![]() Because it's owned by a local promoter, Bowery Presents, much of the infrastructure - stage hands, lighting, sound, security, things a band would have to pay for elsewhere - is in place. In New York City, Terminal 5, a 3,000-person venue, has an advantage over similarly sized local theaters. And your earnings potential in those two rooms is incredibly different," she says. you can choose between two rooms, one of which is an older, gorgeous theater that sometimes has union help, or you can choose a venue that's sometimes owned by a promoter. That changes when a band moves up to a higher level, where the amount of money a band can pull in starts to depend less on the number of tickets sold than on the infrastructure that surrounds a particular venue, or the tour as a whole.įor example, Barger offers, take the options presented to a band "at the level of The National," playing in a moderate-sized American city. ![]() "I mean, if you're selling out every night, you're probably supporting yourself and you're able to quit your job," Barger says, "but you certainly have roommates, you're barely getting by, you're watching how many hotel rooms you get each night." For groups starting out in this situation, Barger paints a lifestyle ruled by modest expectations. Smaller venues – in an effort to compensate fairly – often poll audience members at the door, and pay each band on the bill the portion of the total receipts that corresponds to the number of fans who said they came to see that band play. you're barely covering costs in a lot of cases," Barger says.įor bands at this level, every ticket really does count. "If you look at the finances of having a band on the road at the small club level. At this level it really is eat what you kill."ĭawn Barger, who manages indie bands – some of whom still play small clubs and some of whom, like The National or The Antlers, have moved on to larger venues – says that's about right. The stronger the draw, the safer the risk, and thus the artist can command more of the money. "From a club or promoter perspective, the act is only worth part of what it can dependably bring in the door. "At club level, many can't even generate enough to cover basic expenses," Bongiovanni wrote. Instead, such bands have to prove their value – their ability to draw fans, essentially - to club owners and promoters night after night. In an email, Bongiovanni explained that for bands that tour smaller clubs, there's no such arrangement. ![]() ![]() This works, when it does, because the network of pre-existing relationships between promoters, venues, advertisers, and artists (or their managers) puts a band that thousands will pay to see into a space that can hold thousands. ![]() Instead, they get paid a flat rate for a certain number of tour dates. So we know, for example, that Taylor Swift's tour brought in $40 million last year over 47 dates, or that Bon Jovi's 80-date tour grossed a world-beating $201 million.Īt this upper end of the industry, musicians don't actually depend on ticket sales for their income. At that level, says Gary Bongiovanni, the editor-in-chief of Pollstar, a publication that tracks the concert industry, "Everything depends on an act's ability to attract paying fans."Įach year, Pollstar publishes a list of the top-grossing tours in North America and the world, the kinds of tours where a musician sells out arenas around the country. ![]()
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