Take Back Control?
It’s not that we don’t care. It’s that we’ve been convinced it won’t make a difference. Let's change that.
There’s a lie I hear everywhere. In meetings, at gigs, on panels, in pubs. It goes something like this:
"Yeah, I agree with you. But what can we actually do?"
It’s said as a shrug, as a sigh, as a weary half-question. Sometimes it comes with a joke about council planning committees, or landlords, or "the way things are." Other times it’s quieter, more defensive — the voice of someone who’s given up trying to change things, and doesn’t want to be made to feel foolish for doing so. But however it’s said, wherever it’s said, it sticks. Because it feels true.
We’ve all absorbed it. Not just in the music world — everywhere. We’re not in charge of the places we live. The high street belongs to someone else. The venue belongs to someone else. The decisions? Those are someone else’s too. Somewhere along the way, we stopped believing that the places we care about could be ours — and that we could do anything meaningful to keep them.
And that’s the lie. That’s the thing that’s eating at us. Not apathy. Not indifference. But this carefully cultured sense of dis-empowerment.
You can care, just don’t expect to change anything.
You can raise awareness, just don’t ask for control.
You can write the press release, just don’t expect to write the rules.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Not just because of what's been happening in the live music sector (though that would be reason enough) but because more and more of the work I’m drawn to lately isn’t just about protecting cultural spaces — it’s about challenging the idea that cultural spaces are even ours to protect.
This has been especially clear to me when I speak with people outside the bubble of the music industry. Artists, yes, but also teachers. Pub landlords. Taxi drivers. Shop workers. People who aren’t just watching their communities change — they’re watching them be changed for them, without their input and usually without their consent.
They don’t talk about the '“talent pipeline”, “displacement”, “ownership models” or “structural regeneration”. They say things like:
“We used to have three music nights a week here. Now it’s a vape shop and a Costa.”
“That club got turned into flats. No one asked us.”
“There’s nothing for the kids now.”
The same stories. The same sense of loss. And the same resignation. It’s not that people don’t care. It’s that they’ve stopped believing there’s anything they can do.
And I don’t blame them. I’ve felt it too. When I walk through a town centre and see yet another closed venue, or a cultural space, or a wasteland where there used to be a sports ground, all replaced with something no one asked for — I feel it. When I read the government response to a perfectly sensible set of Select Committee recommendations and it basically amounts to “not right now,” I feel it. When I see the data on how many venues we’re losing, and how much harder it is to keep the lights on each month, I feel it.
But here’s the thing:
That feeling — that belief that nothing can change — is the thing that we must change first.
Because I’ve also seen the opposite. I’ve seen what happens when a community refuses to give up a venue. When artists put their name, their platform, their actual cash behind the places that helped them get started. When an idea that sounds idealistic on paper — owning something together, running it for music, not profit — actually works.
And I’ve come to believe something else: The most radical thing we can do right now isn’t to write another report or make another speech or host another consultation. The most radical thing we can do is act. Directly. With confidence. Not just talk about reclaiming space. Actually do it.
I know that sounds big. I know it sounds vague. But it’s not. It’s very specific. It’s already happening and you’re going to hear a lot more about it and what more can be done very soon. But this post isn’t about what is coming next, it’s about the why.
Why it matters to challenge the idea that we’re powerless. Why it matters to believe — really believe — that our towns and cities can be shaped by the people who live in them. Why it matters that we stop shrugging and start owning.
I don’t know what your version of that looks like. Maybe it’s a venue. Maybe it’s a skate park. Maybe it’s a local paper, or a pub, or a patch of grass with potential. Maybe it’s just the lingering sense that your hometown deserves more than being a footnote in a developer’s brochure.
Whatever it is, here’s the truth:
It’s not too late. The lie is only powerful if we all keep repeating it.
You’re not powerless. You’re just waiting to remember what power actually looks like.
And sometimes it looks like something very simple. Someone saying:
"That’s ours. Let’s keep it."
“If you can’t change the whole world, change the world around you.”
Still the best advice I ever found on a 7-inch single.
Do you know any places where we can see examples of people and organisations doing this?
I've come across a couple, such as Hastings Commons and Nudge Community Builders in Plymouth, and I'm sure you could tell me of a few more, but having some kind of website / database / online community with case studies of how it can be done would help others to feel like they're not just doing this alone and that it's not an impossible task.
I know MVT likely holds that database for music venues, but you're right in flagging that this is an issue across all types of community spaces, so there are likely way more case studies than we realise.
This a longer version of the best piece of advice I’ve ever had, one I’ve shared with many people. I will always be grateful to you for it. For me it’s led to wildflower patches where there was once just grass and cleaner local rivers because I found a group of volunteers who look after our rivers. It can apply to any aspect of life and has certainly helped me feel a bit less powerless. Choose something small you want to make better and keep plugging away at it!