Business

I could smell it before I read it: that soft, boardroom panic rising off the docks and the executive suites. Not the honest kind of panic, like when your brisket runs hot. This is the panic of people who got rich outsourcing America and assumed the bill would never hit the table.

What actually happened: a 10% temporary import surcharge

President Trump is imposing a 10% temporary import surcharge under Section 122 of the Trade Act of 1974. It took effect on February 24, 2026, runs for 150 days, and the clock points to July 24, 2026. It is an extra duty layered on top of whatever normal tariff schedule already applied.

Exemptions and a transit window (yes, the fine print matters)

This is a broad net, but it is not blind. The proclamation spells out exemptions for economic and supply reasons, including:

• Energy and energy products
• Pharmaceuticals and ingredients
• Certain electronics
• Certain vehicles and parts
• Certain aerospace products
• Information materials
• Goods that enter duty free under USMCA for Canada and Mexico

There is also a short window for certain goods already in transit. If it was on the water before the switch flipped and gets entered quickly, it can dodge the new bite. That is what governing looks like: deadlines, carve-outs, and real-world timing.

The Court slammed one door, Trump grabbed another tool

This lands after the Supreme Court ruled 6-3 against the administration’s earlier IEEPA tariff scheme, rejecting the idea that an emergency law is a magic wand for permanent taxation. Trump pivoted fast to Section 122, and the U.S. Trade Representative has been openly discussing that Section 122 is a temporary bridge while other trade authorities and investigations remain on the table.

Yes, there is fog about whether the rate could go higher later. Section 122 can go up to 15%. But the rate that took effect on February 24 is 10%.

Who squeals first?

The offshore club and their Wall Street babysitters hate this. Small business reality is messier: a 10% surcharge can pinch if your inputs are imported and margins are tight. But the old model was also a slow choke of foreign dependencies, where one shipping hiccup or geopolitical tantrum turns your inventory into a ghost story.

China competition is not a spreadsheet

This is not a coupon debate. It is competition with a nation-state that uses industrial policy like a crowbar: subsidies, forced technology transfer, non-tariff barriers, currency games, and flooding markets until competitors choke. Tariffs are not the whole answer, but Section 122 is being used like a temporary torque wrench: tighten, stabilize, then move to longer-term fixes.

Me, I will take a loud policy with a deadline over a quiet surrender with a memo.

I have read enough court filings under fluorescent light to recognize the scent of a system straining: paper, toner, and that faint civic anxiety that shows up when a big company meets a big government office and both insist they are the one protecting you.

California asks a judge to halt Amazon practices it says keep online prices artificially high

On February 24, 2026, California Attorney General Rob Bonta asked a state judge in San Francisco to issue a preliminary injunction against Amazon in the state’s ongoing antitrust case. The state argues Amazon’s conduct is insulating it from price competition and inflating prices for consumers.

This is stop-now relief while the lawsuit continues toward a trial currently scheduled for January 2027. Amazon denies wrongdoing and says its agreements and policies are legal and procompetitive.

The Buy Box: the platform lever California keeps pointing to

California’s claim is not merely that Amazon is large. It is that Amazon allegedly uses leverage over sellers, and the gravitational pull of its platform, to discourage lower prices elsewhere. The state points to the Buy Box as a key lever. If you sell on Amazon, that button where most purchases happen is oxygen. Lose it, and you can keep pitching your “brand story” into the void.

The state also says discovery revealed interactions where prices on other sites get nudged upward or products get pulled so Amazon does not have to face a cheaper competing offer. The public can only see part of the filing because much is redacted, which is common in active litigation and always convenient for whoever wants to keep the specifics under seal.

The tradeoff: convenience versus competition

Amazon’s defense, as reported, is that these arrangements help consumers by improving selection, keeping products in stock, and supporting competitive pricing. And yes, a marketplace has to prevent chaos. Nobody wants counterfeiters or the digital version of a guy selling watches from inside his coat.

But if the biggest storefront can pressure sellers not to offer a lower price anywhere else, the internet starts behaving like one synchronized price tag. You can shop around and feel industrious, but you are just touring the same number in different fonts.

The Paine test

Does this expand liberty or concentrate power? If California is right, the freedoms being squeezed are plain: a merchant’s freedom to compete on price and a consumer’s freedom to be rewarded for shopping around.

But a preliminary injunction is a serious tool. If the state is wrong, you risk government micromanaging business conduct on an incomplete record. So the guardrail is proof, judicial supervision, and a narrow order tailored to the alleged harm.

The Orwell check

Listen for the language trap: “fair pricing,” “price matching,” “most favored nation,” “marketplace integrity.” Tidy words can still describe control. If “integrity” functions like a gag order on competition, it deserves scrutiny.

What happens next

• If an injunction is granted: the burden should be clarity about what conduct is forbidden and how compliance is monitored without turning a judge into an acting retail manager.
• If it is denied: California still gets its day in court, but consumers and sellers live with the status quo until trial.

Sunlight is not a punishment. It is the minimum price of civic trust. If a platform is effectively the country’s main street, should it be allowed to act like the price sheriff for the whole county?

The courthouse air is always the same: recycled cold, hot toner, stale coffee, and the quiet confidence of people who bill by the hour. In the lobby corridors, someone is already practicing the face that says, “Nothing to see here,” while the receipts sit in a folder like a live wire.

This week, a federal judge refused to let Live Nation and Ticketmaster wriggle out of the Justice Department and states’ antitrust case before trial. Not all claims survived. Enough did. Enough to put the core business model under oath, under lights, with a jury watching.

What the judge did, and why it matters

U.S. District Judge Arun Subramanian in New York kept key allegations headed to trial in the case brought by the DOJ and a coalition of states. Jury selection is set for March 2, 2026. Translation: Live Nation did not get to do the pretrial magic trick where the courtroom becomes a boardroom and the public never sees the wiring.

The case, filed in 2024, accuses Live Nation and its Ticketmaster unit of illegally maintaining monopoly power across the live concert industry. The government’s theory is simple: Live Nation built a vertical control tower over artists, venues, and tickets, then used that leverage to lock out rivals and squeeze everyone downstream, especially fans paying the ransom at checkout.

Live Nation denies it, of course. The corporate line is the standard antitrust lullaby: exclusivity is “efficiency,” consolidation is “innovation,” and the fees are just weather, not a strategy. But the judge said there is a genuine dispute worth a jury’s time on core issues, including ticketing conduct and allegations tied to amphitheaters and coercive leverage.

Translation: this is not about “service fees.” It is about control.

Translation: when Live Nation says it is a “live entertainment company,” what it means is it has hands on the levers that decide who gets booked, where they play, who promotes, and which ticketing system the venue is allowed to use without getting punished.

The DOJ’s 2024 complaint alleged Live Nation controlled at least 80% of primary ticketing at major concert venues, owned or controlled more than 60% of large amphitheaters, and used long-term exclusive ticketing contracts, sometimes lasting a decade or more, to keep competitors out. That is not “competition.” That is a gated community built out of contracts.

Here is the mechanism: vertical integration, exclusivity, retaliation

Here is the mechanism: you do not have to win on price if you can win on access. Build dominance in ticketing. Tie it to promotion. Own or control the venues where the biggest shows happen. Sign venues to long-term exclusive ticketing deals. Then make switching feel like touching a stove. The allegation is that venues get the message: take the Ticketmaster deal or risk losing the flow of shows that make your year.

Follow the money, and watch for the “resolution” trap

Follow the money: the tollbooth sits at a choke point where millions have to pass. That is why a ticketing monopoly is so valuable. It is a fee machine, an analytics machine, a leverage machine, and the public anger gets outsourced.

The quiet part: every time a monopoly finally faces a jury, the pressure to “resolve” the matter ramps up. “Resolution” is the polite word. In lobbyist hallways, it can mean: keep the structure, tweak the paperwork, promise to behave, move on.

So that is where we are on February 25, 2026: a judge refused to close the courthouse doors, and the monopoly now has one job. Run out the clock. Fog the record. Offer a behavioral deal that leaves the tollbooth standing.

If Live Nation’s model is really just “competition at work,” why does it need exclusivity, leverage, and fear to keep venues in line?

I could smell it before I even finished the first paragraph. That hot, metallic stink of a supply chain that got lazy, like cheap charcoal that never lights, just smolders while the “experts” tell you it’s fine. Well, today America got a new aroma: the import habit getting cut back.

10% temporary import surcharge takes effect today

As of today, President Trump’s temporary import surcharge of 10% is in effect on a wide swath of imports for up to 150 days, using Section 122 of the Trade Act of 1974. This is not a vibes memo. It is a formal presidential proclamation aimed at what the White House calls a “large and serious” balance-of-payments deficit. Normal language: we have been bleeding dollars overseas like a leaky fuel line, then acting shocked when the engine coughs.

The exceptions list is long on purpose

Before the TV hair-gel brigade screams “it hits everything,” the proclamation spells out major carve-outs. The surcharge does not apply to categories including:

• Energy and energy products
• Certain critical minerals
• Certain agricultural products
• Pharmaceuticals and ingredients
• Certain electronics
• Certain vehicles and parts
• Certain aerospace products
• Items already subject, or later subjected, to additional import restrictions under Section 232 (and other carve-outs)

That is not random. That is trying to protect the country without kneecapping what still has to run.

Supreme Court lever pulled, Trump grabbed a different wrench

The backdrop is simple: the Supreme Court just kneecapped Trump’s earlier tariff strategy that leaned on emergency powers. Fine. That’s the system. The Founders built more levers than a Peterbilt has gears. So Trump went rummaging and grabbed Section 122, a temporary import surcharge authority designed for balance-of-payments problems, with a built-in clock.

Who hollers, who breathes

The first to holler are the import middlemen, corporate procurement departments, and K Street acronym-slingers. They chant “uncertainty,” “volatility,” and “retaliation” like a vegan saying “protein” while you drop a brisket on the cutting board. But Washington admitting out loud that a nation can’t outsource its industrial guts forever is the real shock.

Small business reality

For small businesses, a broad surcharge can raise input costs, especially for shops still forced to buy components that aren’t made here anymore. That’s real. But when imported goods aren’t allowed to undercut everything, domestic producers can get breathing room, and local orders can stick around long enough for expansion to make sense.

Starter pistol, not the whole race

A temporary surcharge does not build a machine shop by itself. It can change the math, and changing the math is how behavior changes. Let it run its clock. Let Congress decide whether the mission gets extended. Use the window to renegotiate, reshore, and rethink what “normal” has meant.

Steak-and-potatoes sanity. Served hot. Swamp excuses in the drip pan.

I was sitting in a library with carpet that smells like 1987 and democracy, reading a court docket the way other people scroll concert clips. Same thumb motion, less screaming. In the next room, a retiree was arguing with a copier. In Washington, the copier argues back, and it bills by the hour.

Because the hottest ticket in America right now is not a stadium tour. It is the U.S. government trying to prove that Live Nation and Ticketmaster turned live entertainment into a company town, right as the government’s own antitrust shop starts wobbling like a folding chair at a town hall.

What the case is, in plain English

The Justice Department sued Live Nation and Ticketmaster in 2024, alongside dozens of states. The allegation: the company unlawfully maintained monopolies across key parts of the live concert business, using tactics like exclusive dealing and tying to keep venues and artists in line. On paper, the government has sought structural relief, including divestiture of Ticketmaster.

The case is now barreling toward trial in federal court in New York. Jury selection is scheduled for March 2, 2026. Live Nation has fought to narrow or knock out the claims before a jury hears them, and a federal judge has allowed major parts of the case to proceed, even while trimming some theories.

Why the timing sets off alarms

The top political appointee running DOJ Antitrust, Gail Slater, left the job this month after reported clashes inside the department over enforcement direction and pace. DOJ leadership shifted, interim leadership shifted, and the public is left guessing whether the referee is still willing to call fouls when the home team has excellent lobbyists.

The Paine test: liberty or power?

A functioning antitrust division is not a luxury. It is one of the few tools the public has to stop private gatekeepers from turning markets into toll roads. If you want “liberty” in plain clothes, start with the liberty to compete: venues choosing vendors without fear, artists routing tours without being steered, and fans buying tickets without a market-power obstacle course.

The Orwell check: listen for euphemisms

In antitrust land, the polite words matter. Enforcement becomes “deal certainty.” Scrutiny becomes “delay.” Oversight becomes “red tape.” And “move faster” can quietly translate into “go softer.” Courts are slow. Evidence is slow. The law is not DoorDash.

The liberty ledger and the tradeoff

If DOJ tries this case on the merits, consumers and smaller competitors gain a chance at real oxygen, and artists and venues gain options. If enforcement can be outlasted through staffing churn and inside baseball, the already powerful gain time and leverage, and the public loses civic trust.

Guardrails before this becomes a civics cautionary tale

• Sunlight: plain-English clarity on remedies and why they fix the harm.
• Real oversight: records on contacts, recusals, and decision-making.
• Continuity: deterrence requires the cop on the beat to stay on the beat.
• Federalism as backstop: states keep leverage from collapsing when federal enforcement wobbles.

Courts will do their part in March. The question is whether the executive branch will let the system function when the political cost rises and the lobbying pressure spikes.

The coffee is burnt, the courthouse air is too clean, and my inbox is full of glossy statements that smell like boardroom glass and attorney cologne.

On Sunday, Live Nation and Ticketmaster asked a federal judge to delay their antitrust trial, scheduled to begin with jury selection on March 2, 2026 in Manhattan. They want an interlocutory appeal. Translation: pull the fire alarm right when the auditors step into the room.

If you have ever tried to buy a concert ticket and watched your dignity evaporate at the fees screen, you already understand the stakes. This is not just about music. It is about monopoly muscle, political capture, and the way wealthy defendants keep finding extra stairwells out of accountability.

What they filed, and why the timing is the point

The Department of Justice and a coalition of states sued Live Nation in May 2024, alleging the company unlawfully maintained monopoly power in parts of live entertainment, especially primary ticketing at major venues. The complaint also points to alleged pressure tactics tied to Live Nation-controlled assets.

Last week, U.S. District Judge Arun Subramanian rejected a broad effort to toss the case. Some claims were narrowed, but core theories tied to ticketing and amphitheater-related conduct survived and the March 2 trial date stayed in place.

Now comes the time-out request. Live Nation argues the Second Circuit should immediately review two legal questions that could, in the company’s view, substantially narrow the trial. And therefore, they say, the whole proceeding should be stayed while that appeal plays out.

I have seen this movie. It is always streaming. The villain’s special effect is delay.

Translation: “clarifying legal issues” means “keep the record closed”

Translation: when a giant says the trial might be “unnecessary,” what they mean is the testimony is necessary, the discovery is necessary, and the public record is extremely necessary.

Interlocutory appeals exist for a reason. In practice, they also operate like a premium service for defendants with enough money to keep multiple law firms humming and a crisis-PR shop answering calls before they ring.

And the motion lands during a jittery moment for antitrust enforcement. Earlier this month, the DOJ’s top antitrust official, Gail Slater, resigned amid internal tensions over enforcement direction, with reporting raising concerns about interference and lobbying pressure around big cases.

Here is the mechanism: monopoly is a chain of leverage

Here is the mechanism: Live Nation’s power is not just “Ticketmaster sells tickets.” It is that live events have choke points. Control enough of them and you do not have to compete on price or service. You just make alternatives too painful.

Coverage of the ruling describes surviving theories that focus on conduct that turns business relationships into hostage situations: tying and coercive leverage connected to large amphitheaters and the market for primary ticketing services at major venues.

Follow the money: delay keeps the tollbooth open

Follow the money: every month of delay is another month the tollbooth stays open.

This case is about whether a dominant firm used its position to keep competitors from meaningfully challenging the machine. A postponed trial is not neutral. While courts move at the speed of marble, the market moves at the speed of exclusivity and consolidated leverage. The longer the trial slips, the longer the status quo prints receipts.

The DOJ case page lists a wide coalition of plaintiff states. That matters, because federal resolve can wobble when the Washington hallway fills with lobbyists. States, at least, can act like union stewards holding the line.

The quiet part: they want court to feel optional

The quiet part: the powerful want the legal system to feel like a subscription tier.

For regular people, court is a cliff. For monopolies, court is a project plan: file, appeal, stay, narrow, drag it past the next news cycle. But trials force the incentives into daylight. They make executives answer questions without the PR fog machine.

If Live Nation wants a delay, the public should demand the opposite: speed, sunlight, and consequences. Who benefits when the trial clock stops?

I smelled it before I even read the first line. That sharp, metallic panic coming off the import lobby, like somebody tossed a briefcase of excuses onto a hot grill. The phones buzz, cable news squeals, and a Wall Street suit starts whispering about “uncertainty” like America having a spine is a brand-new concept.

Meanwhile, I’m over here with hickory smoke in my beard thinking: good. Let the squealers squeal. America’s been paying the bill for decades, and the cashier just clocked back in.

Supreme Court says no IEEPA tariffs, Trump pivots to a temporary surcharge

Here’s the backbone: on February 20, 2026, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA) does not authorize a president to impose tariffs on imports. Translation: Washington cannot play Calvinball with the law just because somebody found a pen and the word “emergency.”

So Trump does what every contractor does when a bureaucrat declares the first wrench illegal. He grabs another wrench. The White House issued a proclamation invoking Section 122 of the Trade Act of 1974 to impose a temporary import surcharge designed to run for 150 days. The proclamation set a 10% rate on most imports with exceptions, and major outlets reported Trump said he was bumping that rate to 15%.

The Court did its job, and the agenda kept moving

I’ll say it plain: the Supreme Court was right to say IEEPA is not a magic tariff wand. Tariffs are taxes at the border, and Congress has the big tariff lever for a reason. If presidents can declare an emergency and tax anything forever, you don’t have a republic. You’ve got a vending machine with a crown on top.

But limiting IEEPA does not mean America has to keep importing its own unemployment. It means you use tools that actually exist in law. Trump’s pivot to Section 122 is exactly that, and it’s built for temporary import restrictions when the government claims a serious balance-of-payments problem.

Section 122 is a 150-day shot clock that puts Congress on the spot

Section 122 is not a forever lever. It’s a sprint, not a marathon. The proclamation lays out the temporary nature and cap, meaning Congress has to step in if anything is going to outlive the clock. That’s not a bug. That’s the whole point: it drags both parties under the stadium lights and asks whether they’re for American production or for dependency dressed up as sophistication.

The proclamation also spells out carve-outs and mechanics, including that certain categories are not supposed to get hit twice, plus exceptions for items including energy and energy products, pharmaceuticals and ingredients, and other categories. Brick translation: even when the heat goes up, somebody’s still watching the engine.

Follow the money trail like barbecue sauce on a white shirt

The villains are not the dock worker. The villains are the lobbyists, the multinational procurement priests, and the think tank astrologers who’ve been selling the same sermon for decades: buy foreign, trust the spreadsheet, and never ask who profits.

Yes, small business can feel higher input costs. That’s real. But so is the slow crush that happens when America becomes a nation that only assembles, only services, only delivers, and only resells. Tariffs are not a fairy tale. They’re a bouncer at the door.

So the story is simple: the Supreme Court said no IEEPA tariffs. Fine. Trump found another lane, the White House put a Section 122 surcharge on the table, and the clock is running.

I have walked enough courthouse hallways to recognize the scent of procedural perfume: burnt coffee, copier toner, and the faint cologne of power that says someone is trying to make a public case private. Not secret, exactly. Just slow. Slow enough that the public stops watching while the spreadsheets keep humming.

That is the vibe around Live Nation as it asks a federal judge to pause the Justice Department’s antitrust case a week before trial so it can appeal.

What is happening, in plain English

The government’s civil antitrust case against Live Nation and Ticketmaster is set for trial on March 2 in federal court in Manhattan before U.S. District Judge Arun Subramanian. After the judge’s recent ruling trimming some claims but leaving major parts headed to trial, Live Nation is asking to put the case on ice while it takes an appeal.

In the court’s Feb. 18 opinion and order, the judge granted summary judgment in part and denied it in part, and laid out what would proceed to trial, including claims concerning the artist-facing large amphitheater market and tying theory, claims concerning the venue-facing primary ticketing market (including state damages), and certain state claims.

The lawsuit is not small potatoes. The DOJ and dozens of states allege Live Nation’s power spans promotion, venues, and ticketing, and the complaint seeks major remedies, including divestiture of, at minimum, Ticketmaster and termination of Live Nation’s ticketing agreement with Oak View Group.

The Orwell check: when a “pause” is a business strategy

Words matter. We call it a “pause” because “stall” sounds impolite. We call it a “stay” because “let us keep the cash register ringing while you argue about markets” is too honest for a caption.

To be clear: appeals exist for a reason. Due process is not a partisan accessory. But in concentrated industries, delay is not neutral. Delay is leverage. It is pricing power with a calendar.

The tradeoff and the liberty ledger

The tradeoff is real: a rushed trial can be sloppy, and a court should not punish a defendant for using lawful tools. But a case that never reaches a trial is a case that never tests the story in daylight.

• Fans: the complaint points to layers of fees and claims exclusivity can freeze innovation and steer how tickets are sold.
• Artists: the government alleges bundling, including tying access to large amphitheaters to promotion services; tying-related claims in the amphitheater market are proceeding to trial.
• Venues and smaller promoters: the complaint alleges long-term exclusive ticketing contracts and venue leverage that can foreclose rivals and entrench monopoly positions.

The complaint also alleges Live Nation manages more than 400 artists, owns or controls more than 265 concert venues in North America, and that Ticketmaster controls roughly 80% or more of major concert venues’ primary ticketing.

The Paine test and the guardrail question

Does this motion expand liberty, or concentrate power? A pause can protect liberty if it prevents a bad remedy imposed too soon. But a pause that keeps a highly concentrated system intact while the public case drifts into procedural fog concentrates power, mostly in time.

Live Nation is entitled to its day in court. So is the public. If the most powerful players can always turn trial week into appeal season, what exactly is antitrust enforcement for, other than decoration?

The newsroom lights are too bright, the coffee tastes like burnt subpoenas, and my phone keeps vibrating with the same three words dressed up like a press release: unconditional antitrust clearance. Somewhere behind boardroom glass, someone is smiling the kind of smile you practice when you know the bill is going to land on somebody else.

Today, Getty Images and Shutterstock announced the U.S. Department of Justice finished its review of their proposed merger and let the Hart-Scott-Rodino waiting period expire without conditions. Translation: the feds just opened the door and waved two of the biggest stock-photo toll collectors into the same booth.

DOJ clears the merger with no conditions

This is not a niche squabble for design people. Images are a core input to modern speech: how newsrooms communicate under deadline, how campaigns persuade, how schools teach, how small businesses sell, and how ordinary people document reality.

Getty and Shutterstock told investors the DOJ review concluded and the HSR waiting period ran out, no strings attached. They also told the world to expect “substantial synergies” across SG&A and capex after closing.

Translation: fewer people, fewer budgets, fewer alternatives, and a bigger spreadsheet lever pressed harder against contributors and customers.

And while DOJ is done, the UK Competition and Markets Authority is still running a Phase 2 review, with a final decision due April 19, 2026. That part is still in motion.

Here is the mechanism: consolidation turns culture into a metered utility

Here is the mechanism, and it is the same one that shows up anywhere a pipe becomes the product.

Step one: concentrate the pipe. In this case, the pipe is distribution, searchability, licensing infrastructure, indemnification promises, and the ability to sell enterprise bundles at scale. The merged firm becomes the default procurement checkbox.

Step two: rebrand power as efficiency. “Synergies” is the polite term for layoffs, contractor churn, and centralizing decision-making so fewer humans decide more outcomes.

Step three: squeeze both sides. Customers get price pressure, tighter usage rules, and more aggressive enforcement. Contributors get weaker leverage, stricter contracts, and the quiet fear that complaining leads to being buried.

Step four: lock in. Once big institutions build workflows and legal comfort around a platform, switching gets expensive. That is the point. Market power is the cost of saying no.

Follow the money: “unconditional” is the win

“Unconditional” is doing the work of a thousand lobbyist hallway conversations. It means no behavioral remedies, no structural fixes, no mandated protections for contributors, no required interoperability, no enforceable guardrails attached to the clearance they are celebrating.

And the clearance is not the end. It is the starting gun. The DOJ letting the waiting period expire is a green light for the companies to plan integration, line up cost cuts, and set expectations that “duplication” will be removed, even while other regulators still have a say.

I am not asking for a purity test. I am asking for a spine. Accountability is not a vibe. It is paperwork, hearings with documents, and watchdogs auditing how “synergies” translate into layoffs and pay cuts. If this merger is so harmless, why does it need to be so big, so fast, and so unconditional?

I once stood in a courthouse hallway that smelled like wet wool and copier toner, watching lawyers stride like they owned the air. That is the vibe of American corporate power when it’s having a good quarter: bright earnings, bright smiles, and a quiet suggestion that accountability is terribly inconvenient right now.

Record 2025 results, with a trial date on the calendar

Live Nation, parent of Ticketmaster, reported a booming 2025: $25.2 billion in revenue, roughly $6.31 billion in fourth-quarter revenue, and 159 million in fan attendance. It talked up demand and expects a big 2026. It also reported a full-year net loss after a profitable 2024, a reminder that giants can be “losing money” on paper while the cash register keeps singing.

But the timing is the tell. The Justice Department’s antitrust case against Live Nation and Ticketmaster, filed May 23, 2024 in federal court in New York, is heading toward a March 2, 2026 trial date. The government and state attorneys general allege Live Nation used dominance across promotion, venues, and ticketing to suppress competition. Live Nation denies it.

Against that backdrop, Live Nation published a public statement urging DOJ to settle and stop chasing a breakup. If you’ve ever watched someone plead with a referee to end the game early, you recognize the choreography.

The Orwell check: “move on” as strategy

Here’s the Orwell check: what language is being used to make control sound like common sense? “Move on” wears the costume of maturity, practicality, and compromise. But antitrust is not a mood. It’s a legal tool meant to keep markets from turning into company towns with better lighting.

The liberty ledger: convenience for whom?

Open the liberty ledger.

• Convenience: One dominant platform can feel frictionless, until it becomes frictionless like a toll road: fast, mandatory, and priced for whoever can pay.
• Constraint: Less choice and less leverage when rivals can’t break into major contracts, and when bundled power can shape who gets access to venues, tours, and tickets.

This is why antitrust matters even to people who hate policy talk. It’s not about punishing success. It’s about preventing a private government from forming inside a market, where the rules are written by the biggest player and enforced by contract.

The Paine test and the tradeoff

The Paine test: does the outcome expand liberty or concentrate power? A settlement without structural change might be “realistic.” It can also be decorative, the corporate version of a promise that sounds like oversight but functions like permission.

The tradeoff is blunt: settlements are fast; trials are clarifying. Trials build a record, force evidence into daylight, and create precedent that outlasts the next administration’s mood.

Meanwhile, scrutiny is not only structural. The FTC has separately sued Live Nation and Ticketmaster over alleged deceptive practices tied to ticket resale tactics and pricing, putting consumer-facing conduct on the docket too.

Guardrails that keep the music loud and the power quiet

Practical guardrails: limit the length and scope of exclusive ticketing contracts at major venues; require clear, upfront all-in pricing; enforce meaningful auditing and reporting if any settlement is reached; and ensure rivals can actually compete, not merely receive a promise that the incumbent will be nicer.

Government’s job is unglamorous: litigate cleanly, publish what can be published, resist backchannel shortcuts, and let courts do what they’re for. Congress can tighten transparency rules around ticketing and fees and demand oversight hearings that are more than five minutes of cable-news theater.

So here’s the question: if Live Nation is so confident the case is empty, why is it campaigning so hard to end it before a jury hears it?