Kid Rock Calls Out "Greedy Snakes" in Ticketing Showdown on Capitol Hill

Mia Reynolds, 1/29/2026Kid Rock takes the stage in Congress, slamming the ticketing industry's monopolistic practices and emotional toll on fans and artists alike. He passionately advocates for reform, emphasizing that live music should unite, not divide, and challenges lawmakers to end the “greedy snakes” running the show.

“Fees Rolled on All Summer Long: Examining the Live Entertainment Industry” may sound like Senate business as usual, but the mood was less stuffy, more Southern revival—though nobody was getting saved; if anything, folks were hoping to rescue their bank accounts. Kid Rock, rocking his familiar outsider’s swagger, dialed in straight talk not often heard marbled with the marble pillars of Congress. He pointed, sometimes with bite, to the people getting squeezed: the fans crossing off savings for tickets, the artists pinched between contracts and corporations, and, lurking beneath, a ticketing apparatus with more traps than a backwoods raccoon hunt.

Kid Rock’s testimony didn’t skirt around industry politeness either. “I am beholden to no one,” he said, echoing a sheriff’s dare. “To put it plainly, I ain’t scared to speak out on these issues like many artists, managers, and agents are…” There was a sense that an old spirit—rebellious but earnest—had shuffled in, boots first, to bring a bit of truth-telling.

Of course, the real villain—or hydra, really—loomed large: the union of Ticketmaster and Live Nation. The 2010 handshake that merged the two was supposed to unleash competition, drive down prices, yada yada—the typical corporate optimism. Instead, as Kid Rock outlined, the experiment seemed to puff up, unchecked, into the juggernaut fans now face. “In 2009, Congress was told under oath that merging Live Nation and Ticketmaster would benefit artists and fans. Needless to say, that experiment has failed miserably...” You could almost hear the echo of an older, grunge-soaked warning—Pearl Jam’s 1994 congressional plea whispering through the years like a warning nobody wanted to heed.

These aren’t just empty seats and overpriced tickets being discussed. They’re the missed moments—a teenager’s first concert, a parent’s last dance to their favorite band, friends holding a memory tighter than a ticket stub. Ticketing’s not simply commerce; it’s the gatekeeper to experiences that stick when news cycles fade. Strip the average fan from these moments too often, and what’s left is a shell of what live music, at its wild, communal best, can offer.

There was humor threaded through the frustration, too. Kid Rock turned a phrase with a practiced touch—“full of greedy snakes and scoundrels”—which, while on the nose, drew some knowing grins from the gallery. The secondary ticket market, where bots and speculators scoop up seats before the ink is even dry, has come to resemble a lawless bazaar, only with less haggling and more headaches.

His parting words, borrowing some hope from The Who, struck a sweet chord flavored with nostalgia—“It is my sincere hope we ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again.’” If only Congress members had a vote button for that sentiment alone. In the end, nostalgia sometimes moves faster than any ticket queue.

Yet, there’s a crackle of pain beneath the bravado—a sadness for the musicians fighting to be paid, and fans increasingly told their wallets don’t measure up to their devotion. The economic rickety-ness is hard to ignore: piracy cutting into streaming, ticket deals weighted so heavily toward megastars that mid-tier talent can barely tread water, hidden fees tacked onto seats like an afterthought that never felt so deliberate.

A few solutions drifted through the chambers—capping resale prices, shining a congressional flashlight on contracts piled thick with asterisks, even letting artists claw back a measure of control over how and where tickets are sold. The TICKET Act, at the time of writing, still waits its turn in legislative purgatory. Meanwhile, executive orders and election-year posturing remind everyone that this “entertainment issue” is now populist territory, rubbing nerves from barstool to boardroom.

But most lingered on Kid Rock’s emotional clarity. Politics and policy aside, his testimony circled back to the heart: live music is supposed to bridge—not wall off—people eager for connection. Wall-building in the ticket office translates, eventually, into quieter concerts and hearts left unsettled. The real issue isn’t just numbers on a spreadsheet; it’s the magic that evaporates when fans get priced out of their own culture.

So, while lawmakers shuffle papers and attorneys cue up lawsuits, it may help to remember what’s at risk here. Kid Rock closed with something that landed harder than any legal argument: “This wasn’t an experiment. It was a monopoly dressed up as innovation.” Those empty seats, those digital lotteries—each is a growing ledger of lost moments, quietly compiling in the dark.

Perhaps, as 2025 lurches into another season of blockbuster tours and gridlocked ticket sites, hope lies with the ones who refuse to be hushed. Or maybe with a system that, in the end, remembers being about people, not just profits. It’s messy. It’s emotional. But nobody said live music—or the fight for it—was supposed to be tidy.

On a weekday morning in Washington, D.C.—the kind where coffee cups sweat in anxious hands and scrolling thumbs hover over screens—a familiar frustration played out. Discounted dreams of seeing a beloved artist live, dashed at the gate by websites blinking “sold out” faster than a New Year’s firework, are no longer just water cooler complaints. This week, Kid Rock—the ever-candid figure whose rebellious streak outpaces most politicians in the room—brought this grievance right to the Senate Commerce Committee, choosing directness over decorum.“Fees Rolled on All Summer Long: Examining the Live Entertainment Industry” may sound like Senate business as usual, but the mood was less stuffy, more Southern revival—though nobody was getting saved; if anything, folks were hoping to rescue their bank accounts. Kid Rock, rocking his familiar outsider’s swagger, dialed in straight talk not often heard marbled with the marble pillars of Congress. He pointed, sometimes with bite, to the people getting squeezed: the fans crossing off savings for tickets, the artists pinched between contracts and corporations, and, lurking beneath, a ticketing apparatus with more traps than a backwoods raccoon hunt.Kid Rock’s testimony didn’t skirt around industry politeness either. “I am beholden to no one,” he said, echoing a sheriff’s dare. “To put it plainly, I ain’t scared to speak out on these issues like many artists, managers, and agents are…” There was a sense that an old spirit—rebellious but earnest—had shuffled in, boots first, to bring a bit of truth-telling.Of course, the real villain—or hydra, really—loomed large: the union of Ticketmaster and Live Nation. The 2010 handshake that merged the two was supposed to unleash competition, drive down prices, yada yada—the typical corporate optimism. Instead, as Kid Rock outlined, the experiment seemed to puff up, unchecked, into the juggernaut fans now face. “In 2009, Congress was told under oath that merging Live Nation and Ticketmaster would benefit artists and fans. Needless to say, that experiment has failed miserably...” You could almost hear the echo of an older, grunge-soaked warning—Pearl Jam’s 1994 congressional plea whispering through the years like a warning nobody wanted to heed.These aren’t just empty seats and overpriced tickets being discussed. They’re the missed moments—a teenager’s first concert, a parent’s last dance to their favorite band, friends holding a memory tighter than a ticket stub. Ticketing’s not simply commerce; it’s the gatekeeper to experiences that stick when news cycles fade. Strip the average fan from these moments too often, and what’s left is a shell of what live music, at its wild, communal best, can offer.There was humor threaded through the frustration, too. Kid Rock turned a phrase with a practiced touch—“full of greedy snakes and scoundrels”—which, while on the nose, drew some knowing grins from the gallery. The secondary ticket market, where bots and speculators scoop up seats before the ink is even dry, has come to resemble a lawless bazaar, only with less haggling and more headaches.His parting words, borrowing some hope from The Who, struck a sweet chord flavored with nostalgia—“It is my sincere hope we ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again.’” If only Congress members had a vote button for that sentiment alone. In the end, nostalgia sometimes moves faster than any ticket queue.Yet, there’s a crackle of pain beneath the bravado—a sadness for the musicians fighting to be paid, and fans increasingly told their wallets don’t measure up to their devotion. The economic rickety-ness is hard to ignore: piracy cutting into streaming, ticket deals weighted so heavily toward megastars that mid-tier talent can barely tread water, hidden fees tacked onto seats like an afterthought that never felt so deliberate.A few solutions drifted through the chambers—capping resale prices, shining a congressional flashlight on contracts piled thick with asterisks, even letting artists claw back a measure of control over how and where tickets are sold. The TICKET Act, at the time of writing, still waits its turn in legislative purgatory. Meanwhile, executive orders and election-year posturing remind everyone that this “entertainment issue” is now populist territory, rubbing nerves from barstool to boardroom.But most lingered on Kid Rock’s emotional clarity. Politics and policy aside, his testimony circled back to the heart: live music is supposed to bridge—not wall off—people eager for connection. Wall-building in the ticket office translates, eventually, into quieter concerts and hearts left unsettled. The real issue isn’t just numbers on a spreadsheet; it’s the magic that evaporates when fans get priced out of their own culture.So, while lawmakers shuffle papers and attorneys cue up lawsuits, it may help to remember what’s at risk here. Kid Rock closed with something that landed harder than any legal argument: “This wasn’t an experiment. It was a monopoly dressed up as innovation.” Those empty seats, those digital lotteries—each is a growing ledger of lost moments, quietly compiling in the dark.Perhaps, as 2025 lurches into another season of blockbuster tours and gridlocked ticket sites, hope lies with the ones who refuse to be hushed. Or maybe with a system that, in the end, remembers being about people, not just profits. It’s messy. It’s emotional. But nobody said live music—or the fight for it—was supposed to be tidy.