavily in Hirschfield’s lawsuit, and in much of the initial press surrounding it.
When “Heated” was released, Hirschfield exclaimed on X that he had “co-produced” Beyoncé’s song. In some published credits, Hirschfield is listed as having provided guitars and co-produced the song. In other versions of the credits, Hirschfield (listed as Calev) is credited simply with having provided guitar. Today, on Spotify, he’s credited with being one of 18 songwriters on the track. A representative for Beyoncé did not respond when asked to clarify Hirschfield’s contributions to the song.
Judging by his online presence, it’s fair to say Hirschfield has dined out on his Beyoncé credit. In an industry where name-dropping and connections are currency, who wouldn’t? The journeyman producer has posted repeatedly about the album’s success; when Renaissance was nominated for nine Grammys, he showed up at the awards ceremony in L.A. and managed to give a red-carpet interview.
“I started the idea for the song that I produced maybe five years ago,” Hirschfield said then. “I knew that the idea was good. I just had to find the right home.”
Three years after those awards, Hirschfield brought forth his allegations in the now-dismissed suit against Drake.
Songwriters and producers are often wary of bringing forward copyright claims against big stars, for fear of professional repercussions, says Kevin Greene, a copyright scholar and professor of law. “If you’re in the songwriting community, you have to think hard about whether you want to sue Drake, even if there’s an infringement,” Greene says. “[It’s a question of], ‘Do you want to work again? With that on your resume?’”
And even when songwriters and producers do come forward with allegations of copyright theft involving famous pop songs, that doesn’t mean it’s easy to assess the merits of their claims. Brian Levenson, an entertainment and copyright lawyer, says it’s not uncommon for his firm to turn down frivolous copyright cases: “I’ve gotten calls that are like, ‘Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” infringes on my work.’”
Taylor Swift at the Curb Event Center at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee.
Here’s to 20 Years of ‘Taylor Swift’
It’s strange to think the songs we used to sing from one of the most famous self-titled debut album’s turn 20 years old today. You know the ones I’m talking about. The song in the car, my favorite song, the whispered songs, “Mary’s Song,” “Our Song.” Twenty years ago, Taylor Swift invited the world into the one she built with these melodies.
Taylor Swift wasn’t just the singer-songwriter’s first album that turned her into a rising Nashville star. It was also the first chapter that sealed Swift’s future success as a superstar musician. Within a year of its release on Oct. 24, 2006, the LP debuted at Number 19 on the Billboard Hot 100, earned platinum status, and made hits out of singles “Tim McGraw” and “Our Song.” It’s the reason we’re here today, reflecting on two decades into a career so massive, even the curly-haired mess of a dreamer couldn’t fathom it at 15 years old. That teenager grew into a pop goliath, but it’s easier to fathom when you remember that it’s always been about the songs.
With Taylor Swift, a precocious teen met listeners in their own teenage heartache, their deep-seeded loneliness, and that overarching, painful desire to fit in with a collection of country-pop gems. Who hadn’t cried over an unrequited love the way Swift did on “Teardrops on My Guitar” or felt the chilling rejection apparent on “Cold As You,” or the thrill of finding a best friend who lets you show your true colors like on “I’m Only Me When I’m With You” or even known a friend who suffered from eating disorders as discussed on “Tied Together With a Smile”? Here was a voice singing these stories she’d written, each sigh and imperfect note, making the keen observation of the worlds that much more sincere. That’s what connected with audiences and began the success story that we know so well today.
Throughout her self-titled debut, Swift tapped into the country music songwriting tradition of reminding listeners she’s the one with the pen. On the banjo-driven jaunt, “Our Song,” she laments the fact that there is no song to sum up her rosy romance — until she “grabs a pen and an old napkin” and cements the slamming screen doors and surreptitious late-night calls into her own song. With the help of producer Nathan Chapman and co-writer Liz Rose, Swift learned to master this trick.
Her debut single, “Tim McGraw” is the real shining example of this. On its face, the track chronicles a fleeting summer romance, but the wistful tune turns into a knockout that cemented Swift into country music history when she offers a prescient promise, “I hope you think of me.” With that simple line, the musician showed the transportative power of music.
Taylor Swift is also the first time we heard of the tropes that still run through the singer-songwriter’s catalog. The little black dress in “Tim McGraw,” the front seat in “Our Song,” the rain scattered across multiple songs, the photographs in “Picture to Burn,” the numbers 89 and 87 on “Mary’s Song (Oh My, My My).” With every nano-specific detail, Swift built out her own cinematic universe.
You can hear Swift map out the world-building that would turn into her next 12 albums on the self-titled centerpiece, “A Place in this World.” Over an acoustic guitar, she quips, “I don’t know what I want, so don’t ask me” before declaring, “I’m just a girl, trying to find a place in this world.” That’s the kind of sassy, yet uncertain attitude she brought to her very first album. But really, she always knew what she was doing in some capacity, especially if the hidden or “A Place in This World” is any indication. The uppercase letters in a lyric booklet of lowercase ones spell out: “I Found it.”
In a fitting twist of fate, 2026 not only marks a major anniversary for Swift’s self-titled debut album, it’s also the first year she’s eligible to be recognized in two very prestigious institutions: the Songwriters Hall of Fame and the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. By Monday, the girl who cried all those tears on her guitar will be both the youngest woman to be inducted into the Songwriters Hall, and youngest-member of the Nashville edition.
During her Songwriters Hall of Fame acceptance speech, Swift reflected on the power of her craft. “As writers, we can only hope to meet people where they are in their lives,” she said. Since 2006, when she was just a high school freshman with a habit of writing songs on her bedroom floor or in math class, she has done exactly that.