I watched Four Corners’ investigation Music for Sale on Monday with some anticipation. The program was an overdue reckoning for Live Nation and Ticketmaster – the international entertainment behemoth, which has long faced accusations of abusing its market power by buying out venues, booking agencies, touring companies and merchandise manufacturers.
The program finished to the soundtrack of Midnight Oil’s Forgotten Years – singer Peter Garrett was a prominent interviewee – playing over a nostalgic montage of some of this country’s most celebrated musicians on stage. Many artists, we were told, were too afraid to speak out for fear of retribution. In response, Live Nation issued a comprehensive statement rejecting the program’s claims, saying: “Our investments in artists, venues, event organisers, and entrepreneurs have enriched Australia’s cultural landscape and created thousands of jobs … Our business model aligns with standard industry practices.”
There’s no doubt live music in Australia is in crisis. The years since Covid-19 lockdowns have seen the closure of more than 1300 venues and the cancellation of a bunch of local festivals. But we also need to keep things in historical perspective.
The fact is the grassroots of Australia’s live music scene has been on the threatened species list for at least two decades, as inquiry after inquiry – in Victoria, New South Wales, Queensland and now federal – has repeatedly shown, long before Covid crushed attendances and Live Nation arrived on these shores to skim any merch money left on top.
The list of issues is long and has been so exhaustively documented that they do not need detailed explanation here: noise complaints, often from neighbours who have just moved in; inappropriate liquor licensing laws, which have falsely linked live music to violence; and lockout laws, which rely on the same false premise.
There’s the rezoning of cultural hubs as so-called “safe night precincts,” which has jacked up insurance premiums for small venues. Global heating has done the same thing for festivals. Alcohol taxes, behavioural changes and the cost of living generally, means punters are barely drinking once they get through the door (sadly, booze is to live music as advertising is to journalism). Pokies.
The most depressing case study is Sydney, where live music has been all but harassed out of existence. Hoodoo Gurus singer Dave Faulkner told a NSW inquiry in 2018 that the industry was treated “as something to be shunned. We employ so many people, we generate incredible amounts of money throughout the economy – and yet we’re treated so badly”.
There are also seismic cultural shifts at play. The brutal reality is that Australian live music is not the draw that it once was, because not enough people get to hear it in the first place. Young listeners who are having their feeds and playlists curated by streaming giants not subject to Australian content laws are unlikely to hear young and emerging Australian artists.
Streaming has also deprived musicians of a viable income. There’s an old quote from Hunter S Thompson, describing the music business as “a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free”. Thompson was actually talking about the TV industry but even so, the old model looks benevolent next to comments made by Spotify CEO Daniel Ek.
Older listeners – generation Xers who grew up during Triple J’s period of dominance in the 90s – might listen to Double J (which also happens to be one of the only channels on which any Australian artist over the age of 30 might be heard in a ruthlessly ageist and sexist industry). But Double J’s digital-only strategy dooms it to a tiny share of the listenership.
It’s also increasingly rare for Australian acts to appear on the bills of international tours. Why, for example, are Pixies supporting Pearl Jam, when the latter are avid and vocal fans of Australian music? Before his death, Australian music manager Michael McMartin gave a speech campaigning for local representation on such tours to be compulsory.
None of this is a defence of Live Nation. A multinational conglomerate has no reason to care about Australian music, and doesn’t deserve a cent of taxpayer’s money. It’s hard not to think, when you stump up for a concert ticket, that you’re being charged for a suite of hidden and unexplained extras simply because Ticketmaster (owned by Live Nation) can.
Meanwhile, nowhere near enough has been made of the fact that the third-largest shareholder of Live Nation is Saudi Arabia’s public investment fund, controlled by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman; given the furore over the country sports-washing its human rights abuses, it feels like an arts-washing reckoning is due.
Fixing Australia’s live music crisis is going to take a combination of creative imagination, targeted intervention, public investment and political will. Most of the changes that imperil its existence pre-date Live Nation – which is better viewed as a parasite, sucking the marrow from an industry that bled out a long time ago.
