Back in the Nineties, Pearl Jam famously sued Ticketmaster in an unsuccessful effort to rein in the runaway costs of attending a concert. These days, many are raising the same concerns — like Doc McGhee, Kiss’ longtime manager. In the late 1970s, when he was a young man on the rock scene, top concert tickets cost $10 to $11 (or about $50 to $55 in today’s dollars). Last year, according to Pollstar, the industry trade that monitors touring, the average ticket price had soared to around $132. That’s an increase of 38 percent just since 2019, when they cost a comparatively affordable $96.17. “It’s up to us,” McGhee says. “Until people say, ‘We’re not going,’ the prices are going up.”
This summer, that appears to be true. Entry to one of Harry Styles’ 30 dates at Madison Square Garden could cost you as much as $1,000; Alan Jackson’s sold-out touring finale at a Nashville stadium is prompting scalper prices of more than $5,000.
Industry veterans say that sky-high ticket prices are due to three key factors: supply and demand, as reflected in the controversial practice of dynamic pricing; rampant scalping; and one dominant company, Live Nation, controlling every source of revenue, including beer, food, parking, and Ticketmaster service fees, at its 61 amphitheaters and more than 200 other venues in North America. Many hoped the U.S. Department of Justice’s 2024 antitrust lawsuit would break up the world’s biggest promoter, but a March 9 settlement suggests that is unlikely to happen.
(In court, Live Nation disputed nearly every criticism made by sources in this story. “There is no evidence in the record that Live Nation or Ticketmaster drives higher ticket prices or that breaking up the company would lower them,” Dan Wall, the company’s executive vice president of corporate and regulatory affairs, says in a statement to RS. “If the DOJ or states had credible evidence, they would have presented it. They haven’t. After years of investigation and access to extensive data, there is still nothing tying our structure to higher prices.”)
The Justice Department settlement, which requires Live Nation to divest from 13 amphitheaters with which it has exclusive booking agreements, among other things, “isn’t even significant enough to call it a slap on the wrist,” says Stephen Parker, executive director of the National Independent Venue Association. Because the settlement is “virtually nothing” and “has no teeth,” adds a top promoter, prices and fees are almost certain to keep rising.
Even the biggest stars are often powerless to change this system, as Taylor Swift discovered on the Eras Tour. What’s more, Live Nation ticketing employees seemed dismissive of customers when they joked in internal messages about fans who are “so stupid” that the company was “robbing them blind baby,” in reference to high parking and VIP-package costs. (In court, Live Nation CEO Michael Rapino called those messages “disgusting” and “not the way we operate.”)
John Scher, a New York promoter who has competed with the company for decades, claims that Live Nation strategically raises offers to artists for playing its own summer amphitheaters, rather than arenas where competing promoters can book shows. “If they play indoors, they have a choice of [second-biggest promoter] AEG, or an independent like me,” Scher says. “But Live Nation will say to acts, ‘If you wait and start the tour in April, we’ll pay you $350,000’ — and many of them say, ‘Fine.’”
‘Legalized exploitation of fans’
In a separate lawsuit, filed by the Federal Trade Commission against Live Nation and Ticketmaster last September, a central issue was “illegal ticket-resale tactics,” in which Live Nation reportedly invited scalpers to use bots to crowd fans out of on-sale queues.
“The price will not change until we stop this legalized exploitation of fans,” says Randy Nichols, a board member for the National Independent Talent Organization (NITO), which represents agents and managers for more than 5,000 acts. “Fans will pay less money when bots stop buying all the tickets and marking up the price.”
Bills currently pending in New York, California, and other states could cap resale prices, potentially allowing artists to set their own face-value prices and ensuring fans don’t have to pay much more than that — something that hasn’t been true since StubHub revolutionized the scalping business in the early 2000s. (For years, Ticketmaster itself has also resold tickets to its own shows online.) “New York has been at this for a long time, and California just introduced a price cap,” says Nathaniel Marro, NITO’s executive director. “There’s really hope here.”
Fielding Logan, head of touring for management company Q Prime South, which represents artists like Eric Church, Ashley McBryde, and the Brothers Osborne, disagrees with the prediction of higher fees due to Live Nation’s corporate dominance. “I can unequivocally say that is not going to make a whit of difference to ticket prices,” he says. “What makes a difference to ticket prices is there are more people who want to attend said show than there are tickets available at those prices.”
But John Kwoka, a Northeastern University economics professor who specializes in antitrust, thinks that supply and demand aren’t enough to explain what’s happening. “I’m one of the economists who’ve argued you need to break up some companies,” he says. “[Live Nation] is one of the companies that proves that.”
Ringo Starr reunited with producer T Bone Burnett for ‘Long Long Road.’ Photo: Scott Ritchie*
Mottola (shown here in 2020) and Epstein’s friendship lasted through the convicted sex offender’s final days.Jon Kopaloff/Getty Images
United States Department of Justice
Michael Jackson (in 2002) accused Mottola of exploitative business practices and once called him “a devil.”Evan Agostini/ImageDirect/Getty Images
Mottola with then-wife Mariah Carey in 1995. He admitted to being controlling and “obsessive” during their marriage.Rose Hartman/Archive Photos/Getty Images
United States Department of Justice
Tupac Shakur at the Club USA in New York City, New York, 1994.
Prosecutors Put Rap Lyrics on Trial. Maryland Is About to Shut It Down
“I’m Gucci. It’s a rap. F**k [can they do] about a rap?”
Those are the words of Lawrence Montague on a jail phone call, words that now sit at the center of a broader legal reckoning unfolding in Maryland over the use of rap lyrics as evidence in criminal proceedings.
Maryland prosecutors introduced Montague’s rap verse, recorded using a jailhouse telephone and later posted to Instagram as evidence of his guilt for the killing of George Forrester. In December 2020, Maryland’s highest Court ruled in Montague vs. Maryland that rap lyrics can be admitted in court as evidence of a defendant’s guilt. The Court’s treatment of the genre as inherently violent reflects a deeply flawed and biased assumption, and Montague was ultimately convicted and sentenced to fifty years.
On appeal, the state’s highest court affirmed Montague’s conviction, finding that Montague’s lyrics made it more probable that he shot and killed Forrester. In doing so, the Court embraced the very kind of bias the legal system is supposed to guard against.
That ruling set a dangerous precedent, particularly for rap and hip-hop artists in America, and prompted Variety to publish our January 2021 opinion piece. What we didn’t realize at the time was that the article would help spark a national movement — now a united front of influential academics, defense and civil rights attorneys, and prominent music industry advocacy organizations including Songwriters of North America, the Black Music Action Coalition, The Recording Academy, and more. Together, we’ve partnered under a coalition known as Free Our Art, led by high-profile music executive Kevin Liles and co-chaired by me and Prophet. Over the past few years, the coalition has built a diverse and bipartisan group of allies, urging lawmakers to act. This week, in a full circle moment, Maryland became only the third state to pass a bill reconsidering how creative works are used in criminal trials. The bill now heads to the desk of Maryland Governor Wes Moore, who is widely expected to sign it into law.
When signed, Maryland’s Protecting Artists’ Creative Expression (PACE) Act will join California and Louisiana, which enacted similar laws in 2022 and 2023 following advocacy by BMAC, SONA and later Free Our Art. Critically, the legislation establishes clear standards for when creative works may be admitted as evidence in criminal proceedings.
This law addresses a growing concern among the music industry, legal scholars, and civil rights advocates, as rap lyrics have almost exclusively been used against Black and Brown artists in more than 820 cases since the 1980s. The PACE Act seeks to limit bias in the courtroom, reinforcing First Amendment protections that are frequently overlooked today. When signed into law, the legislation would limit the use of artistic expression as evidence to narrowly defined legal circumstances. Any creative expressions the government is looking to present as evidence must be presented to the judge before a jury trial even begins. These include instances where a defendant clearly intended the work to be taken literally, where it contains specific factual details tied to an alleged offense, where it is directly relevant to a disputed issue, and where its probative value outweighs any unfair prejudice.
Race has long shaped how rap lyrics are interpreted in the legal system. Courts have often misunderstood the history, purpose, and cultural significance of rap music in America, which emerged in the 1970s in the South Bronx as a response to poverty, unemployment, gang violence, isolation from mainstream America, and unfair treatment by government institutions. Courts are starting to correct the problem — overturning convictions where rap lyrics were wrongly used — but that’s not justice, that’s damage control. We need real protection on the front end. That’s why the PACE Act matters.
And the momentum is building: New York, Georgia, and Missouri legislatures are in discussions to pass laws to defend artistic freedom and draw the line.
Black artistry deserves the same legal protection as any other form of creative expression. Yet past rulings, including the Montague case in Maryland, have left Black artists exposed to bias rooted in misunderstanding — and too often, a refusal to engage with the culture itself. Research shows that rap, a predominantly Black genre, is more likely to be seen by jurors as more threatening, more dangerous, and grounded in reality. The result: Black expression is treated as evidence of criminality, while white artists in other genres such as country music exploring similar themes are afforded creative freedom. In court, slang, generic references, and race can unfairly prejudice juries far beyond their actual probative value.
Artists such as Tupac Shakur, Public Enemy, N.W.A, and Kendrick Lamar have long used hip-hop to tell stories and challenge injustice. That tradition is central to the genre and should not be mistaken for confession. Black artists deserve the opportunity to express fear and anger and process trauma and lived experiences without that expression being used against them in court. That distinction is exactly what this legislation seeks to protect.
With the PACE Act now moving through the final stages of approval, Maryland has an opportunity to correct a longstanding imbalance in the legal system. If signed into law, it will set a clear standard — one that other states should follow.
Dina LaPolt is an entertainment attorney, activist, and co-founder of the Songwriters of North America; and Willie “Prophet” Stiggers is the chairman and CEO of the Black Music Action Coalition. Special thanks to Loyola Law School student Kayla Ruff.