When the Lansdowne Hotel in Sydney announced it was dropping live music programming last month, I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed, sure. But surprised? Not even slightly.

The Lansdowne had been a cornerstone of Sydney’s live music scene since the 1970s. Bands like Midnight Oil, The Hoodoo Gurus, and more recently Middle Kids had played there. Its closure as a music venue follows a pattern that’s become grimly predictable across Australian cities.

The Numbers

Music Victoria’s latest survey found that 23% of live music venues in Greater Melbourne have either closed permanently or significantly reduced their live programming since 2019. Sydney’s numbers are worse. The Live Music Office estimates that the inner west alone has lost more than a dozen dedicated live music rooms in the past five years.

Brisbane has fared somewhat better, partly because lower commercial rents give venues more breathing room. But even there, the margins are razor thin. A venue operator in Fortitude Valley told me their rent has increased 40% since their last lease renewal.

Perth and Adelaide have their own stories, but the theme is consistent: fewer places for bands to play, especially the small and medium rooms where new artists develop their craft.

Why It’s Happening

It’s tempting to point to a single cause, but the venue crisis is the result of several pressures converging.

Property development remains the primary killer. When a live music venue sits on land worth millions to residential developers, the economic logic is brutal. No amount of cultural significance competes with a twenty-story apartment tower in a council planning meeting.

Noise complaints from new residents continue to strangle established venues. Despite agent of change legislation in several states, the enforcement is inconsistent and the legal costs of fighting complaints are prohibitive for small operators. I’ve heard from multiple venue owners who spend more on acoustic consultants and legal fees than they do on sound equipment.

Rising costs are the slow bleed. Electricity prices, insurance premiums, liquor licensing fees, council rates, and staffing costs have all increased substantially. A venue that was marginally profitable in 2019 is likely losing money now unless they’ve radically changed their model.

Changing audience behaviour matters too. The cost-of-living crunch means fewer people going out on weeknights. The competition for attention from streaming content, gaming, and social media is real. A mid-week show that might have drawn sixty people five years ago now struggles to get thirty.

What It Means for Artists

The loss of small venues creates a gap in the development pipeline that’s hard to see but devastating in effect.

Here’s how it used to work: a new band would play their first shows at a 50-capacity room. They’d build a following, move up to 150-capacity venues, then 300, then 500. Each step involved learning how to play to a room, how to promote a show, how to deal with sound engineers and venue staff. It was an apprenticeship.

When the 50 and 150-capacity rooms disappear, that apprenticeship breaks down. New artists are left with two options: play house shows and warehouse parties (which have their own issues with insurance and safety), or skip straight to trying to book 300-capacity rooms they can’t fill yet.

Several festival programmers I’ve spoken to have noticed the effect. “The development gap is real,” one told me. “We’re seeing acts who have massive streaming numbers but haven’t played enough shows to hold a festival crowd. Five years ago, they’d have done two hundred pub gigs before they got to this level.”

What Might Help

State government intervention has been mixed. Victoria’s Music Development Office has done solid work with the LIVE program, providing grants for soundproofing and operational costs. New South Wales has been slower to act, though the recent night-time economy initiatives show some promise.

Local councils could make a bigger difference than most realise. Zoning protections for live music venues, reduced rates for cultural spaces, and streamlined noise regulation would address several pressure points simultaneously. Some councils are moving in this direction. Most aren’t.

The industry itself is experimenting. Some venues have shifted to hybrid models — cafe by day, music room by night. Others have moved to ticketed-only shows to guarantee revenue. A few are trying membership models, where regular attendees pay a monthly fee for priority access and drink discounts.

None of these are complete solutions. The fundamental problem is that live music venues generate enormous cultural value and modest financial returns, while the land they sit on appreciates in pure financial terms. Until we find better ways to bridge that gap, we’ll keep losing rooms.

Every venue that closes takes a piece of local culture with it. The Lansdowne isn’t just a building — it’s thousands of formative experiences for musicians and audiences. Once those spaces are gone, they don’t come back.