On the Rocks: Challenging Big Alcohol’s Troubling Influence on the Music Industry

By: Daniel G. Wilson | Art by: Michael Rancic 

I have always felt out of place in most live music spaces, whether I have performed on stage, been a part of the crowd, or organized the entire event. No matter how much my love of the music connects me to the crowd, my near constant sobriety has always put me in a position of being slightly out of step with those around me. As a child, it was a point of curiosity as to why so much of what we consider recreation in western culture is so tied to alcohol. Growing up in Canada and Jamaica, it was hard not to notice the importance of drinking and its grip on individuals. With most of my exposure to the substance being largely negative up to and including the loss of close family members, the idea of alcohol consumption had lost any and all potential mystique and I made the choice to become a teetotaler. For a long time, I wondered why such a destructive substance maintained such a hold on my own life and community. But alcohol’s ubiquitous presence across music is where a large part of its power lies. Commercially and socially, alcohol is so bound up in every aspect of the music industry and music culture, so much so that seeking out spaces where it isn’t centred requires a lot of work— and oftentimes the existence of such spaces is short-lived. The absence of viable alternatives should raise critical concerns for anyone passionate about music and culture, and prompts a closer examination of the implications for artistic expression, societal norms, and the feasibility of a future where sobriety isn’t some marginalized exception. 

Following the money:

The music and alcohol industries have long been intertwined. Popular music is typically enjoyed at spaces that serve alcohol, such as bars or nightclubs. For many of these venues, the large profit potential of alcohol sales serves as the primary or even only source of income, and this is especially salient as commercial rents and property taxes skyrocket. This economic reality fosters an environment where the sale and consumption of alcohol takes greater precedence over the music itself.

“I consider myself very lucky to have grown up in a time and place, where there was a big alternative DIY community,” says Matty Morand over a video call from their home in Windsor, Ontario. “For the majority of my early formative years playing music, drinking wasn’t really at the forefront in the same way that it is now, or in a lot of spaces now.” Morand is the front person of sober Canadian indie power-pop/punk band Pretty Matty as well as a member of the band Pony. They have been active in the Southern Ontario punk and independent music scene since the mid ‘00s and have largely been straight-edge since their teens. Morand’s band actively circumvents the typical relationship with alcohol that musicians are expected to partake in. The differences between Morand’s formative experiences and the material reality today couldn’t be more stark, they explain. “[For] bands who are being considered for a show, oftentimes their [previous] alcohol sales are a factor in their being chosen.” 

It’s not uncommon in DIY and club circuits for bands to be paid with “drink tickets,” essentially free drinks, in lieu of monetary remuneration. “When I was in my late teens, early 20s, we definitely had that happen,” Nigel Jenkins tells me over the phone while looking back on his experiences in the mid to late 00s. Jenkins is a musician, artist manager, label owner, and co-founder of the Newfoundland-based, multi-use music and art space 62 Broadway, which acts as an alcohol free, all-ages performance venue. “And I would always try and negotiate like, ‘Wow, can you just give us even $50 instead of the drink tickets? Because we don’t want these drink tickets.’ And even that was a stretch back in the day.” 

Jenkins and Morand’s experiences highlight the struggle many musicians face on a regular basis. There’s an uncomfortable push and pull— not only must they grapple with the commodified aspects of the industry at large, but also the implication that the art they pour their souls and labour into is only valued if alcohol is involved.

This relationship between the two industries doesn’t stop with alcohol acting as a kind of currency within live performance spaces or clubs, but also extends into the realm of direct investment. Alcohol manufacturers in Canada and across the world are some of the biggest sources of financial support to the music industry, typically in the form of paid sponsorships and partnerships at festivals and events, advertisements in music-related magazines and websites, or hands-on involvement in the curation and promotion of live shows and festivals. Musicians in turn also become brand ambassadors, or use their profile to market their own vanity spirits and brews. According to a paper published in the peer-reviewed Substance Use & Misuse medical journal in 2013, it is incredibly common for specific brands of alcohol to even be called out in popular songs. Across the music industry, from working class musicians to mega pop stars, artists have vested financial incentives to devoting their time and energy to selling alcohol, whether that’s through bringing audiences out to shows, or more overtly, through directly marketing alcohol as its own kind of merchandise.

The politics of pleasure:

The link between alcohol and music is long-standing and predates either industry, to the point where the association of “having a good time” with the consumption of alcohol could very easily be argued to be conventional wisdom. This is particularly true in music culture where the common saying “sex, drugs, and rock n roll” is typically associated with the lifestyles of music industry workers. “Whether it’s a wedding or a party, or a funeral, any event basically assumes that alcohol is a pretty big function in that,” says Canadian journalist and author James Wilt, over a mid-afternoon phone conversation. “[There’s an assumption] it’s just something that people will always, inevitably, naturally want and there’s no possible alternative to it. That has a very sort of self-reinforcing [effect].” Wilt has extensively researched the alcohol industry for his book Drinking up the revolution: how to smash big alcohol and reclaim working-class joy. Throughout the book, Wilt examines the social history of alcohol and the ways in which “big alcohol” has influenced the drinking habits of western society. 

Bars and nightclubs have long been places for not only musical enjoyment but also regular social gatherings, acting as community hubs. It is in bars that people normally meet and interact with friends, fall in love, and alleviate stress from the events of the day or week. Pubs, or public houses, were largely third spaces— places where people could gather and be social, and as spirits became commodified via the alcohol industry, the sale of alcohol has spread to other (increasingly private) spaces where people gather to be social. “You can’t go to the movie theater and escape it,” Morand observes. “More and more and more, you’re seeing it pop up in spaces that it wasn’t in previously. It’s just everywhere.”

“I really do think that a big part of it is has to be attributed to the very concerted work that the alcohol industry itself has done for decades to really associate any form of relaxation or pleasure with alcohol consumption,” Wilt adds. “And this is the part I think often gets left out is the really concerted efforts by the industry to do so. I mean, it is a highly profitable commodity.”

Despite the industry-pushed idea of alcohol as an “affordable pleasure” as Wilt describes it, alcohol is, for many people, a source of social disharmony and harm. The centering of alcohol and lack of spaces where it isn’t available isolates and alienates people who simply have no interest in partaking in the consumption of alcohol for a variety of personal reasons. Likewise, it can prevent people under the legal drinking age from engaging. Intoxication can also cause safety concerns, both to the person drinking and those around them. “The negative experiences that people have in the settings or in these communities, it’s like it’s around people who are intoxicated, or alternately, intoxication is used as an excuse for behaviors that are otherwise unacceptable,” says Morand. “I think people can often let things slide that they might not otherwise because somebody was drunk.” 

Creating alternative spaces, not even necessarily to decentre alcohol but simply to offer performance venues outside of a bar or club, comes with its own set of challenges. There are often myriad permits and licenses even just to throw an event, and one wrong piece of paperwork, or omitting paperwork altogether, invites the attention of bylaw officers or municipal police. Such spaces often exist in residential areas, either in houses or lofts, which invariably leads to noise complaints and friction between neighbours, when the underlying desire is simply to have a space to gather and be social and not have to do so in a black box with a bar attached. Starting a DIY space with these priorities in mind shouldn’t be so difficult, but the fees, fines, surveillance, violence, and potential evictions that come attached make the notion riskier than it ought to be. “There have been house concert series’ locally who have run into issues with noise bylaws,” says Jenkins. “I’ve seen that with venues in cities like Halifax, that are sort of within mixed-use areas, places that tried to get a live music venue thing going but then just couldn’t make it happen because of regular noise complaints and fines.” 

A different perspective:

Such efforts contribute to long-standing attempts to create alternatives to the alcohol-focused nature of the music industry. Many of these alternatives have been heavily associated with punk and independent music scenes. Many can be categorized as either philosophical approaches that influence people’s actions or more grounded attempts at creating physical infrastructure where people can gather. Holistically, it is clear that both approaches are rooted in the same wider sense of community and a desire for grass-roots collective action that carves out space within music where the concerns of big industry do not control people’s ability to engage in art, and to do so on their own terms. No one should feel like they have to drink, or have to perform in a bar.

While it might seem like so much of social culture revolves around alcohol, it must be noted that this association is not universal. For centuries, much of the Islamic world has managed to enjoy many of the same social practices and activities without the consumption of alcohol being necessary due to, in many cases, it being either outright banned or strongly discouraged due to socio-religious reasons. As noted in Wilt’s book, roughly 43% of the global population consumes alcohol as a primary form of recreation or even at all, and this number has decreased from 48% in the early ‘00s (numbers corroborated by World Health Organization), meaning that the majority of the world does not actively drink. Not only is there a historical and modern cultural  precedent for social gathering, political organization, and recreation that does not require the presence of alcohol,  meaning that alternatives to the current models are potentially possible within the music industry.

The philosophical opposition to alcohol consumption has been expressed in Western popular music since the temperance movement in the 1800s, and many musicians have led teetotaler lifestyles, with famous examples being avant-garde Jazz musician Eric Dolphy and AC/DC guitarist Angus Young. However, there had never been a major cultural movement from within music that had directly tackled the ubiquity of alcohol consumption in the musical landscape until the introduction of straight edge in the 1980s. Born out of the Washington DC hardcore scene, it was loosely formed around the expressed opinions of the enigmatic punk stalwart Ian McKaye in the songs “Out of Step” and “Straight Edge” (sometimes abbreviated and stylized as sXe) during his time fronting the hardcore punk band Minor Threat. While these songs were not intended to start a movement and were simply expressions of personal ideals, as McKaye has frequently stated, the philosophy expressed in them struck a chord with many young people who were looking for an alternative to the pervasive presence of alcohol in the music industry, with many musicians and and non-musicians connected to the punk culture still claiming straight edge as a lifestyle. “It was something that I was drawn to as a little kid”, says Morand, explaining his own journey into the lifestyle as a teenager.

Despite its rich history, straight edge should not be treated as a one-size-fits-all alternative to the alcohol-centric nature of mainstream music culture. While some groups advocate for it dogmatically, in its purest form, straight edge simply describes a personal mindset of non-reliance and abstinence from addictive substances. Originating in the DIY punk culture of the ‘80s as a reaction to the prevailing “sex, drugs, and rock & roll” lifestyle encouraged by the music industry, it is a proof-of-concept that an alternative way of thinking and organizing is possible. However, using it as a basis for policy would be as effective as prohibition. In an interview done for the documentary “Edge: The Movie” MacKaye emphasizes that straight edge is not a movement, but a celebration of individual choice, cautioning against losing sight of humanity in the pursuit of a militant movement. 

Nearly forty years on, straight edge exists as a reminder that there is desire and capacity to build alternatives at the grassroots level. Some venues, like 62 Broadway, are able to supplement the income that would typically come from alcohol sales through a variety of sources. “We’re not dependent on revenues from alcohol sales or even ticket sales,” says Jenkins, discussing the venue’s operations. “We’re in a bit of a privileged position to be able to position ourselves as a dry space because of the way that our business actually runs.” 62 Broadway isn’t solely a venue, but is also home to an artists’ management company, record label, and publishing company. “The events that we do run are done more from a community building and community engagement model or perspective than they are from a revenue generating sort of model or expectations,” Jenkins explains. 

Like 62 Broadway, there are spaces and initiatives all over the country and abroad that are developing creative approaches to the idea of dry spaces. Halifax’s RadStorm is a collectively owned and operated space that also prioritizes youth engagement. RadStorm acts as a community space, rehearsal space, recording studio, venue, zine library, gallery, and host to a number of community workshops. Industry wide, there have been open calls for change and examinations of the relationship with alcohol and even “pause drinking”. Though there are endless puff pieces about how “millennials” and “gen Z” are drinking less than their predecessors and it’s killing the industry, countless studies show alcohol sales are increasing, along with alcohol-related deaths. The need for sustainable, alternative spaces has never been greater.  

This need for spaces that decenter alcohol extends not only to music but also to society at large. The ability for people to not engage with alcohol if they so choose is a matter of personal freedom, as much as the existence of designated places where people can freely consume if they so choose. This is especially true in music, as the influence that big alcohol has on the industry is indicative of the wider chokehold that capitalist enterprises and business have had on both music industry workers and enjoyers of the art form. And as these systems continue to fail us, the need for grassroots and community-based alternatives grows ever more urgent.

There are valid reasons why the live music industry has accepted that one of its primary financial supporters is the alcohol industry, but we are also seeing signs of people questioning that necessity and who it ultimately serves. There needs to be space open for alternatives to an alcohol-centered musical landscape, not just to ensure an overall healthy musical culture, but to also allow for broader accessibility for people to fully enjoy the artform without the association of alcohol being seen as a necessity. In the search for an alternative, it is clear that outside the box thinking is necessary.