When Seth Hurwitz testified before Congress in 2009 against the proposed Live Nation-Ticketmaster merger, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. The outcome was practically predetermined. He testified anyway.
“Their lobbyists were better than ours, so that was the end of that,” Hurwitz recalls. But his warnings about what would happen weren’t just prescient—they were a rallying cry for what independent promoters represent in an increasingly consolidated industry.
More than a decade later, the landscape Seth Hurwitz predicted has arrived. Ticket prices have surged nearly 50% in five years. Resale platforms operate without price caps. Corporate consolidation makes it harder for independent venues to book major acts. Yet Hurwitz continues operating by different rules, proving there’s still a place for promoters who put music and fans first.
“Vertical Integration on Steroids”
Hurwitz saw the problem clearly when Live Nation and Ticketmaster announced their merger. It wasn’t just combining two companies—it was creating an ecosystem where one entity could control ticketing, venues, and artist representation simultaneously.
The merged company became exactly what Hurwitz feared: a dominant force that independents often must work with while competing against it. Use Ticketmaster’s platform to sell tickets? You’re sharing data with a major competitor. Try to book an artist? They might be locked into bundled deals with corporate promoters.
For Hurwitz, this wasn’t just business—it was cultural. When live music becomes too consolidated, the industry loses its soul. Independent promoters who value connection between fans and artists over profit margins become outliers in a field increasingly defined by revenue goals and premium pricing.
The Ticket Resale Crisis
If there’s one issue that gets Hurwitz fired up, it’s ticket scalping. His position is unambiguous: “I’ve never scalped a ticket in my life. I just don’t believe in it.”
The math is devastating: “The more people pay for tickets, the less shows they’re going to go to.” When fans drop $500 on a stadium tour, they can’t afford mid-size venue shows or club nights discovering new artists. The entire ecosystem suffers.
“I don’t want to take more money from people if in fact they could pay the going rate and go to the show, I don’t need any more from them. I’ve made the deal.”
Resale has transformed tickets from admission passes into commodities. When a scalper buys for $150 and resells for $600, that extra $450 doesn’t go to the artist, crew, or venue. It goes to middlemen who contribute nothing to the show.
“There’s only one way it will ever stop, and that’s to put a limit on the resale value,” Hurwitz insists. “Otherwise, it’s whack-a-mole and you will never prevent other people from making money on the show you booked and worked on.”
Maryland attempted legislation to cap resale markups, but corporate lobbying killed it. Hurwitz’s solution remains straightforward: implement a percentage-based cap on resale prices. Not eliminate resale—fans should sell tickets they can’t use—but stop exploitative markups that turned the secondary market into a free-for-all.
“I Think We Should Set a Price and It Should Stay That Way”
Dynamic pricing—where ticket costs fluctuate based on demand—has become standard practice. Artists argue it helps capture revenue that would otherwise go to scalpers. Fans see it as a bait-and-switch.
Hurwitz rejects the premise. “I think we should set a price and it should stay that way, and a ticket should not become a commodity that people trade.”
Stable pricing isn’t just economics—it’s about preserving what makes live music special. Creating a space where people can come together without income-based barriers. “I want people to be able to go to a lot of shows.”
Where corporate venues lean into premium pricing and VIP packages, Hurwitz resists. “If I think something’s wrong, I say no. If I lose the show over it, that’s fine.”
The corporate argument for dynamic pricing misses something crucial: live music is about more than market value. It’s about community, about creating space where people participate in shared moments, not bid for access as consumers.
Building The Anthem: A $66 Million Bet
When Hurwitz built The Anthem, he addressed a market gap most didn’t realize existed. The convertible design accommodates 1,500 to 6,000 people, always feeling appropriately sized.
“I think I built the prototype,” Hurwitz says. “The problem is it’s very difficult to find a manager or an agent that can admit that his band is not going to sell out the arena.”
The math makes sense—bands could sell out nights at The Anthem and probably make more money with better fan experiences than half-empty arenas. But image and ego interfere. “Even after the fact, you can’t believe how many people just refuse to accept that they’re just not going to sell that many tickets.”
The Anthem cost $66 million, made possible because developer Monty Hoffman believed in the vision. It demonstrates what’s possible when independent operators create spaces designed around music rather than maximizing profit per square foot.
The Atlantis: Where Music Begins
In 2023, Hurwitz opened The Atlantis, a near-replica of the original 9:30 Club with 450-person capacity. Opening night featured Foo Fighters, with Dave Grohl joining Hurwitz to cut a guitar string instead of a ribbon. They booked 44 legendary acts—Joan Jett, George Clinton, The Pretenders, Maggie Rogers. There were 520,000 requests for 20,000 tickets.
The Atlantis isn’t nostalgia, though it recreates elements of the original club down to one obstructive pole. It’s about creating intimate space where emerging artists connect with audiences, where the barrier between performer and fan blurs.
“Where Music Begins” captures Hurwitz’s understanding of what independent venues provide. They’re not just performance spaces—they’re incubators for talent, places where artists take creative risks before audiences who came for music, not spectacle.
What’s at Stake
Industry consolidation has made it increasingly difficult for independent venues to compete. Major artists enter bundled deals with corporate promoters controlling representation, booking, and ticketing. Independents face steep competition for high-demand acts.
There’s also pressure to adopt high-price, high-margin practices conflicting with core values. While corporate venues push premium pricing and VIP packages, independents like Hurwitz see these as eroding the inclusive spirit live music thrives on.
Recent Department of Justice scrutiny reflects growing awareness that consolidation may harm not only smaller promoters but the industry’s broader diversity. As fans complain about concert costs and independent venues face tougher odds, a critical question emerges: what do we lose if these spaces disappear?
Hurwitz’s approach offers one answer. Independent venues provide authenticity and intimacy increasingly rare in corporate-dominated landscapes. They champion artists who might not fit the corporate mold. They keep prices accessible. They treat each show as meaningful rather than a quarterly earnings data point.
“I’m not national, and I’ve never had a desire to be national,” Hurwitz explains, quoting Marcus Aurelius: “If you seek tranquility, do less.”
In an industry where growth-at-all-costs has become doctrine, Seth Hurwitz stands as evidence that another path exists. His congressional testimony may not have stopped the merger, but his venues demonstrate daily that independent promoters still matter—perhaps now more than ever.
