I watched Four Corners’ investigation, “Music for Sale,” on Monday with high expectations. The program took a long-overdue look at Live Nation and Ticketmaster, the global entertainment giant that has faced longstanding accusations of exploiting its market dominance by acquiring venues, booking agencies, touring companies, and merchandise businesses.
The show ended with Midnight Oil’s “Forgotten Years” playing over a nostalgic montage of some of Australia’s most iconic musicians on stage, with lead singer Peter Garrett featured as a prominent interviewee. Many artists, it was noted, were reluctant to speak out for fear of repercussions. In response to the program’s claims, Live Nation released a detailed statement denying the allegations, asserting that “our investments in artists, venues, event organizers, and entrepreneurs have enriched Australia’s cultural landscape and created thousands of jobs… Our business model aligns with standard industry practices.”
There is no denying that live music in Australia is facing a crisis. Since the Covid-19 lockdowns, over 1,300 venues have closed, and numerous local festivals have been canceled. However, the roots of these challenges go back much further. For at least two decades, the grassroots of Australia’s live music scene has been under threat, as various state and federal inquiries have consistently revealed, long before the impact of Covid and Live Nation’s arrival to take whatever revenue remained.
The issues are numerous and well-documented, requiring no elaborate discussion here: noise complaints, often from recent residents; restrictive liquor licensing laws linking live music to violence; and lockout laws based on similar misconceptions.
There is also the rezoning of cultural hubs into “safe night precincts,” which has driven up insurance premiums for small venues, while global warming has had the same effect on festivals. Rising alcohol taxes, changing behaviors, and the cost of living mean that patrons are spending less on drinks (which, unfortunately, are to live music what advertising is to journalism). Pokies are another problem.
Sydney offers a particularly grim example, where live music has nearly been eradicated. In a 2018 inquiry, Hoodoo Gurus frontman Dave Faulkner lamented that the industry was treated “as something to be shunned. We employ so many people, generate significant economic revenue – and yet we’re treated so poorly.”
Broader cultural shifts are also at work. The harsh truth is that Australian live music no longer draws crowds like it once did because fewer people are exposed to it. Young audiences whose feeds and playlists are curated by streaming services not bound by Australian content laws are unlikely to hear emerging local artists.
Streaming has also robbed musicians of a sustainable income. Hunter S. Thompson once described the music industry as “a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free.” Although he was actually referring to television, the old model seems generous compared to the comments made by Spotify CEO Daniel Ek.
Older listeners, especially Gen Xers who grew up with Triple J’s influence in the 90s, may now tune in to Double J (one of the few channels still playing Australian artists over 30 in a notoriously ageist and sexist industry). Yet, Double J’s digital-only approach limits it to a small share of the audience.
It is also becoming rare for Australian artists to be included in international tours. Why, for instance, are Pixies opening for Pearl Jam, when the latter has long supported Australian music? Before his passing, Australian music manager Michael McMartin advocated for mandatory local representation on such tours.
This isn’t a defense of Live Nation. As a multinational conglomerate, it has no inherent reason to care about Australian music and doesn’t warrant taxpayer support. When buying a concert ticket, it’s hard not to feel burdened by hidden charges simply because Ticketmaster (owned by Live Nation) can impose them.