“I feel I’ve been fortunate in my career to have gained perspective at a young age about what is important to me beyond the art that I make,” suggests Ben Lovett, while discussing the origins of tvg hospitality, the company he co-founded in 2016. tvg (The Venue Group) develops and operates independent music venues in the U.S. and his native U.K., including The Orion Amphitheater in Huntsville, Ala., and London’s Omeara.
In his role as CEO of tvg, Lovett can draw on a set of experiences unlike any other live music executive. He formed his first band at age 12 with schoolmate Marcus Mumford, and they later co-created the globally venerated Mumford & Sons. Beyond that achievement, in 2006 he co-founded Communion, the influential indie concert promoter, record label and music publisher.
The common thread in all these endeavors is a commitment to maintaining a righteous, principled approach while fostering commonality and connection.
As he considers his work at The Orion, which opened in May 2022 with a weekend-long series of events titled The First Waltz, Lovett reflects, “I’ve searched down a few different paths, but the concepts of physical space, community and communing really move me and feel super worthwhile and purposeful. Obviously, it hangs off a lot of other things that I’ve done throughout my life and career. Maybe it comes from being from a big family. I don’t know what was at the genesis of it, but the truth is that I have what feels like a calling to create spaces in a way that I don’t believe many people do. I don’t think it’s at the top of people’s agenda to create these environments, which is fine because it’s quite niche.”
Thinking back to your earliest days as a performer, what animated you? Do you think that same impulse continues to inform your other work?
I’ve always been very social. I’ve always enjoyed curating the room in terms of the vibe and the ambience and the playlist.
I started out as a performer, playing a lot of other people’s music through my teens as a jazz player and then a session hand in my late teens. Marcus and I go back over 30 years to when we were seven years old, but I met the other guys in the band as kind of hired guns on the recording and touring scene.
Then we had a lightbulb moment that we could have our own voice and make a creative statement with our own music in our own style. When we started doing that, it immediately felt like it was being well-received, albeit in the back rooms of pubs and small, independent clubs in London. But it felt real, despite not making any money from it or having the energy, at times, to haul our instruments across town. Whenever we were standing onstage and seeing faces light up or singing along to statements about hope, love and resilience, it felt really good to be a part of that. I guess that was the link, and then the success kind of afforded the ambition and the mind to wander a bit.
I remember a really key meeting that we had with our first manager—the first time we felt like someone outside of the band was working alongside us to help make things happen. We talked about how, maybe one day, there’d be an opportunity to go and play at this hallowed venue in London called the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, which was just shy of 2,000 tickets. We’d seen our favorite bands there and it’s a wedding cake venue split over three floors. It’s this old theater from the early 20th century. That felt like enough to satiate any future ambition.
Then, when we did fill that room in 2009 or 2010, it was like, ‘“Well, where do we go from here?” That led us down this road to what became these Gentleman of the Road festivals and concerts where we would go into non-major markets— small towns in different parts of the world—and collaborate with those places to create a whole weekend celebration of community, music and life.
I remember on some of our Gentlemen of the Road events, there were 20 or 30 acts, and we didn’t even perform on Fridays. We were just there enjoying it as much as the other people from Walla Walla, Wash., or Dungog, Australia or Guthrie, Okla. Rather than simply going up on the stage and singing songs, we were shepherding a larger vibe.
You also approached Communion through the lens of an artist. What were the initial inequities you hoped to rectify?
For Communion, we saw a real need for a strong independent promoter. I was reacting to the state of play as it was in the late 2000s and trying to fix some of the glitches in the system as far as I could see them at that time.
At first, we wanted to support and elevate artists who didn’t fit a certain mold. Then as much as now, if the algorithm said no, then there’s a good chance that major labels or major promoters weren’t going to take a chance.
I’m not saying we were the first independent music company by any stretch. There are lots of amazing ones out there, but at the time, it felt like London could do with another one, especially around this roots-based music that fascinated myself and Kevin Jones from Bear’s Den, who started Communion with me.
Then there was the matter of fairness. On the artist side, we had experienced the rough end of some deal structures that artists at the entry point, or the small club level, often feel. That includes sometimes not getting paid anything for gigs or maybe getting only a dollar per ticket for the flyers the band had handed out. The flyers were a certain color, and you would only get paid if someone showed up with one of them. Otherwise the venue would keep the money. It was this crazy broken system that I think was set up to keep artists somewhat disempowered.
So we were like, “Why don’t we start a company? Why doesn’t Communion try and be artist-led and artist-centric?” We really didn’t know what we were doing—we had no idea how to press vinyl or bankroll a show. But the heart that was driving the emergence of Communion was very real.
It led to success because our intentions were pure and we were unearthing some incredible artists. We stood by them, and we were taking risks.
You’d speak to certain record executives, and they would only look at what’s popping off or trending, rather than believing in the artist and trying to steer the conversation or trying to change people’s listening habits. Our ambition grew to where we thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to slightly move the needle on a cultural level with artists who aren’t pandering to what people theoretically want to hear.”
Then we started to notice that some of our artists were really doing that. For instance, we had started working with this Welsh rock band Catfish and the Bottlemen when they were at the club level. Later, when I was running the Communion U.S. office, I remember watching them on the main stage at Gov Ball. Their music was on the radio and thousands of people were screaming their lyrics back to them. It was a major point of pride to have helped create a platform that enabled a path for real music to at least be part of the conversation about what was going on in mainstream culture.
I’m really proud of everything that we’ve done with Communion over the years. We continue to work with some incredible artists, and I think the people who know those artists are grateful that they’re supported. That wouldn’t happen if it wasn’t for labels and promoters like Communion. I’m a big advocate for anyone who is still out there fighting on behalf of artists in that way. It’s really hard going for small independents. You don’t always win the battle.
The Orion is known for being particularly accommodating to touring musicians. For instance, artists get to keep 100 % of their merch sales, which might seem like a small thing but that’s not the case if you’re out there scrambling to make a living on the road.
I think that reflects why I consider myself truly independent despite having worked with major labels and major promoters over the years. My definition of independence is the ability to make the right decision without being encumbered by a deal or a favor that would compromise it. In this instance, that’s making sure the artist gets paid for the merch.
Now if they want us to sell their merch, we would charge a fee at the cost of selling it. But if they want to sell their merch themselves, I don’t believe in a general taxation policy in this industry, where artists are already getting hit from all sides.
This idea of rebates, kickbacks and insides make me sick. I want to decouple everything in order to deal with each income stream in isolation. That way you can address it based on whether you think it’s fair in its own right. I prefer to do that rather than saying, “We’re going to charge the fan a little bit more here and here and here,” as a convoluted way to make a certain number.
There shouldn’t be this web of confusing side deals and commingled income streams. It should be the artist’s discretion to charge fans for a ticket however they want to do it.
I guess I’m on a bit of a mission to simplify everything. For example, The Orion is an open room. We built a really beautiful venue down in Huntsville where the promoter can come in and rent the room. Then they offer an artist money to play a gig. If the artist says, “Yes,” the promoter rents the room with us, and they put on the show. Then the promoter hopes that the artist sells more tickets than what they agreed was the minimum guarantee. Everyone gets paid and that’s that.
Fans have a great time because we look after them while the artists and the promoter are inside our house. Hopefully, the promoter and the artists feel equally welcomed and looked after by our team.
If we can simplify everything, we won’t have to have another conversation every month about how to fix the industry. When I speak to some of the heads of state and the godfathers of this industry, I feel they genuinely are up for it. I can’t quite seem to figure out where the blockage is.
The live music industry is like 60 years old. We’re only two generations into it. If we were talking about an industry that had been going for a couple of hundred years, I might be a little bit more respectful of the idea that maybe there’s a reason why things are done a certain way. But it still feels like we’re in the tail end of the Wild West of this industry. I’m trying to make it a little bit more straightforward for people in the small way that I can.
You’re not in the habit of public finger-pointing at individuals when it comes to the larger issues that plague the concert industry, even though, occasionally, you have expressed some general frustrations.
I happen to be of the mindset that there aren’t a few evil people behind the scenes pulling strings, trying to screw everyone over. Instead, I think it’s a weird, slightly fucked-up ecosystem that’s evolved.
I want to temper the need to divide this all up into the goodies and the baddies. There are some incredible people who work within the major-label system and the major-promoter system, who are passionate and dedicated to the craft.
I do want to give people a little bit of reassurance, though, that behind closed doors real conversations are being had. There’s a lot that needs to be fixed. I’m trying to keep the whole thing balanced in the direction of fairness.
I think independent venues are everything. Independent venues would solve a lot of the conversations that people have around conflicts of interest. If we can go back to the time when the venue was either city or locally independently held, there would be accountability when a tour comes through. That would put everything in a really good place.
If the venue isn’t performing or isn’t looking after people in the right way or the drinks are overpriced or the carpet’s scruffy, then people won’t play there. So the accountability is on the venue to make it as nice an experience as possible to entice the show. Then what happens around the show can come down to the artist and the promoter in a much more traditional way, where the room is rented and the show is put on and the room isn’t held by the same company that is selling you the ticket and putting on the show.
As a venue, we don’t take ticket fees. Why do we need to take them? Some people are like, “Because that’s how venues are financed, through advances from ticketing companies.” But I’m like, “Why? As soon as you do that, you’ve lost some of your independence as a venue to choose what you do with your tickets, and therefore, what the artist does with your tickets.” So you are in an immediately entrenched position. It’s the same when it comes to merchandise or parking.
I think that it is totally possible to streamline and simplify things, but it’s going to take a few years and we’re going to prove it through doing rather than soapboxing.
I’ve heard you reference the ideas of sociologist Ray Oldenburg. [Oldenburg is best known for writing about “third places”—gathering spots away from home or work.] I first encountered his work in the context of silent movie theaters, which catered to non-English speaking immigrants over a century ago. Can you talk about the role of the third place in relation to your venues?
There’s a real need for that third place, a common space where people can go to share their perspectives, and more importantly, hear the perspectives of others. It’s a place where they can be reminded of the things that unite us more than divide us, by breathing the same air, watching music together, breaking bread, drinking a beer together. That stuff is just so essential for a healthy society.
Music is one of the most powerful things that we have as human beings. It has this ability to make everything better—an ability to have us fall in love and to feel heard and united. People will travel for music or sit on their computers through the night in order to buy a ticket in a way that they wouldn’t really do for anything else. It’s this incredibly powerful thing.
I’m very lucky to have been born with an innate love and drive and passion for music and all that it is—creating it but also shepherding and whatever else I do. There’s a wider impact beyond the sense that people have when they stand together and listen to a great Jason Isbell set. There’s something else going on, which is this community-generating situation. It is almost like a town square.
That is why the third place thing comes into play. It can anchor a neighborhood. Frankly, it can anchor a city. Some cities, when you talk about their most defining features, you talk about their venues. Sydney, Australia, for example—Sydney Opera House is probably going to be in the top five things that people talk about going to. With Nashville, there’s the Ryman.
These venues change the face of a place where hundreds of thousands or even millions of people live. The city is somewhat defined by the house in which music is made. That’s really interesting to me, and it’s fed into how we’ve built out tvg.
By creating such a place and driving footfall, you are increasing the quality of life. What else is radiating from that? In the initial instance, you’re looking at a bunch of bars and restaurants, generally speaking, that pop up around venues, along with thrift stores, coffee shops, records shops and those sorts of things.
There’s value that’s feeding off the nucleus, which is a venue. Then what happens is it creates this desirable place for the first and second places that people dwell—where they live and where they work. Suddenly people want to live near where the cool shops are and where the nice bars and restaurants are. People might want to work there, starting with some of the more creative offices. Then bigger companies move in. So you’re in this whole other world.
At Pollstar this year [the annual industry awards show], I sat with the team from The Orion watching as our venue got nominated as one of the handful of new venues. All the other venues were built in major cities and then there was The Orion Amphitheater in Huntsville, Ala. That’s not only great for anyone involved in The Orion but think about the pride and the kind of brand awareness that it gives to a municipality.
All the projects that I’m working on with the team at tvg are looking at things a little bit more horizontally and less vertically. How can we be of service and help to support the hospitality businesses that are emerging? Can we run the wine bar next door? Can we open up the retail location across the street?
Then you get into conversations with developers about their wider plans. They’ve got the resources and a long view that often isn’t taken in this industry, where people are kind of living year to year. When you’re talking to property developers and master planners for cities, they tend to be thinking more about 50–100 years. That’s quite a good place to be because then you don’t have to be so short term greedy. So you end up with people thinking about what’s best and what’s right. Then that all filters back to the artists and the fans who should be the most protected people in the whole conversation. The fans benefit by this sort of thinking, rather than just trying to gouge more and more out of the moment.
When developing a venue, beyond that overarching goal, what consideration is given to local voices, tastes and environments, however they might manifest themselves?
I hope that, generally, what we do is pretty much invisible to the fan and even to the artists, in the sense of it being a tvg venue. There is no ego involved in this. I’ve already had the benefit of people telling me that I’m good from being in a band that has had some success. I didn’t get into this from an ego point of view, I was just trying to do it on an infrastructure level.
This means that when we are designing our venues, they’re all one of a kind. They’re one of a kind by name and they’re one of a kind by design in terms of what would serve this community in terms of capacity, flow and amenities. That goes all the way down to the bar offerings and menus.
We ask ourselves, “What do we think people want locally?” Then when we hire, we also recruit locally at the site level. I think this summer we’ve got 380 employees working at The Orion. So it’s a driver on that side of the workforce as well, which is one of the things I’m very proud of.
The goal here isn’t to create the Hilton of music venues. We’re not saying there’s a brand that will live out there. I hope that when people visit the venues we have built or partnered on, it feels like they’re being managed really well.
There’s an underlying, almost implicit quality of experience. If you did a bit of research, you’d be like, “Oh, right, got it. It’s one of those tvg venues.” That’s success to me. It isn’t saying above the door that you’re at another one of our venues and how clever are we.
Did the pandemic shift your thinking on any of this?
The ways in which people listen to music and the ways that they discover music have evolved over the last 15 years. No doubt they will continue to evolve. However, one of the things that I love about music is that the role it currently plays in society is the same as it has been for thousands of years. It is one of the most constant things about humankind. What I love about it is the exchanging of ideas and stories, in whatever form. I think it will outlast any kind of trend, fad or craze, even if those things are as big a trend as an iPhone or whatever it might be. Music will be this kind of gateway.
I have been able to enjoy some amazing moments at gigs in the last year. I think that experiencing live music in person is such a powerful reminder of how human we still are, despite all the technology. I don’t think there’s any amount of AI or technology or change in circumstances that will stop someone from being able to sing a melody about their story. It’s just so beautiful.