Concerts, Ticket Prices, and Keeping Music for the People

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.

Being a Father to Daughters

I’m often asked the same question: “So, are you going to try for a boy?”

The truth is, I don’t think about parenting in terms of being a “girl dad” or a “boy dad.” I just think about what it takes to be a good parent—and that requires sacrifice, consistency, and a whole lot of love.

Parenting isn’t about living the life you want untouched—it’s about reshaping your life around the needs of your kids. For me, that means late nights reviewing homework, rearranging my schedule to be present at their games, or skipping activities that childless adults get to enjoy without thought.

It also means joining them in their world. I dig in the dirt if that’s what they’re into. We play dress-up. We have dance parties in the living room. We volunteer in our neighborhood together. I follow their lead because I want them to know their interests matter, that their joy matters.

Of course, there are experiences my daughters will have that I will never fully understand—I’m not a woman. But that doesn’t mean I can’t walk alongside them with openness, empathy, and unconditional love.

Activists are a big part of their lives too. I encourage them to play sports and Martial Arts not just for exercise, but because sports teach lessons that go beyond the field—teamwork, resilience, and the connection between hard work and results.  Being comfortable with the uncomfortable transcends boy/girl. Those are lessons I want them to carry into every corner of their lives.

At the core of it all, my goal is simple: to give my daughters a better foundation than I had. A better education. A stronger sense of belonging. A confidence that no matter what path they choose, they are loved and supported.

So, do I wish I had a son? No. What I have is four daughters, each with her own personality, dreams, and rebellious attitude at times and that’s more than enough.

I also try to be the partner I wish I had growing up. My daughters are watching me all the time—not just in how I show up for them, but in how I show up for their mom, for our family, and even for our community.

They’re learning what respect looks like, how to treat others with kindness, and what it means to share responsibilities at home. If I want them to one day expect healthy relationships in their own lives, then I need to live that example in mine.

Parenting isn’t perfect. I stumble, I get tired, I lose my patience sometimes. But I keep showing up. Because I know that in the end, they won’t remember whether they won every Judo match I made them compete in. They’ll remember if I was present. If I loved them openly. If I made them feel safe, seen, and supported.