From San Juan to Berlin to Las Vegas, artists are rethinking what it means to go on tour — and who really benefits when they stay in one place.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been fascinated by how Bad Bunny turned his San Juan residency into something bigger than a concert — a statement on belonging, economics, and artistic autonomy. It reminded me of other cases, from Adele’s Berlin residency to U2’s Sphere takeover in Las Vegas, that signal a profound shift in how live music operates.
There’s a clear pattern emerging — and it might redefine what “going on tour” means in the next decade.
A residency with a purpose
Bad Bunny’s 30-show “No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí” residency at the Coliseo de Puerto Rico is more than a cultural event; it’s a case study in intentional touring.
The first nine nights were reserved for Puerto Rico residents only, who had to present proof of residency at local markets. After that, tickets opened to the rest of the world — at premium prices, bundled with stays in locally owned hotels to deter Airbnb-driven gentrification.
The projected $200 million impact on the island’s economy is not a marketing slogan; it’s structural redistribution. Bad Bunny has effectively inverted the colonial flow of money — ensuring that the tourist wave he attracts also nourishes the community that shaped him.
It’s the rare case of a global superstar using their platform not just to perform for a place, but to perform with it.
The Las Vegas blueprint — and its reinvention
For decades, Las Vegas residencies were seen as a post-peak move: Celine Dion, Elton John, and Britney Spears transformed the Strip into a high-grossing nostalgia machine. But in the 2020s, that model has evolved from comfort to innovation.
The turning point was probably Lady Gaga’s “Enigma” and Usher’s pre–Super Bowl run, both of which used stable venues to experiment with storytelling and production. Then came U2 at the Sphere, arguably the most technologically advanced concert ever staged — blending immersive visuals, perfect acoustics, and data-driven design.
Las Vegas became a creative lab: a place where you could push the boundaries of stagecraft because you weren’t tearing down and rebuilding every night. Bad Bunny has taken that idea home — swapping neon spectacle for national identity.
It’s the same structural advantage (a fixed base), but channeled toward cultural authorship rather than entertainment architecture.
From endless tours to anchored experiences
A decade ago, touring was about scale: 100 cities, 18 months, no rest. Now, that model looks increasingly unsustainable — economically, logistically, and ecologically.
In 2024, Live Nation reported record revenues but warned of rising costs and environmental constraints. Mid-tier artists openly question whether touring is even viable without sponsorship or subsidies. The “residency logic” offers an answer: fewer cities, longer runs, lower overhead, and a reduced carbon footprint.
Adele’s Berlin residency is a perfect European example: 10 nights, one city, 300,000 fans flying in. It’s destination culture — a live event as pilgrimage. And Coldplay’s sustainability model (solar-powered stages, kinetic dance floors, local suppliers) points to a future where staying longer in one place isn’t just easier — it’s ethically necessary.
Local relevance as artistic strategy
Bad Bunny’s project reframes the residency as place-based art. By opening his shows with national facts, building sets with 1,000 local workers, and centering Puerto Rican identity, he transforms live performance into cultural storytelling.
This kind of rootedness has analogues elsewhere:
- Beyoncé’s Homecoming did it for HBCU culture;
- Rosalía’s Motomami World Tour treated each stop as a chapter of her own Spanish identity;
- and even Bruce Springsteen’s Broadway residency turned personal narrative into community ritual.
Residencies let artists create a feedback loop with a place — instead of extracting energy from it. That’s more than a touring tactic; it’s a curatorial stance.
Economics of scarcity, not saturation
In a market obsessed with access, exclusivity has become its own value proposition. Fans are no longer buying tickets to see an artist — they’re buying into a moment.
Residencies amplify that psychology. Limited runs create urgency, and a stable location allows for a more cinematic show experience. The economics shift from volume to intensity: fewer performances, higher production value, deeper emotional return.
For superstars, it’s a logical evolution. For smaller acts, it could be a blueprint — if venues and cities embrace micro-residencies, where local scenes support short runs with tailored storytelling. We could see the model scale down as well as up.n a market where concert tickets can cost $600 or more, fans expect more than just a greatest-hits setlist with fireworks. They want meaning.
What this means for the industry
For promoters, agents, and venue operators, this new touring paradigm suggests:
- Think destination, not distribution.
- Invest in site-specific storytelling, not replication.
- Develop local partnerships to keep economic value in the community.
- Measure success not only by gross revenue, but by cultural impact and sustainability metrics.
For fans, this is a shift from convenience to commitment — you travel not just for music, but for meaning. And for artists, it’s a reclaiming of agency: over schedule, over message, over place.
Bad Bunny once said his dream was to offer free shows “for locals only.” He hasn’t gone that far — but with this residency, he’s getting closer than any superstar ever has.
And maybe that’s the lesson for the industry: In an age defined by constant movement, staying still can be the most radical act of all.