The Disappearing Middle Class of Music

You can't have an "ecosystem" without a functioning middle.

In today’s music industry, success is increasingly polarized. You’re either a global superstar selling out arenas, or you’re scraping by. What’s disappearing is everything in between: the middle class of music.

This middle once supported artists who could reliably tour mid-size rooms (300-1500 capacity), build audiences over time, and make a modest but sustainable living. It wasn’t flashy and they couldn’t always afford a tour bus, but it was doable. And this was how scenes formed, where artists developed, and where a huge part of the live music ecosystem actually functioned.

Today, that layer is eroding under the weight of rising costs, monopolized ticketing/booking, changing consumer habits, and an increasingly brutal algorithm-driven economy. Music is still constantly being created and consumed everywhere, but the paths to making a modest, sustainable living in the “live” part of the industry have narrowed to a tightrope.

Before I continue, it would be remise not to mention that the way that artists build their careers has changed dramatically in the past few years. Social media has created a pipeline for “TikTok stars” where a single viral video can translate directly into booking an arena-level tour, without the gradual process of practicing and building confidence and fans through smaller venues. That shift has its own implications for the sustainability of the live music industry, but I want to focus on economics for now.

Anyway.

In a previous post, I wrote about the broken economics of live music from the venue side - how rising insurance costs, staffing shortages, rent pressure, and thin margins have pushed independent rooms to the edge. It’s important to understand that the squeeze doesn’t stop at the stage - the same forces hollowing out venues are hitting touring artists just as hard.

Transportation, lodging, crew wages, equipment, and insurance costs have all surged. At the same time, ticket sales have become less predictable, and audiences are more selective about what they attend. Fans are spending most of their budget on one or two arena shows or festivals a year instead of going to a handful of shows at smaller venues.

Recently, a widely circulated video of Shirley Manson of Garbage captured that reality. She explains that touring has become financially unsustainable - even for her band with decades of history, international recognition, and, critically, a loyal fanbase. Garbage isn’t a struggling indie act, nor are they a stadium-level act. They live in that middle class we’re talking about: established, respected, and still actively trying to work. This video had a huge impact on me and I was thrilled to see it go viral. When an artist at that level says touring no longer works, it’s not a personal failure or a temporary downturn. It’s a signal that the system itself is breaking down and this category of musician can no longer rely on the model that once supported it.

Other artists have also made statements. In coverage of a recent tour announcement, Rolling Stone focused on ticket pricing, but Sturgill Simpson’s social media post was more focused on his own explanation for how his tour is structured and why he had to choose the size venues he did. He said “There are even more lower price level tickets available this time because we are playing bigger venues. Playing smaller venues would have absolutely increased ticket prices …A LOT.” So, there is a “win” for fans in that some tickets are cheaper, but the smaller venues he references are being passed over. His tour and others are being informed by the economics of touring, which means less room for taking chances and less room for “cool” audience experiences.

The middle class of music has always been where risk and experimentation lived. It’s where artists could grow into their careers, where venues could consistently program original music, and where audiences could engage with something up close. Without it, the system becomes hollow: amateurs on one end, megastars on the other, and very little in between.

This isn’t just a mid-sized artist issue. When the middle erodes, the entire ecosystem feels it - venues, promoters, engineers, crew, and the cities that depend on live music as both an economic driver and a cultural identity. A fragile middle means a fragile system.

If we care about music as a living culture, not just today’s content, then rebuilding and protecting this middle class has to be part of the conversation. That means rethinking how tours are supported, how revenue flows through the system, and how cities invest in the infrastructure that makes live music possible. What can be done to change the landscape in a reality where funding for things like music is rarely an option? How can we prioritize policies that relieve some of this pressure? Because without a functioning middle, there is no ecosystem - just two different sides of extremes.