Live nation

In 2000, after Larry Magid sold his Philadelphia promotion company Electric Factory Concerts for an undisclosed sum, the buyer, Robert Sillerman, called at 12:30 a.m. to congratulate him. Then Sillerman said, “Now you congratulate me.”
“OK, congratulations on what?” Magid asked Sillerman, his new boss.

“Well, we merged,” Sillerman said.

Sillerman, then executive chairman of SFX Entertainment, was referring to his company’s $4.4 billion dollar sale to San Antonio, Texas-based broadcast behemoth Clear Channel Communications, which he’d finished at almost exactly the same time he bought Magid’s company. Thus, Magid would become an employee not of SFX, but Clear Channel, for the next five years — a period that was not easy for Magid, who had been Philly’s top independent promoter since roughly 1968, when he opened the Electric Factory club with a Chambers Brothers show. “It just seemed to be a struggle,” he recalls. “There were a lot of meetings, none of which we were used to.”

All this took place 25 years ago this week — Clear Channel’s purchase of SFX was announced Feb. 29, 2000 — and it would change the concert business forever. For decades, the live industry was ruled by unaffiliated local promoters like Magid, who ran their cities like local cartels as rock’n’roll evolved from tiny events to stadium concerts. Sillerman had spent the past three years buying out those local promoters — an acquisition spree that included big names like the late Bill Graham’s company in the Bay Area (for a reported $65 million), Don Law‘s company in Boston ($80 million) and lesser-known indies such as Avalon Attractions in Southern California ($27 million). The result was a consolidated behemoth that guaranteed advance payments of up to millions of dollars for top artists to do national tours, prompting promoters to raise prices for tickets, parking, food and alcohol to pay for their costs — all of which has become standard industry practice for concerts over the ensuing 25 years.

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Then Sillerman turned around and sold everything to Clear Channel.

By that point, the concert business no longer operated as a collection of regional fiefdoms — in which Bill Graham Presents and its Bay Area competitors competed for, say, a U2 date — but as a central entity in which SFX booked U2’s entire U.S. tour. In 2000, SFX was to promote 30 tours, from Tina Turner to Britney Spears to Ozzfest, “light years beyond what any other company has ever attempted,” Billboard reported at the time. “It has become nearly impossible for a major act to tour without SFX being involved in some way.”

“What [Sillerman] accomplished revolutionized the business. It was probably the biggest impact in the industry since the Beatles,” recalls Dennis Arfa, longtime agent for Billy Joel and others, who sold his talent agency to SFX and worked there for several years. “Bob took the business from a millionaire’s game to a billionaire’s game. From the street to Wall Street.” (Sillerman died in 2019.)

Sillerman’s sale to Clear Channel offered an even more tantalizing promise for the concert business: linking hundreds of top radio stations with top promoters and venues — “taking advantage of the natural relationship between radio and live music events,” Lowry Mays, Clear Channel’s chairman and CEO, said at the time of the sale.

But the venture ultimately failed. Many of the SFX promoters never felt they fit in at San Antonio-based Clear Channel. “We knew we were dealing with a very conservative family out of Texas — that was people’s main concern,” recalls Pamela Fallon, who’d worked with Boston promoter Don Law when SFX bought his company, then became a Clear Channel senior vp of communications. “We were pretty footloose and fancy-free in the concert business.”

Clear Channel’s meetings-heavy corporate culture reflected Mays, a former Texas petroleum engineer who, by 2000, had expanded the company from a single station in the early 1970s to a media giant with 867 radio stations and 19 TV stations, a robust billboard business and a weekly consumer base of 120 million. Along the way, Mays helped build conservative talk radio, using Clear Channel-owned syndicate Premiere Radio Networks to expand the reach of Rush Limbaugh, Laura Schlessinger and other right-wing hosts.

In 2001, writing in Salon, former Billboard reporter Eric Boehlert, later a progressive media critic, called Clear Channel “radio’s big bully.” In 2003, U.S. Senators questioned Mays about Clear Channel’s business practices during a committee hearing on media consolidation; the Eagles’ Don Henley showed up to accuse Clear Channel of strong-arming artists to work with the company, as opposed to its competitors. John Scher, a New York promoter who did not sell to SFX, Clear Channel or Live Nation, adds today: “The merger with Clear Channel, in some markets, was the death knell to local promoters: Sell to Clear Channel, or not be able to do any significant marketing with their radio stations.”

But the Clear Channel vision of combining radio with concerts had a fundamental flaw: It may have violated antitrust laws, as a rival Denver promoter claimed in a 2001 lawsuit, alleging the company blacked out radio airplay for artists who booked tours with Clear Channel rivals. (The parties settled in 2004.)

Other flaws in the “mega-merger,” as Billboard referred to it in a March 2000 front-page headline, were less public. In every market, according to Angie Diehl, a longtime marketing exec for promoters, who worked for both SFX and Clear Channel at the time, there were multiple competing radio stations that could present a concert. There were also multiple competing rival concert promoters. Clear Channel aimed to lock down all of these entities in one city so the company could control all the marketing, advertising and promotion of, say, U2.

“But there’s only one U2,” Diehl says. “The artist still dictates what they want. If you want U2 to play for you, and U2 says, ‘Well, we want KROQ to present the show,’ that’s who’s going to present the show.” Arfa adds that the combined company “never quite lived up to its synergistic ambitions.”

Perhaps recognizing this reality, Clear Channel spun off its concert division in 2005 — which would come to be known as Live Nation, led by Michael Rapino, a Canadian promoter who’d also sold his company to SFX. At first, despite emerging as the world’s biggest promoter, Live Nation struggled with hundreds of millions of dollars in debt — $367 million from the initial Clear Channel spin-off, growing to $800 million due to venue-maintenance fees over the next few years. But Rapino steered the promoter into a merger with ticket-selling giant Ticketmaster in 2008, providing crucial cashflow for years to come. “Until the Ticketmaster merger, I don’t think it made any money,” Scher says, adding that he used to book 30 to 40 New York arena shows per year, but industry dominance among Live Nation and top rival AEG has forced him to downsize to three or four. “They are formidable adversaries.”

In the long run, Live Nation solved a problem that the short-lived, SFX-infused Clear Channel Communications never quite figured out. (Clear Channel Communications renamed its radio operation iHeartMedia in 2014; Mays died in 2022.) So despite the promise — and the fears — that Clear Channel would take over the concert business and shut out competition, it was actually what came before and after the $4.4 billion acquisition that proved far more significant. Before the acquisition, SFX was the entity that expanded concert promotion from regional to national; after the acquisition, Live Nation made the concert industry more profitable than ever.

The promise of Clear Channel “synergy,” during its concert-industry excursion from 2000 to 2005, never fully paid off. “The idea was they were going to be able to promote all our concerts over their radio stations,” recalls Danny Zelisko, a Phoenix promoter who sold his company, Evening Star Productions, to SFX. “But at Clear Channel, [promoters] were the stepchild in the backseat. We were almost a dirty word. There was never anything about bringing the radio and the concerts together. It just wasn’t meant to be.”