I have been going to punk rock and metal shows for decades, and some of the best shows I have ever seen cost less than $50.
I have seen bands like Fear, Suicidal Tendencies, Gwar, Napalm Death, Billy Idol, The Misfits, and plenty of others without having to empty my bank account. Those shows were loud, sweaty, chaotic, imperfect, and unforgettable. They were everything live music is supposed to be.
I have also paid hundreds of dollars to see huge bands in huge venues. I have no problem admitting that. I have spent the money to see bands like Iron Maiden, and I understand that big productions cost money. There are lights, sound crews, trucks, stagehands, insurance, travel, and a whole machine behind those shows.
But what I cannot understand is spending thousands of dollars to see a band that has been playing for decades and, in some cases, sounds worse than they ever have. I also cannot understand paying hundreds of dollars to see a band at the same venue where they played just a few years ago for a fraction of the price.
At some point, it stops feeling like music and starts feeling like a luxury product.
I love music. I love making music. I love playing music. I love dancing at shows, getting pushed around in the crowd, hearing a band give everything they have, and walking out with my ears ringing and my shirt soaked. That is the experience I am chasing.
And somehow, I can still find that experience at a $5 basement show or a $25 bar show. Sometimes those shows are better than the massive arena concerts. There is no giant screen, no corporate sponsor, no VIP package, and no $75 hoodie. Just a band, a crowd, a small room, and a shared energy that feels real.
That is where music still feels alive.
Younger bands and local artists are out there right now playing with hunger, creativity, and urgency. They are not coasting on nostalgia. They are not charging people half a paycheck to stand 300 feet away. They are building something from the ground up, the same way so many of our favorite bands once did.
I know there are artists who have pushed back against the rising cost of tickets. The Cure, for example, has taken an active role in trying to keep ticket prices more affordable for fans. That matters. It shows that bands are not powerless. Artists, venues, promoters, and fans all have some responsibility in deciding what kind of music culture we want to support.
For me, I am making a choice.
I am going to support more local venues. I am going to support new artists. I am going to seek out affordable shows. I am going to spend my money where it helps keep music accessible, not where it helps turn art into another playground for the wealthy.
Because art should not be only for the elite.
So much of the music I love came from working-class struggle, frustration, boredom, anger, rebellion, and the need to be heard. Punk rock, metal, hardcore, hip-hop, blues, folk — so much of it came from people fighting to create something meaningful from the pressure of real life.
That is what makes music emotional. That is what makes it powerful. It comes from defying the odds, not from pricing out the audience.
Live music should bring people together. It should not separate people by who can afford a platinum ticket, a VIP entrance, or a resale price that looks like a car payment.
I am not saying every show has to be cheap. I understand that musicians deserve to get paid. Crews deserve to get paid. Venues need to survive. But there is a difference between fair pricing and greed. There is a difference between making a living and squeezing every last dollar out of fans who helped build the culture in the first place.
For me, the future of live music is not in the most expensive seat in the biggest arena.
It is in the small club.
The dive bar.
The community space.
The backyard.
The basement.
The room where a young band is playing like their life depends on it.
That is where I want to be.
And that is where I want my money to go.