I’m sure I speak for many people when I say that, post-2020, everything got harder. Before the pandemic I managed to make a living wage as a musician. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible.
There was a time, post-lockdown, when there were heaps of gigs and lots of excitement around the return of live music. At our first show back, the audience was weeping and hugging – and so were me and my band. It was genuinely euphoric and beautiful. After such a long silence, music was everywhere again.
But in 2024, venues are closing, festivals are collapsing and things are feeling impossible. Everything is expensive: the fuel, the flights, the amount you pay to make a physical album. Every cost has gone up and the value of the dollar has gone down.
This is coupled with the depressing hegemony that is creeping into the music industry. Like most industries, there are one or two very large businesses that have moved in to monopolise venues, festivals and ticketing companies – and you have no choice whether you work with them or not.
Everywhere you look, we’re now locked in with multinational companies. You recognise brands – like a music festival or a large music venue – and you think they’re the good guys, but if you dig a little deeper you can trace their ownership to an international conglomerate that is making money for a bunch of other huge international conglomerates. And, in some cases, those companies are involved in manufacturing weapons, human rights atrocities and climate catastrophe.
And then there are the banks. Every transaction I make around music incurs a bank fee. The bank knows which gig I’ve bought a ticket for, it knows I’ve made eight transactions over the bar, then a $50 transaction on merch, and it knows I’ve caught an Uber back to my house. Suddenly, multinationals know everything about me, and all I’ve done is go see my mate’s band.
The saddest thing about this situation, though, isn’t the money. It’s the fact that I’m watching my contemporaries pull out of the industry. I see my mates posting Instagram stories about how they just can’t do it anymore because there are no viable income streams.
We can’t rely on album sales because Spotify, Apple or Youtube determine the fee and there’s no room to negotiate. Our only real income stream left was our live show, and people don’t pre-buy tickets anymore. These days, every gig feels like a game of chicken.
So what now?
We wanted to try something a little bit different because the system has become unworkable. So we’re putting on a completely independent show to try to sidestep the multinationals.
The point of this gig is an experiment to try to keep as much money as possible for the musicians. We’ve hired a community hall, we’re selling merch and beer direct, and every band on this line-up contains a member of the Last Drinks, which means each member of my band gets paid to play twice.
Plus, every musician has the opportunity to take on other paid roles in the event, from bussing glasses to selling beers. My parents will be collecting the cans at the end of the night to make a buck at the recycling centre.
Nothing about this venture is anti-venue. Melbourne venues are some of the greatest champions of Melbourne music – we wouldn’t have a scene without them. We book venues, and we will continue to book them. And I know these multinational entertainment companies employ a lot of good people.
But me and my bandmates are living hand to mouth. With this gig all of the money stays with us, the booking fee goes to charity, and we know (and can vouch for) every person working on the gig, which helps us create safer spaces for our audience members, many of whom are from marginalised communities.
We know we’ll work with big international ticketing companies again because we have to. We’ll play at festivals and in venues owned by multinationals. But we also have to try something different. To push back, even just to inspire others. If a bunch of idiot musicians can try something new, anyone can.
Honestly, it’s the most inspiring thing I’ve done in years because for once it’s just for us and our supporters. It’s super risky financially but we know the Melbourne community will get behind us, and it already is.
We’re giving it a crack because change is needed.
Cash Savage and the Last Drinks [perform at Melbourne venue Estonian House on August 23 and 24]. The line-up includes Uncle Kutcha Edwards, Georgia Knight, Kate Alexander and Howl at the Moon. $35–$60.
