THE COST OF THE UNESCO CITY OF MUSIC
Glasgow is no stranger to making noise, not just in sound, but in stature. With a music scene that thunders through Barrowlands' floors, pulses in King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, and echoes across the Hydro's dome, this city has long been recognised as a powerhouse of live music. In 2008, that status gained global legitimacy when UNESCO named Glasgow a City of Music – the first in the UK. It was a cultural accolade, yes, but it was more than that. It was a recognition of a booming, multi-million-pound industry. The question is: what does that accolade cost, and more importantly, what does it yield?
UNESCO's City of Music designation isn't just an honorary title. It's an affirmation that music in Glasgow is more than entertainment; it's an essential civic infrastructure. Just as roads connect people physically, music connects them socially, emotionally, and economically. The city hosts over 130 live music events each week. These are economic engines.
According to UK Music's Music By Numbers report, Glasgow is the UK's largest music economy outside London. Live music alone is estimated to generate well over £160 million annually for the city. That includes ticket sales, artist fees, bar revenue, transportation, and hotel bookings. And it supports thousands of jobs – from sound engineers and lighting technicians to bar staff, tour managers, and PR teams.
But there's a cost to maintaining that status. Venues require constant investment to meet health and safety standards, licensing laws, noise regulations, and accessibility guidelines. Rising business rates and energy costs are squeezing grassroots venues that serve as incubators for new talent. And while the UNESCO badge attracts attention, it doesn't come with a cheque – cities are expected to fund their music development strategies.
What does it take to be a "City of Music"? Beyond the buzzwords and branding campaigns lies a complex web of financial and logistical demands. Keeping Glasgow's live scene thriving requires collaboration between local government, Creative Scotland, venue owners, promoters, and artists – all navigating a post-COVID economic climate, a cost-of-living crisis, and increasing competition from digital entertainment. Smaller venues are under threat. Independent institutions like The Hug and Pint or Nice N Sleazy offer affordable platforms for emerging artists, but they operate on razor-thin margins. The closure of even one small venue can ripple through the music ecosystem, cutting off opportunities for local acts and reducing footfall to surrounding businesses. Being a City of Music means fighting to keep these cultural lifelines alive, often without direct financial support from the recognition itself.
Despite the costs, the benefits are substantial. Music tourism is a quiet giant in Glasgow's economy. The Hydro alone has been ranked among the top five busiest arenas in the world, attracting international artists and audiences alike. Visitors don't just come for the music; they spend on food, drink, accommodation, and transport, injecting cash into the broader economy.
Then there's the intangible value: Glasgow's identity. Music is woven into the soul of the city. From the rebellious spirit of punk to the swagger of indie rock, Glasgow's music scene reflects its people: gritty, passionate, and proud. The UNESCO title helps protect and promote that identity on a global stage. It also attracts investment, encourages cross-cultural collaborations, and opens doors for local musicians abroad. But that international spotlight brings its pressures – to innovate, diversify, and deliver constantly. Music is no longer just a pastime or a cultural luxury; it's a strategic asset. That means treating music venues like we treat roads, libraries, or schools – not as optional amenities, but a vital part of the urban ecosystem.
And beyond the balance sheets, there's something else: a city that sings together, grows together. Music builds community, resilience, and pride. For Glasgow, the cost of being a City of Music is real, but the cost of not being one could be far greater.