The Great Concert Crisis. Something Has Broken in the Music World

There is a precise moment in history when something breaks. It is not a slow crack or an imperceptible crack. No. It is a thud. A deafening noise. A clear, definitive event. Then, when the dust settles, we look around and try to understand. In hindsight, of course, we will say that the signs were all there. That perhaps, with a little more attention, the fracture could have been foreseen. Maybe even avoided. But, as often happens, things are understood only when it is too late. The shard is broken and putting the pieces back together now is of little use.

This feeling – of something that has broken beyond repair – is exactly what we feel today in the world of music. A world that, for years, we have idealized, pampered, lived with emotional transport, with dedication, with dreams. But that today seems increasingly in crisis, more confused, more tired. Try closing your eyes and remembering the concerts under the summer skies. The ones that were expected for months, that seemed so far away and that became the heart of an entire season. Those events that were carried in the heart for years, because they were not just concerts: they were experiences, collective rites, emotions in pure form. Hold on to them, those memories. Guard them as you do with something precious. Because, judging from how things are going, we risk not experiencing many more like them.

The phenomenon of artists who decide to stop, to take a break, to escape from the spotlight to deal with burnout, is constantly growing. And it can't just be a coincidence. There is a deep weariness that is creeping in, a systemic malaise that can no longer be ignored. Because behind this escape from the stage - which was once a dream, a goal, a home - there is a perverse mechanism. A machine that produces, consumes and burns talent at an impressive speed. The enjoyment of music has changed. The times of waiting, of growth, of apprenticeship, seem like prehistoric stuff. Today, you release a single and, from one day to the next, you expect stadiums to fill up. As if a song, a handful of numbers on Spotify, were enough to create a real phenomenon. But the reality is much more complex, and less accommodating.

Tactical Penguins at San Siro

Then there is the economic issue. Concerts cost . And a lot. The public has limited resources and every choice involves a sacrifice. Thinking that every artist can sustain endless tours, with dates everywhere and guaranteed sold-outs, is a dangerous illusion. Which, in addition to not standing the test of facts, risks becoming a devastating boomerang. The crux of the matter is simple: with streaming, artists' earnings have drastically reduced. Music, understood as a marketable product, makes less and less. Thus, the only real source of income remains live performances. Which, however, are organized in a frantic manner. Date after date, without respite. Tickets at exorbitant prices and an organizational bulimia that often leads to more losses than gains.