How Labour’s New Budget Leaves the Music Industry Stuck in the Dark –

There was a moment, right after the election, when a few people dared to believe the tide might turn for the arts. After years of watching venues close, musicians flee to other careers, and creative workers getting used to living with chronic uncertainty, change felt overdue. Yet here we are, months into the new government, staring down a budget that proves how far removed Labour has drifted from the people whose work shapes the cultural identity of this country.

Instead of relief, the industry has been handed another set of problems wrapped in optimistic language that carries very little substance. Tax thresholds are frozen until 2031, the minimum wage has gone up, and hospitality is expected to absorb the blow as if it weren’t already gasping for breath. Music venues form the backbone of this sector, and many were already barely able to keep the lights on. Now they are being asked to do even more with margins that barely exist. There is not much of a light to hang onto, and the budget made that painfully clear.

The government’s silence on how AI is reshaping the landscape adds to the unease. The cultural workforce is one of the most exposed. Automation is quickly filtering through every corner of the industry, from recording studios to journalism to live production. Yet the budget offered nothing more than polite nods to innovation while side-stepping the looming reality of mass job displacement. In a world predicted by thinkers like Rutger Bregman in Utopia for Realists, Universal Basic Income was meant to soften the blow of AI-induced unemployment. Instead, we remain on a track where workers are expected to carry the burden alone. The sense of national despondency didn’t come from nowhere. It has been earned, one policy at a time.

Across the UK, musicians, promoters, technicians, bar staff, and everyone orbiting the live music economy are facing the same question. Where is the support meant to come from, if not from a government claiming to represent working people? And how much more can this sector endure before the infrastructure that once made Britain an international cultural force starts collapsing for good?

Frozen Tax Thresholds: A Quiet Squeeze with Loud Consequences

Freezing tax thresholds until 2031 has been dressed up as a neutral decision, as if the absence of movement equates to stability. In reality, it functions as a slow tightening of the belt for anyone earning modest wages, which describes the overwhelming majority of the UK’s creative workforce. As inflation continues to creep along and costs of living refuse to settle, millions will drift into higher tax brackets through no change in circumstance, only to find themselves with less disposable income year after year.

For musicians, producers, sound engineers, and freelancers who already navigate volatile incomes, this financial drag is a quiet threat that erodes whatever small buffers they might have managed to build. Even in stronger years, many barely cross the threshold that would allow them to save, invest, or put money back into their practice. The freeze functions like a siphon, drawing from the pockets of the people least equipped to absorb the loss.

For music venues, the fallout lands in a different way. Lower disposable income among the public means fewer people buying tickets, fewer people buying drinks, and fewer people taking chances on unfamiliar local acts. When a night out becomes a small luxury, audiences retreat to comfort, caution, and routine. That behavioural shift becomes a slow poison for grassroots venues that depend on crowds willing to explore.

The government insists this is all part of a sensible plan, but sensible for who? The freeze feels more like a refusal to acknowledge the lived reality of the working public. It puts the music industry in a position where creativity must survive in an environment shaped by policies that limit financial freedom. It tightens the landscape at the exact moment it needed breathing space.

Minimum Wage Rises and the Pressure on Hospitality

The increase in the minimum wage should have been welcomed without hesitation. In theory, it lifts people up. In practice, for hospitality venues that operate on margins which have already thinned to translucent levels, it introduces a fresh wave of financial strain. Live music cannot exist without hospitality. It relies on it. Venues are often pubs, bars, social clubs, restaurants, and multipurpose rooms where alcohol sales subsidise the cost of keeping a gig space open. Labour’s budget treats these places as if they are resilient enough to shoulder additional costs without unravelling.

Many are not. Some are still paying energy bills inflated beyond reason. Others are juggling back rent from lockdown years that were never truly forgiven. Now they must raise wages without receiving any structural support that offsets the hit. The outcome, if predictable, is still painful. Reduced staff hours. Fewer opening days. More cancelled events. And eventually, more closures.

Music venues have been disappearing at a rate that should alarm anyone who claims to care about culture. Communities lose spaces where young artists learn how to perform, where older artists reconnect after long absences, where locals form memories and friendships that sustain them. To see these places diminished further while the government insists this is a time of stability feels surreal.

Starmer’s Labour and the Shrinking Space for Culture

There was always suspicion that Labour under Starmer would not resemble the Labour people grew up with. The budget crystallises that shift. Culture has not been prioritised. If anything, it is treated as an expendable luxury rather than an essential component of national identity and well-being. Policies that might have protected creative workers are missing. The language surrounding the arts is vague, polite, and hollow.

Underneath it all is a message that culture must survive without meaningful intervention, that artists and venues should continue making do, stretching their limits, and proving their worth. This mindset leans far too close to the austerity logic that already gutted local arts funding over the past decade. Then, people were told to be patient and resilient. Now, they are told to be patient and grateful.

When a government signals that culture is low priority, sponsors withdraw. Councils downgrade funding. Schools cut music programmes. Younger generations lose access to real instruments and real spaces. It becomes a chain reaction that hollows out the ecosystem from every side. A nation that was once celebrated for its ability to export music across the world has been left stranded with shrinking infrastructure and rising barriers to entry.

AI, Lost Jobs, and the Abandoned Promise of Universal Basic Income

Among all the omissions in the new budget, the absence of any attempt to address the threat of AI stands out as the most negligent. Artists are already watching their work replicated by models that never tire, never demand pay, and never ask for credit. Studio engineers are watching tools appear that automate entire parts of their craft. Writers and journalists are seeing commissions fall because algorithms can spit out approximate work in moments. The quiet dread moving through creative circles is not paranoia. It is recognition that jobs are evaporating before the public even understands what has been lost.

Bregman’s Utopia for Realists predicted this moment with startling accuracy. The rise of automation would require a safety net that allowed workers to transition without falling into poverty. Universal Basic Income was presented as a rational step forward, a buffer that protected society from the economic chaos of technological disruption. Yet the UK has not moved towards that vision. If anything, it has retreated from it. The government talks about innovation as if it is harmless, ignoring the very real human cost sitting on the other side.

This leaves creative workers in a deeply unstable position. The industry is already notorious for inconsistent pay. AI magnifies that instability. Jobs disappear, wages shrink, and the workforce becomes overcrowded with people desperate to cling to whatever opportunities remain. When the government stays silent, the message feels cruelly simple. You are on your own.

No wonder the UK feels despondent. People can see a future where they are replaced, discarded, or devalued. They can see a world where the technology that was meant to liberate them instead traps them in deeper precarity. And they can see, very clearly, that the government has chosen not to intervene.

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Article by Amelia Vandergast