Imagine this: You’ve been waiting months for your favorite artist’s concert, only to discover the cheapest ticket available is three times the original price. This isn’t a hypothetical scenario—it’s the reality for countless fans in a system where secondary markets have turned event access into a high-stakes game of financial roulette. California’s recent failure to pass AB 1720, a bill aimed at capping resale prices, is the latest chapter in this ongoing battle between consumers, artists, and corporate gatekeepers. But the story here isn’t just about tickets; it’s a microcosm of a larger conflict between grassroots demand and the relentless machinery of profit-driven platforms.
Personally, I think the collapse of AB 1720 reveals a disturbing truth: When powerful entities like StubHub invest millions in lobbying, they’re not just fighting a policy—they’re defending a business model that thrives on scarcity and artificial demand. The bill’s amendment to limit its scope to smaller venues feels like a strategic retreat, a move that waters down its impact while still allowing the most lucrative resale markets to operate unchecked. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it mirrors broader societal trends where corporate interests consistently outmaneuver public interest initiatives, even when those initiatives enjoy widespread support from artists, fans, and independent venues.
Let’s dissect the numbers. StubHub’s $3.4 million lobbying spree in California alone is enough to fund a small city’s annual budget. Yet the company claims this spending is about ‘putting fans first.’ That’s the kind of doublespeak that makes me want to throw a punch. If ‘choice’ really meant access, why would they spend so much to block caps that would prevent tickets from being hoarded by bots and resold at exorbitant prices? The irony is that by opposing price limits, StubHub is effectively ensuring that only the wealthiest fans can attend events, which directly contradicts their stated mission. What this really suggests is that the platform’s loyalty lies not with fans, but with the algorithmic arbitrageurs who profit from their desperation.
Meanwhile, the bill’s original proponents—artists like Noah Kahan and advocates for independent venues—were left holding the short end of the stick. It’s a bitter pill to swallow when creators who pour their souls into music find themselves sidelined by a system that prioritizes profit over passion. From my perspective, this isn’t just about ticket prices; it’s about who gets to control the narrative around live experiences. When a venue can’t afford to host a show because scalpers have siphoned off all the revenue, the entire ecosystem suffers. The amendment to target only smaller venues feels like a Pyrrhic victory for the bill’s supporters, as it leaves the most exploitative practices untouched.
What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t an isolated issue—it’s part of a global pattern where secondary markets have become the default for event access. In places like Vermont and Washington, D.C., where similar laws have passed, fans are finally seeing tangible results. Yet in California, the most populous state in the nation, the fight continues. If you take a step back and think about it, this failure highlights a deeper problem: Our political system is increasingly rigged in favor of those who can afford to buy influence. The fact that a bill backed by artists and venues still couldn’t survive StubHub’s lobbying machine says everything about the imbalance of power in today’s entertainment economy.
This raises a deeper question: Can we ever truly democratize access to culture without dismantling the financial incentives that drive scalping? A detail that I find especially interesting is how StubHub frames itself as a ‘fan-first’ platform while simultaneously enabling practices that exclude the very people it claims to serve. What’s even more troubling is the lack of public outrage—despite the obvious harm, many fans still use these platforms, unaware of the systemic issues at play. If we’re honest, this isn’t just about tickets; it’s about who gets to decide what’s valuable in our cultural landscape. And right now, the answer is clear: Those with the deepest pockets.
Looking ahead, I suspect this battle isn’t over. While California’s bill failed, the momentum for reform is undeniable. The fact that states like Massachusetts are embedding price caps into their budgets shows that the tide is turning. But the real test will come when we start questioning whether platforms like StubHub deserve to exist at all—or if they should be held accountable for the damage they’ve inflicted on both fans and the live music industry. One thing is certain: Until we stop treating event access as a commodity to be monetized, the fight for fair pricing will continue to be a losing battle for everyone except the ones profiting from the chaos.
