Are music venues as valuable as houses – and can we prove it?

An economic powerhouse? The George Tavern in London's East End. Image: Dan Kitwood/Getty.

It is well documented that London has lost over a third of its grassroots music venues since 2007. One of the reasons given for this phenomenon is that, in our current economic climate and planning framework, venues are market failures.

What that means is that the value of a venue in London simply isn't comparable to that of the flats that could be built on its site. A venue worth £300,000 could be converted into 6 or 8 flats, each worth as much as the venue itself.

For a landowner in these circumstances, it is difficult to provide an economic argument to retain the venue (or art gallery, or rehearsal space, or comedy club, or...). And with our planning system prioritising housing over everything else, those flats are easy to develop, sell and profit from.


And yet, our councils, government and property developers all know that the cultural value of a grassroots music venue – or independent theatre, or cinema, or art gallery for that matter – can make an area desirable. One of the key reasons Hackney is one of London's fastest growing boroughs is its night time offer.

We can take this argument further. What if a venue was as valuable to the landowner as the aforementioned flats? What if, when a venue was supported, those businesses and residences around it would benefit economically? Land value would increase; more traders would open.

To argue this case, over a few cups of coffee a colleague of mine and I dissected his venue in Dalston.  Here’s our take.

Running the numbers

This venue sees 234 people go through its doors each day, each spending an average of £10 per head on entry fees, alcohol and food. It’s open seven days a week, and has a capacity of 250.

Let’s argue that, of these people, 60 per cent live locally. Half of those walked or cycled, while the other half took public transport to get to and from this venue, at a cost of £2.30 each way. The other 40 per cent commuted from other parts of the city. Of these, we estimate that 80 per cent took the tube and 20 per cent took taxis at a cost of £15 per ride.

Let's assume that one-third of these 234 people ate out, either before or after visiting this venue, each spending another £15 per head. On top of this, this venue contributes £64,000 each year in PAYE, alcohol duty, license costs and business rates to the exchequer. In addition, it pays £5,000 per month rent to the landowner, or £60,000 per year.

Using our iPhone calculators, we tallied up that his venue contributes £694,000 to the local economy each year, outside of its independent takings as a business. Include those, and the amount rises to £1.3m.

Furthermore, this venue employs 12 people at the London living wage. In total, this venue is worth, theoretically speaking, as much as £2m a year to the local and national economy.

And this is one venue. On Kingsland High Street in Dalston, there are half a dozen of these. Across Hackney, there are dozens.

Let’s compare this with the value of one flat in a local development in Dalston. A two-bed is retailing at £450,000, a price the developer will earn once. Council taxes and other fees on such a property, on average, add a further £2,500 to £4,000 to the local economy, not to mention another £4,000 to £6,000 in ancillary costs like utilities and other services.


The space this venue inhabits could accommodate perhaps four new properties, which would net a developer around £2m on the sales. That, though, is a one off return, not something that will be pumped into the economy year after year.

Our calculations are inevitably rough – but they merit further investigation. What they show is that the term "value" has different definitions, depending on the party doing the valuing. To a developer, building and then exiting a project is of more value that renting out equal space to a leaser to open a venue, regardless of art form.

But what if this venue, or all six on the High Street, closed? We would lose secondary and tertiary value: the service providers supporting the venue, its rate and PAYE bill, the value of the music (or art, or theatre) being incubated and of course, the space’s cultural value. What's more, the saleability of the flats would be impacted, because there would be fewer things to do in Dalston.

And with business rates returning to councils now, it is in local authorities’ best interests to understand and capitalise on the economies businesses create, both inside and outside their doors.

So when we look at that value of our grassroots music venues, our nightclubs – our music incubators, as they should be referred to – let’s value them both culturally and economically. If we measure their value properly, they are worth their weight in pounds and pence.

Dr Shain Shapiro is the managing director of Sound Diplomacy, a consultancy specialising in music cities and market development. 

 
 
 
 

What does the fate of Detroit tell us about the future of Silicon Valley?

Detroit, 2008. Image: Getty.

There was a time when California’s Santa Clara Valley, bucolic home to orchards and vineyards, was known as “the valley of heart’s delight”. The same area was later dubbed “Silicon Valley,” shorthand for the high-tech combination of creativity, capital and California cool. However, a backlash is now well underway – even from the loyal gadget-reviewing press. Silicon Valley increasingly conjures something very different: exploitation, excess, and elitist detachment.

Today there are 23 active Superfund toxic waste cleanup sites in Santa Clara County, California. Its culture is equally unhealthy: Think of the Gamergate misogynist harassment campaigns, the entitled “tech bros” and rampant sexism and racism in Silicon Valley firms. These same companies demean the online public with privacy breaches and unauthorised sharing of users’ data. Thanks to the companies’ influences, it’s extremely expensive to live in the area. And transportation is so clogged that there are special buses bringing tech-sector workers to and from their jobs. Some critics even perceive threats to democracy itself.

In a word, Silicon Valley has become toxic.

Silicon Valley’s rise is well documented, but the backlash against its distinctive culture and unscrupulous corporations hints at an imminent twist in its fate. As historians of technology and industry, we find it helpful to step back from the breathless champions and critics of Silicon Valley and think about the long term. The rise and fall of another American economic powerhouse – Detroit – can help explain how regional reputations change over time.

The rise and fall of Detroit

The city of Detroit became a famous node of industrial capitalism thanks to the pioneers of the automotive age. Men such as Henry Ford, Horace and John Dodge, and William Durant cultivated Detroit’s image as a centre of technical novelty in the early 20th century.

The very name “Detroit” soon became a metonym for the industrial might of the American automotive industry and the source of American military power. General Motors president Charles E. Wilson’s remark that, “For years I thought what was good for our country was good for General Motors, and vice versa,” was an arrogant but accurate account of Detroit’s place at the heart of American prosperity and global leadership.

The public’s view changed after the 1950s. The auto industry’s leading firms slid into bloated bureaucratic rigidity and lost ground to foreign competitors. By the 1980s, Detroit was the image of blown-out, depopulated post-industrialism.

In retrospect – and perhaps as a cautionary tale for Silicon Valley – the moral decline of Detroit’s elite was evident long before its economic decline. Henry Ford became famous in the pre-war era for the cars and trucks that carried his name, but he was also an anti-Semite, proto-fascist and notorious enemy of organised labor. Detroit also was the source of defective and deadly products that Ralph Nader criticized in 1965 as “unsafe at any speed”. Residents of the region now bear the costs of its amoral industrial past, beset with high unemployment and poisonous drinking water.


A new chapter for Silicon Valley

If the story of Detroit can be simplified as industrial prowess and national prestige, followed by moral and economic decay, what does that say about Silicon Valley? The term “Silicon Valley” first appeared in print in the early 1970s and gained widespread use throughout the decade. It combined both place and activity. The Santa Clara Valley, a relatively small area south of the San Francisco Bay, home to San Jose and a few other small cities, was the base for a computing revolution based on silicon chips. Companies and workers flocked to the Bay Area, seeking a pleasant climate, beautiful surroundings and affordable land.

By the 1980s, venture capitalists and companies in the Valley had mastered the silicon arts and were getting filthy, stinking rich. This was when “Silicon Valley” became shorthand for an industrial cluster where universities, entrepreneurs and capital markets fuelled technology-based economic development. Journalists fawned over successful companies like Intel, Cisco and Google, and analysts filled shelves with books and reports about how other regions could become the “next Silicon Valley”.

Many concluded that its culture set it apart. Boosters and publications like Wired magazine celebrated the combination of the Bay Area hippie legacy with the libertarian individualism embodied by the late Grateful Dead lyricist John Perry Barlow. The libertarian myth masked some crucial elements of Silicon Valley’s success – especially public funds dispersed through the U.S. Defense Department and Stanford University.

The ConversationIn retrospect, perhaps that ever-expanding gap between Californian dreams and American realities led to the undoing of Silicon Valley. Its detachment from the lives and concerns of ordinary Americans can be seen today in the unhinged Twitter rants of automaker Elon Musk, the extreme politics of PayPal co-founder Peter Thiel, and the fatuous dreams of immortality of Google’s vitamin-popping director of engineering, Ray Kurzweil. Silicon Valley’s moral decline has never been clearer, and it now struggles to survive the toxic mess it has created.

Andrew L. Russell, Dean, College of Arts & Sciences; Professor of History, SUNY Polytechnic Institute and Lee Vinsel, Assistant Professor of Science and Technology Studies, Virginia Tech.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.