There was a time when being an independent club promoter meant something.
You had your own brand, your own people, your own nights that felt like you. Nights where the music, the crowd, the lighting, even the way the posts looked online were shaped by one thing: passion. And now? It feels like that’s fading.
Promoters—real promoters—are slowly becoming a dying breed.
In their place? A growing trend of clubs bringing everything in-house. Salaried DJs, salaried marketers (finally), and events run with spreadsheets instead of instinct. Nights dictated by margin forecasts, not gut feelings. It’s survival, I get that. But in trying to keep the lights on, venues risk dimming the scene itself.
It’s a Tough Time to Run a Venue
Let’s be fair—running a club right now is no easy feat. Overheads are up, punters are down, and energy bills are through the roof. Add to that a generation that pre-drinks harder and shows up later (if at all), and you’ve got a perfect storm.
It’s no surprise, then, that some venues are responding by tightening the reins. Bringing everything under one roof seems to make sense—cut out the middleman, reduce risk, streamline operations. Why give a chunk of the bar take to a promoter when you can put on your own night, book your own DJ, and keep all the profits?
And sure, on paper, that might look like a solid strategy. But what you save in cost, you often lose in culture.
Minimum Spends and Maximum Pressure
We’ve all heard the horror stories. Promoters being asked to guarantee ridiculous minimum bar spends—some reaching thousands just to secure a weekday slot. And in return? No marketing support, full responsibility for ticketing, and almost zero creative freedom.
It’s essentially renting the space for a night, without the dignity of being called what it really is.
That kind of model might be sustainable for big brands with corporate backing or huge followings, but for the grassroots promoter who’s trying to build something from the ground up? It’s a nail in the coffin.
It sends one message loud and clear: “We don’t trust you to bring value, just volume.”
In-House Doesn’t Mean Inspired
Here’s the thing: bringing everything in-house is easier. But it’s not necessarily better.
When promoters build a night, it’s not just about shifting tickets. It’s about crafting a world. We obsess over how the artwork looks on Instagram, how the lights should hit during the second drop of the headline set, and whether we’ve booked someone who’s genuinely going to turn heads, not just play the Spotify Top 50.
Promoters live and die by the success of the night, which means they show up. They put the work in. They experiment. They connect with people. They go out flyering on a cold Saturday because they actually care whether 20 or 200 people show up.
You don’t get that same fire when everything is done by committee.
And while yes, salaried DJs and internal event managers can be and often are great at what they do, you lose a kind of energy when you remove that independent edge. Promoters take risks where venues won’t. They put on music that doesn’t always guarantee bar spend, but does guarantee culture.
The Indie Scene Is Still Breathing (Just)
It’s not all doom and gloom, though.
Take In The Loop, a house night I helped start in collaboration with Jard and Will. We saw a gap, wanted to give lesser-known DJs a platform, and created something from scratch. We don’t use flyers. We built it almost entirely on Instagram. We’ve hosted open decks. We’ve given people a chance to play their first real gigs.
It’s been a success because it’s built on energy, community, and a belief that there’s still room for fresh ideas.
The Bigger Picture: What’s at Stake
This isn’t just about promoters feeling left out. It’s about what kind of nightlife we want to build going forward.
If every venue runs the same sort of night, with the same DJs on rotation, booked by the same person working out of a shared spreadsheet—what’s the point?
Where’s the variety? Where’s the edge? Where’s the cultural value?
Promoters have always been the lifeblood of nightlife. They take chances. They spotlight emerging talent. They build scenes, not just schedules.
We need to ask: are we creating a nightlife scene that’s built to last—or just one that’s built to scrape by?
Where We Go From Here
To the venues: work with your promoters, not around them. Give people a chance to do what they do best. Offer fair terms. Share the risk—and the reward. Don’t cut off your creative supply chain because you’re chasing short-term certainty.
To the promoters: keep going. The space might be shrinking, but that makes every good idea more valuable. Build communities, build movements, and build nights that people actually want to talk about the next day.
The external promoter might be a dying breed—but they don’t have to be extinct.
