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Ariana Grande Says 45 of Her Songs Were Stolen in a Single Year. Now She's Suing.

The complaint runs at a hundred anonymous defendants and reaches back to 2011 — and it keeps circling back to what the leaks do to what her lawyers call the sacred relationship between her and her fans.

Robbie S.
Ariana Grande Says 45 of Her Songs Were Stolen in a Single Year. Now She's Suing.
Photo: Merino11 / Wikimedia Commons, CC0

Ariana Grande's lawyers put a number on it this week, and the number is the story. “In 2023 alone, 45 unreleased songs belonging to Ms Grande were hacked, stolen, and leaked,” the filing says. “Since her music debut in 2011, hundreds of similar leaks have taken place.”

She filed Monday in Los Angeles County Superior Court. There are no actual names on the complaint — the defendants are “John Doe 1 and John Does 2 through 100,” and the whole point of the exercise is to make them into names. Her attorneys want subpoenas, and then they want people.

Nobody hacked Ariana Grande

The part of this that should make every working musician sit up is the method. According to the complaint, the way in was never her — it was the people around her.

Photographers. Producers. In 2024, per the filing, someone set up an email account impersonating one of her photographers and talked a digital technician into handing over unreleased pictures. That one is the clearest of the incidents; two attacks that year involved phishing. Another involved a producer's phone and the unreleased masters, demos and session footage on it, though the outlets covering the filing date that one differently — The Verge puts it in 2020 and the BBC in 2025, so treat the year as unsettled.

What the complaint says came out of all this is not a couple of demos. It lists still-in-production masters, recording-session footage, music videos, behind-the-scenes photos, album and photoshoot outtakes. Her lawyers say the material was then sold on the dark web “for significant sums of money,” and that it also ended up posted on X, TikTok and YouTube.

The legal claims are invasion of privacy, violation of California's computer-hacking law, and conversion — which is the civil version of theft. “Neither Ms. Grande nor any other public or private figure should have to suffer such violations caused by these wrongdoers who hide in the shadows and wreak technological havoc with impunity,” her lawyers write.

She has been saying this out loud for years

This is not a new grievance dressed up for court. In a 2024 interview on the Zach Sang show, Grande talked about a song called Fantasize — written with Max Martin, never meant for her, leaked, and then a hit on the internet anyway. Sessions she had recorded before leaving to shoot Wicked were, she said, “all over TikTok, thank you so much, I'll see you in jail. Literally.”

Read that again, because of who it's aimed at. Not a hacker in a basement. The people posting.

The part that involves us

Here's our read, and it isn't in the filing. If you have been in a gay bar at closing time any year since about 2014, you already know how much of Ariana Grande's audience is ours. She is one of a very small number of artists whose fanbase is functionally a gay institution, and that fanbase has a habit it has never really examined: treating unreleased music as fan currency. The rare leak you have and someone else doesn't. The snippet that circulates for months before anyone admits where it came from.

The hundred John Does are not the fandom, and nothing in the complaint says they are. But a stolen file has no value without somewhere to spend it. Every leak that gets sold on the dark web gets sold because it will eventually surface somewhere it can be heard, and it surfaces on the platforms where the stans are. That's the loop. Grande's own lawyers reach for the word sacred to describe what she has with her fans, and the reason that word is in a hacking complaint at all is that the person on the other end of the theft is, quite often, someone who loves her.

You can hold both things. The hacking is somebody's crime. The market is somebody's hobby.

Her eighth album, Petal, arrives Friday, and the Eternal Sunshine tour reaches the UK in August — a run she has already suggested may be her last for a while. “One last hurrah - for now,” is how she put it on Amy Poehler's Good Hang podcast. Whether the next batch of demos gets to arrive on her schedule is, for once, a question with a docket number attached.

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