Hey!
Last week, I wrote about the state of the ticket business and gave my State of the Union address called “Ticketmaster Won. Everyone Else Lost.”
I made the case that the ticketing ecosystem is broken not only because of bad actors, but because of broken incentives.
A system that has become about extraction, not relationships.
A primary market that has outsourced its fan relationships for so long that it is difficult for any one place to own them.
I expected some pushback.
I got something better: a real conversation.
The Exchange
Charles Kaufman, someone I’ve known for years, started it:
“Dave Wakeman it’s been a long time. Glad to see you doing so well and for continuing to be a thought leader in such a dynamic space.”
“I kind of feel like TM/LN is actually a very efficient and reliable platform for a wide majority of events, which are not in high demand. But it’s the high demand events that get the attention and skew the narrative.”
“All told, the fan is probably getting fleeced because with a monopoly in the market, there’s no checks and balances, no accountability to keep TM/LN honest. Then again, if you had multiple players in the space, rights to performances would go to the highest bidder and prices will stay elevated. I also feel like the reason there hasn’t been a serious challenger to TM is simply because there isn’t enough meat on the bone for everyone to sustain.”
“We’re talking about finite quantities, limited dates, and a consumer that simply cannot grasp not getting exactly what it wants on-demand.”
Charles is correct about the high-demand skew.
That minority of events that break the internet do shape the conversations.
He’s also correct that monopoly matters even when the product works.
Charles’s point about “not enough meat on the bone” for a challenger is the key point of the structural problem: the market is constructed to protect the status quo.
Then David Marcus, EVP of Global Business at Ticketmaster, joined in:
“Charles Kaufman maybe the first thoughtful take on the market realities I’ve seen. Well said. Though I’d take issue with your comment about high demand events. In the 5% of tours where demand dwarfs supply, there’s no other platform that’s capable of distributing tickets reliably. Separate the noise of potentially millions of fans simply not having tickets to buy, from the role of the ticketing company in securing the commercial outcomes defined by promoter and artist. We’re unrivaled in efficiency and providing tools that allow promoters to optimize yield (or not, when that’s the goal).”
“Our scale, our unique capabilities in high demand scenarios and the quality of our tools are a benefit to our clients. And there’s no serious evidence despite Dave’s calling us a ‘monopoly’ that scale is used to extract outsized margins or be predatory in any way.”
“As far as ‘keeping us honest,’ you’re undervaluing the power of the artists we work for. They rely on us to power the largest commercial engine in their careers, and they hold us accountable every day.”
“We don’t set prices, we don’t set fees, we’re transparent with our practices, we operate at the direction of our clients. It’s not a crime to be the best at what you do.”
David makes a fair point about capability.
Ticketmaster’s infrastructure in high-demand moments is real.
And, yes, if you are truly the best at something, that isn’t a crime.
I want to be clear about something: when I call Ticketmaster a monopoly, I’m using the term the way an economist would.
As a description of market structure. Exclusive deals. Barriers to entry. Lack of meaningful competition.
It’s not a moral argument. It’s an economic one.
But there’s something else in David’s response worth looking at.
The Word That Wasn’t Mine
David says: “There’s no serious evidence… that scale is used to extract outsized margins or be predatory in any way.”
Here’s the thing: I never used that word.
My piece wasn’t about intent.
It wasn’t about calling anyone predators.
It was about structure. About incentives.
About what happens when one company controls access to most major venues. Not because anyone is evil, but because that’s what happens in monopolized markets.
But David heard “predatory” anyway.
That’s worth thinking about.
What Does It Mean When You Jump to “Predatory?”
I don’t know David. I may have met him in passing. But I have no reason to question his good faith.
But when someone responds to an accusation you didn’t make, they are responding to something else.
Something they’ve been dealing with internally or externally for a long time.
So long that the accusation is reflexive and pops into their thinking even when it isn’t there.
Ticketmaster has spent years in the crosshairs of:
- Government inquiries
- Fan outrage
- Artist frustration
- Media scrutiny
At some point, this narrative becomes a part of the organization’s DNA. You can’t hear any idea or argument except for the worst possible version of it.
Here’s the thing: That’s not an accident. It’s the deal.
Ticketmaster’s business model is built on being the shield. They take shit, so the teams, artists, and venues don’t have to.
Fans hate the fees. That’s Ticketmaster’s problem, not the artist’s.
Fans blame the platform? Built into the model.
Fans feel exploited? They’ll still buy the tickets.
It’s a brilliant structure. For now.
Here’s what happens when you’ve been the shield for long enough: You stop being able to hear anything except the attacks.
Every critique sounds like an accusation. Every structural observation feels personal. Every conversation becomes a defense.
That’s not predatory intent.
That’s institutional drift. This is the thing I was writing about.
And here’s what drift does: The end becomes the means. Protecting the system becomes more important than serving the fan.
What Drift Looks Like From the Inside
David might say: “Our stakeholders are the teams, artists, and venues. We serve them.”
He’s right. That’s the model.
But here’s the thing about systems: they shape behavior, regardless of intent.
Think about how this works in other industries:
- Car manufacturers don’t set out to build cars that kill pedestrians. But when regulations are weak and profits point elsewhere, design decisions shift. Not because anyone is evil. Because the system rewards different things.
- Grocery stores don’t set out to create food deserts in low-income neighborhoods. But when the math says build elsewhere, that’s where they build. The system optimizes for what it’s designed to optimize for.
- Utilities don’t set out to give their customers terrible service. But when you’re the only option in town, the incentive to improve disappears. Not because the people are bad. Because the system doesn’t demand better.
Ticketmaster is no different.
Exclusive deals. Decade-long contracts. No competition. Those aren’t moral failures. They’re structural features of a system designed to protect itself.
Not because anyone woke up and said, “let’s be evil.” Because the system stopped demanding anything else.
That’s drift.
And when you’ve been drifting long enough, you stop being able to hear the difference between a structural critique and a personal attack.
Every observation about the system sounds like an accusation about you.
That’s not defensiveness. That’s what happens when the system becomes invisible to the people inside it.
The Fee Game
David says Ticketmaster doesn’t set fees. Clients do.
That’s true in a narrow sense. Fees are negotiated, not dictated.
That obscures reality.
Ticketmaster sits at the table when fees are set. They take a portion of every fee collected. Their ticketing division operates at about a 38% operating margin—$1.1 billion in profit on $3.1 billion in revenue. That profit comes from fees.
If Ticketmaster were merely a pass-through company with no control, that margin would be near zero. Instead, it is one of the most profitable parts of Live Nation’s business.
Ticketmaster’s own help pages admit that fees are “shared between the parties…including Ticketmaster.” Their UK business FAQ states plainly: “We take a proportion of the added fees to cover the cost of running our business.”
All-in pricing doesn’t change this. It just moves the numbers around. The money still flows the same way. The allocation between “face value” and “fees” becomes arbitrary: a function of negotiation, nothing else.
“We don’t set fees” isn’t a defense. It is a description of how the system works.
A system designed to protect the status quo.
Monopoly Changes Everything
This pattern isn’t unique to tickets.
Across the economy, when companies gain monopoly power, incentives shift. Behaviors change. Prices go up.
And the people inside these organizations stop seeing that clearly. Because the incentives have changed.
Look at tech. The Justice Department is currently suing Apple, accusing it of maintaining an illegal smartphone monopoly through its “walled garden.” Regulators argue that Apple’s control over the iPhone ecosystem enables it to charge higher prices and stifle innovation.
Apple’s defense? The walled garden protects privacy and security.
Sound familiar? A dominant player, a structural advantage, and a defense that sounds reasonable until you look at the incentives.
Look at pharma. Government-granted patent monopolies allow drug companies to charge prices far above what a competitive market would bear. The result? Pharmacy benefit managers exist largely to navigate these artificial price gaps.As one economist put it, we don’t have food or clothing benefit managers. PBMs only exist because patent monopolies create enormous gaps between cost and price.
Look at “superstar firms.” Economists have documented a global trend: the rise of large, dominant firms with increasing market power. Average markups in the U.S. increased from 21% above marginal cost in 1980 to 61% above marginal cost in 2016.
The firms with the highest markups saw the greatest increases. Not because they’re evil. Because scale and lack of competition change what looks like a good decision.
This is what I mean when I say monopoly isn’t just a label. It’s a system.
The Deeper Point
Here’s where I land:
Monopoly isn’t just a label. It isn’t just a name to throw out. It is a system of incentives and behaviors that can shape everything, including intent.
When one company controls access to most major venues, the incentives shift.
Not because anyone is evil.
Because size, scale, and lack of competition change what constitutes a good decision.
David can point to record revenues, growing margins, and more tickets sold. He’s not wrong.
But drift isn’t about today’s P&L. It’s about tomorrow’s options.
- Data collected at arm’s length isn’t the same as owning the relationship.
- Not setting the price isn’t the same as having pricing power.
- Fee structures that fans hate become “industry standard” because “everyone else is doing it.”
You can’t see any of that on a balance sheet. But you’ll feel it when the next crisis hits and no one shows up to help.
That’s drift. Not because you’re evil. Because you’ve been drifting.
The Question That Matters
This isn’t about naming heroes and villains.
This is about naming structures and asking the question:
Does this system serve the fan?
In my opinion, it doesn’t.
When fans stay home, when people are priced out, everyone loses. Artists. Venues. Promoters. And, yes, even Ticketmaster.
That’s not a prediction. That’s already happening.
I appreciate Charles and David for engaging. Seriously.
It is nice to have people show up and say what they think.
If you’ve got thoughts, hit reply. You always get me.
Dave