The other day on Twitter, Ian, from the pretty great Other Music From A Different Kitchen blog, posted a (presumably) rhetorical question asking whether artists should still chase the idea of signing to a major label over creating an independently-owned label-slash-business model themselves. These days, of course, there’s a trend to drum down rappers’ throats the mantra that they should aim to become self-sustaining and that, thanks in large part to the all-encompassing power of the internet, they don’t need a major label’s backing to create a financially successful music career.

I’m not so sure it’s a view that really translates beyond the ‘net and into the mindset of artists though.

Speaking to Yelawolf earlier this week, he was gleaming with the news that he’d just come out of a meeting with a major label and was going to announce some sort of signing soon. I asked whether signing to a major was still the number one goal for rappers and he responded with an enthusiastic “Hell, yeah!” He then delved into a slightly clumsy analogy about the artist being a car and the major being the petrol. Or something.

Semantics of who’s driving whom aside, I think his view is one shared by most artists – at least according to recent history. Nearly all of the current XXL ‘freshmen ten’ are signed to majors. Last year the hot-on-the-net Wale and Charles Hamilton signed to majors. Joell Ortiz, who made a name running around New York with his ‘Who The Fuck Is Joell Ortiz?’ mixtape, took a chance in the Aftermath stable. Before that, supposed New York rap saviors Saigon and Papoose signed to majors. Beloved independent rap figures Little Brother chanced their luck at Atlantic, albeit in a cheeky manner by deciding to title their album ‘The Minstrel Show’ (try marketing that one in the Bible-belt, you suckers in suits!). Before that a generation of Houston cats who, we were repeatedly told, made stacks of money independently through CD sales, all signed to majors. And on and on it goes; ain’t a damn thing changed.

Signing to a major is a one-off opportunity. If, against the many insurmountable odds, it pays off, you’re set for life. It’s an opportunity too good to pass up. After all, you don’t hear Snoop moaning about being branded with the Interscope logo – he’s too busy enjoying his life. And if your experience on a major goes sour, as long as you keep your head about you and your feet on the floor, you’ll go away with an experience to talk about and possibly some money and mastered music in the bank. (Hell, there’s an entire wave of ’90s producer types who seem to have kitted out their home studios from advances given by majors who couldn’t work out how to market them to pop stardom and so duly dropped them. And that’s not to mention the revitalizing byproduct of being failed by a major: we only got the gritty brilliance of the Wu-Tang Clan after RZA and GZA were dropped, otherwise they might still be wearing musical silk pajamas.) You always have the fall-back plan of doing it your own damn self – but you can’t arbitrarily wake up one day and decide that you’re going to be a Def Jam artist.

When it comes to the benefits of being independent, the usual success stories are trotted out. Rhymesayers, we’re told, have been working the circuit successfully for years; Tech N9ne sells the equivalent of a small country’s GDP-worth of merch after each and every show. But these are artists who have spent a hell of a lot of time and effort getting to that point: Tech isn’t just some new kid from Kansas City with no history. If you’re going to limit yourself to only aiming to travel the indie route then you’re not going to be selling a thousand t-shirts after a show from the off. I liked $am Hill’s verse on the P Brothers album – I commissioned an article on him off the basis of it – but you’d be hard pushed to find me paying $15 for his face or logo badly printed up on an itchy Hanes tee.

The news that Def Jux are folding should act as a loud reminder that the independent route isn’t a breeze and is far from a panacea. The label’s cash-cow, El-P, might not be as prolific as Madlib when it comes to recording the sound of his bodily functions throughout the month and then releasing them in a a limited edition package (note to Stones Throw: You can have that one), but the fall of one of the world’s top indie labels is a stark signifier of just how dire things are. Last year DJ Spinna told me that the threshold for success back in the fabled indie rap days was selling 10,000 copies of a 12-inch vinyl record. Now, he said, it’s selling a mere 1,000 copies of a CD. Whichever way you want to break it down, that’s not much money to recoup – and that’s overlooking the headache of the paperwork and time and effort to be spent chasing up the cash if you’re doing it all yourself.

But ultimately, the bare economics of the major versus indie debate doesn’t take into account the fantasy of being on a major label. It doesn’t factor in the lure of seeing your name up in lights. It doesn’t consider the appeal of being recognized as a worldwide superstar. And that’s something that all but the most hard-headed of artists still find impossible to turn down.