The IP Legacy of “Roundball Rock” and the Enduring Power of Creative Ownership

With the regular NBA season beginning on October 21, and an announcement by NBCUniversal earlier this year that, beginning in October 2025, it would once again play John Tesh’s “Roundball Rock” in conjunction with its broadcasts of NBA games, the time could not be better to discuss an intellectual property backstory.

Few pieces of music have captured the spirit of an era like the unmistakable anthem that defined NBA on NBC throughout the 1990s. For an entire generation of basketball fans, those first soaring notes instantly transport you to a time of Michael Jordan, the Chicago Bulls dynasty, and a golden age of prime-time sports television.

Yet beneath the nostalgia lies a powerful story about intellectual property, ownership, and strategic foresight. It’s a case study that reveals how one artist’s decision to retain his rights created lasting value, and how a major network’s reliance on licensed content shaped a brand identity it didn’t actually own.

Under U.S. copyright law, a work created by an independent artist initially belongs to the artist (the “author”) unless the creation of the work is subject to the “work-for-hire” doctrine. When Tesh composed Roundball Rock, he was neither an NBC employee nor a commissioned composer under a “work-for-hire” agreement. He was simply an independent creator with a great idea and the presence of mind to capture it — famously recording the melody into his answering machine while on tour so he wouldn’t forget it.

That single act of independence became a masterclass in creative ownership. Because Tesh created the song on his own, he retained full copyright ownership of both the composition and the recording. NBC, despite broadcasting it for over a decade and building its sports identity around it, never owned the music. Instead, NBC only licensed that music. This distinction is where the power of strategic IP management becomes clear. NBC’s rights to use Roundball Rock came through a synchronization license, granting the network permission to pair the song with its broadcast footage. Licensing, rather than selling, allowed Tesh to preserve control while still monetizing his work. He collected royalties from broadcast use and retained the freedom to relicense the song later for new purposes, including NBC’s Olympic basketball coverage years after the NBA rights had moved to ABC and ESPN.

That’s leverage. By owning his IP, Tesh controlled the creative and commercial destiny of a song that had become culturally inseparable from a billion-dollar sports brand. NBC, for all its marketing power, could not broadcast the song once the licensing term ended.

The story also raises an intriguing issue around brand identity and ownership. While Tesh held the copyright, Roundball Rock became part of NBC’s sonic DNA. The network built enormous equity around a piece of music it didn’t own, and when the rights expired, so did its ability to use that brand asset, though now, of course, NBC will be using it once again, to the delight of many NBA fans.

This is a lesson many modern companies are still learning. In an era where brands invest heavily in content creation, jingles, and sonic branding, it’s easy to assume that using something long enough equates to ownership. But without legal control of the IP, brand continuity can evaporate overnight. NBC’s relationship with Roundball Rock serves as a cautionary tale: emotional connection doesn’t equal legal entitlement.

Another dimension to this story is the issue of derivative works and moral rights. Any remix, adaptation, or new arrangement of Roundball Rock requires Tesh’s permission because the copyright holder maintains the exclusive right to create or authorize derivative works.

In today’s creative landscape,  where AI-generated music, sampling, and remix culture are ubiquitous, this principle takes on renewed importance. Even small edits or new versions can infringe upon an artist’s rights if not properly licensed. While the United States provides limited “moral rights” protections compared to other jurisdictions, creators like Tesh still hold the power to object to uses that distort or misrepresent their work.

For lawyers, entrepreneurs, and creative professionals, Roundball Rock offers enduring lessons on how intellectual property can shape both creative freedom and commercial longevity.

For creators, it’s a reminder to retain ownership whenever possible. Licensing provides recurring revenue and long-term flexibility selling does not. Intellectual property is an appreciating asset when managed wisely.

For companies, it’s a call to audit brand assets and understand where ownership truly lies. If a campaign, soundtrack, or visual identity depends on someone else’s IP, the business must anticipate how to sustain its brand narrative when those rights expire.

And for legal counsel, it’s a case study in how IP strategy should be both defensive and proactive, not just protecting against infringement, but empowering clients to create, control, and capitalize on their innovations.

Decades later, Roundball Rock remains instantly recognizable, not because NBC still plays it, but because ownership endures longer than airtime. It stands as proof that intellectual property isn’t just a legal instrument; it’s the foundation of creative legacy.

In the end, NBC owned the broadcast. John Tesh owned the soundtrack. And in the world of IP, the soundtrack tends to play on much longer.