What is truly lost when the conversation around music fixates on money? And how do we measure the worth of live music experiences that resonate deeply?
These questions have been echoing in my mind, especially with the ongoing discussions about ticket prices and the live music industry, particularly the Ticketmaster-Live Nation situation. It feels like every conversation about live music now revolves around cost and access.
I find myself wrestling with these issues, much like my internal debate about supporting artists in a capitalist music industry, even those I admire like Bruce Springsteen. Yes, Springsteen, who will likely deliver an unforgettable performance when he comes to town, and I’ll be there, swept up in the moment. Like many devoted fans, I’ll probably be grateful for the chance to witness the energy of his band once again. But, there’s a nagging feeling.
Shouldn’t artists be more aware of the financial realities many fans face?
For someone who has dedicated their life to seeking out and cherishing live music, the answers are clear, yet they bear repeating. What disappears when we only talk about capitalism and ticket prices is the inherent magic and mystery music brings to the human experience. In today’s discourse, dominated by “How much did you pay?” and “Is it worth the cost?”, it feels almost naive to emphasize this, but Billy Bragg’s 1988 warning rings true: “capitalism is killing music.” While music itself can’t be killed, the relentless focus on profit is undeniably drowning out the pure sound of music.
Music, in its essence, is priceless. I’ve had countless invaluable live music moments that cost nothing but the effort to be present, making it easier to shrug off the exorbitant prices of major tours. Instead of joining the chorus of complaints about Springsteen, Taylor Swift, and Metallica ticket prices, I’ve been advocating for the irreplaceable value of free live music. It’s about highlighting why these accessible, often overlooked experiences are more enriching than corporate entities and headline performers might want you to believe.
It seems the commercial music industry thrives on the assumption that you’re not connected to a local music scene and unaware of free live music opportunities. They want you to believe their high-priced product is the only valuable option. However, anyone who has experienced a no-cover show, supporting artists through merch and tips for staff, understands the uniquely soulful nature of such events. I have countless memories of these experiences, far more meaningful than any ticket stub souvenir.
These nights create a sense of genuine connection – to the music, the venue, the community, and fellow music enthusiasts. Just the other night at a local spot, tipping the band felt fantastic, prompting me to wonder if artists like Bruce and Taylor still feel grounded in a real music scene.
The feeling was one of authentic engagement with the music, a profound sense of freedom and musical joy. I could share many similar experiences with free live music, but the core point is this: it’s an experience beyond monetary value, and one we shouldn’t try to commodify.
“Corporate music still sucks,” Kurt Cobain famously said as Ticketmaster rose to prominence. Speaking of large-scale events, Taylor Swift is set to perform at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, a venue I’ve only attended for concerts twice. One was a U2 show, enjoyed from the upper levels. It was good. Yet, the lasting memory isn’t the performance itself, but the post-show complaints about the venue’s sound quality. Truthfully, the sound was adequate, but attendees didn’t feel they received their money’s worth. At those prices, audiences expect flawlessness and VIP treatment, a mindset that fosters cynicism rather than open-hearted listening.
An article in the Boston Globe referenced a 1987 psychology study demonstrating that creativity diminishes when driven by profit motives rather than the intrinsic joy of creation. Alfie Kohn wrote: “If a reward — money, awards, praise, or winning a contest — comes to be seen as the reason one is engaging in an activity, that activity will be viewed as less enjoyable in its own right. With the exception of some behaviorists who doubt the very existence of intrinsic motivation, these conclusions are now widely accepted among psychologists.”
So, this isn’t just my personal sentiment. And it clarifies why stadium and arena shows often feel less fulfilling than intimate club experiences at places like the White Squirrel in St. Paul and the Driftwood Char Bar and Schooner Tavern in Minneapolis. These venues, consistently offering no or low cover charges, remind me of something I wrote when the Uptown Bar and Grill, a local legend, closed:
“The Uptown’s main attraction, and legacy, can be summed up in two words: no cover.
“Ask any club crawler from any other city and they will tell you that the free-admission policy on most nights made the Uptown an anomaly. A miracle, even. And since the music was that much more accessible, it turned the Uptown into a breeding-ground in the truest sense of the word. Not only was it a springboard for local bands to the big leagues (the angle that all the TV stations have taken, as if that is the singular validation of any artistic institution), but more important, it was a place where audiences could amble in and amble out. As such, they were given the opportunity to engage in an experience that has become all too rare: discovery.
“People would wander in off the street at midnight after catching a film at the Suburban World or Uptown Theater and stumble upon Nirvana, Gear Daddies, Babes in Toyland, Soul Asylum, Oasis, the Replacements, Cows, the Jayhawks, or some other future yarn-maker.”
Since those days, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve enjoyed incredible free live music and heard someone exclaim, “Can you believe we’re hearing this… for free?” These moments often feature bands playing truly Freaky Songs – unexpected genres, experimental sounds, music that pushes boundaries and delights in its originality.
Currently, the Twin Cities music scene is brimming with free live music options, from in-store performances at record shops to small, donation-based clubs and numerous free outdoor events. For years, I hosted a songwriter showcase called The Mad Ripple Hootenanny. For the vast majority of these shows, songwriters played without a fee, understanding that the event was about something bigger than money: music and the community it creates.
Over all those years, very few songwriters mentioned payment as their primary motivation. They recognized that discussing fees could cheapen the musical magic. Only later did we start passing a tip bucket, and gas money and guitar string funds were always appreciated. But The Hoot’s tagline became “free and freaky,” because I believe freedom is a fantastic avenue to explore the “freaky” side of music. The absence of ticket barriers fostered a relaxed atmosphere, allowing everyone to connect with something larger than themselves.
It might sound idealistic, but it’s genuinely true. I remain amazed that I get to create music for people, and I hope to never lose that sense of wonder.
I’m not some detached idealist either. I’m paid for this writing, and I perform my music for small covers and tips, which I appreciate. So, consider my perspective with that context. But, if you’re not regularly in a room with other free music lovers, you might be missing out on the unique thrill of free live music – and the chance to discover truly freaky songs you wouldn’t find anywhere else.
Getting paid for music is validating, but it’s secondary. Cue the justified complaints from fellow artists, but something vital is at stake. Reflecting on the ripple effects of Ticketmaster-Live Nation’s pricing strategies, I returned to Lewis Hyde’s “The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property,” a must-read for artists.
Hyde argues that art is a gift, and the connection between giver and receiver remains pure, untouched by commercial layers. Margaret Atwood, in her foreword, asks, “What is the nature of ‘art’? Is a work of art a commodity with a money value, to be bought and sold like a potato, or is it a gift on which no real price can be placed, to be freely exchanged?
“And if works of art are gifts and nothing but, how are their creators to live in the physical world, in which food will sooner or later be needed by them? Should they be sustained by reciprocal gifts made by the public — the equivalent of the gifts placed in the Zen monk’s begging bowl? Should they exist in quasi-Shaker communities of the like-minded?”
These questions predate Ticketmaster’s “dynamic pricing” which forces fans to pay exorbitant prices, and Springsteen’s comment to Howard Stern, “I bumped into the luckiest job in the world, because they pay you a fortune for something I would have done for free.”
Springsteen once cited desperation as his driving force; it was palpable. Now in his “summation period,” as he describes it, that desperation feels different. Regarding ticket prices, he told Rolling Stone he wants to be paid like “my peers.” Why should fans care about Springsteen’s competitive desires or financial ambitions, beyond recognizing they might fuel his creativity?
The truth is, we often don’t. Musicians are historically underpaid, so it’s understandable that Springsteen is maximizing his earnings. Good for him, especially given the pandemic’s impact on the industry. However, sticker shock creates a barrier, diminishing enthusiasm for concerts and reissues. It raises questions about what’s lost when profit becomes paramount, and whether artists still prioritize their audience.
As Ryan Ritchie of Los Angeles Magazine succinctly put it in his “Open Letter to Paul McCartney Regarding Ticket Prices”: “Paul, serious question: What the [f—]?”
Fortunately, there’s an alternative. Alternative weeklies used to regularly list “10 Best Free Live Music Gigs or Venues.” Clubs like early Sam’s/First Avenue gave out free tickets to lesser-known or experimental shows, fostering organic audiences and buzz. These were the places where you might stumble upon truly unique and freaky songs, discovering artists before they were mainstream.
Times have evolved, and I’ll still attend select big concerts. But a part of me will always look forward to escaping corporate venues and heading to the next free and freaky gig. Join me?
Great! Just remember to tip the bartenders and musicians.
