By Tequila Mockingbird
Los Angeles, CA (The Hollywood Times) 11/1/25 – I used to think the most dangerous thing about going to a show was the band. Now it’s the bar tab.
Last night at the Greek Theatre—second time this month—I paid twenty bucks for a beer. Twenty. That’s not a beverage; that’s a minor investment. Everyone’s drinking water these days, not out of virtue, but survival. Backstage, the new normal is dry as bone: no food, no booze, no smoke. No one even has the sniffles anymore. The air is so clean it feels suspicious, like the CDC sponsored the tour.
I remember when rock shows smelled like spilled beer, pot, and danger. Now they smell like sanitizer and Dasani. It’s pre-punk life all over again—safe, sterile, and overpriced. I hated disco, but at least they had Quaaludes. Now we’re all just wide awake and wondering where our money went.
Someone told me they ordered two mixed drinks—just two—for themselves and their girlfriend. The bartender upsold them to doubles. The bill? Seventy-three dollars. I nearly choked on my bottled water. Between the $50 parking, $20 beer, and the security line that treats you like a felon—metal detectors, purse searches, confiscated perfume bottles—you start to wonder if they’re trying to keep us out… or lock us in.
We used to pay for music. Now we pay for permission to stand near it. But still, we go—because for those few shining hours, under the lights, we remember what it was like to be wild before everything got so goddamn expensive.
