When politicians start mocking copyright as “woke Marxist lunacy,” you know we’ve officially entered the upside-down.

In a recent speech, U.S. President Donald Trump dismissed copyright protections as outdated obstacles to building stronger artificial intelligence systems. He argued that tech companies should have free rein to scrape books, articles, photos, and films without compensating creators.

As AI cranks out fake concert posters and corporate lawyers squeeze both music and photography, the message to real artists is the same: your work is worth nothing.

But this isn’t just about money. It’s about culture. When rights-grab contracts, streaming pennies, and monopoly promoters strip value out of creativity, the damage doesn’t stop with musicians or photographers. It ripples outward — to fans, to communities, to history itself.

You shouldn’t have to pay for parking to do your job. And you shouldn’t have to sign your copyright away to cover a concert.

That’s the core problem with today’s rights-grab economy around live music: the people asked to produce independent journalism are being treated like unpaid brand ambassadors — with contracts to match. These agreements aren’t just annoying; they strike at the foundation of how editorial photography works, how journalists keep the public informed, and how photographers make a living. (Yes, we can do all three at once. It’s called “Tuesday.”)

What happens at a concert isn’t always on the stage. Sometimes it’s bigger, louder and messier than the music itself—and that’s just one of the reasons that concert photography is journalism, not PR.

In a single instant, a show can turn into news. A fan collapses. Security breaks down. A protest erupts from the stage. A crowd surge sends people to the hospital. Or a record-setting turnout makes front-page headlines the next morning. None of this is hypothetical — it’s history, and more often than not it’s first captured through a photographer’s lens.

Concert photography used to pay the rent. Today, it barely pays for parking.

Once, a single shot from the pit could land on a magazine cover, might be reused for tour previews, or live on in a band’s press kit. Those images were assets—invaluable to the photographer, the publication and the artist. They provided not just a paycheck, but a record of culture.