Primavera Sound, Sónar: the 2025 Corporate Takeover
The VC Takeover of Underground Festivals AND The GLOBAL Commodification of Counterculture
In 2025, the acquisition of Primavera Sound and Sónar by Superstruct Entertainment—backed by venture capital giant KKR—has stripped these once-iconic festivals of their subcultural soul, transforming them into monetization platforms aimed at brand integration, influencer content, and mainstream appeal. Once celebrated for their boundary-pushing curation and underground ethos, both festivals now mirror a global formula prioritizing numbers and sponsorship ROI over musical integrity.
In 2025, two of Europe’s most iconic music festivals – Primavera Sound and Sónar – stand at a crossroads. Once fiercely independent celebrations of subculture, both have been swept up by a wave of corporate consolidation. The vehicle for this transformation is Superstruct Entertainment, a festival conglomerate bankrolled by global venture capital. Private equity giant KKR acquired Superstruct in 2024 for over €1.3 billion, not out of love for avant-garde music, but as a high-yield investment in live entertainment. Superstruct has been on a buying spree, scooping up festival brands worldwide (from Hungary’s Sziget to Spain’s Sónar) with the single-minded goal of scaling up and extracting value from the music festival boom. This roll-up strategy treats festivals as assets on a balance sheet – their cultural cachet repurposed as monetization fuel for investors.
Under this regime, Primavera Sound and Sónar have effectively become monetization vehicles for venture capital. KKR and its peers are laser-focused on financial returns: maximizing ticket sales, sponsorships, and global expansion, often at the expense of the events’ original spirit. As one report noted, Superstruct (now under KKR) is valued at up to £1.5 billion largely because it “runs events including electronic music festival Sónar in Spain,” making it an attractive target for Wall Street bidders. The intent is clear – consolidate the live music market, standardize the festival experience, and squeeze out profit through economies of scale.
Musicians and fans have felt the shift. When KKR’s takeover of Superstruct became public, backlash ensued. Dozens of artists slated for Sónar 2024 withdrew in protest of their new corporate overlords, citing KKR’s investments in controversial industries like defense and surveillance. An open letter signed by 140+ artists lambasted the festivals’ owners for moral compromises, underscoring how far removed venture capital’s priorities are from the creative communities that built these events. The very fact that such a letter was needed speaks volumes: the ethos of Primavera and Sónar has clashed with the ethos of profit-above-all. Even as festival management posted placating statements, attempting to distance themselves from their owners’ reputation, the reality is undeniable – these once-underground institutions are now beholden to corporate finance.
Primavera Sound: From Indie Oasis to Mainstream Machine
For nearly two decades, Primavera Sound in Barcelona was the festival for discerning alternative music fans. Its curators championed indie rock, experimental electronica, and underground heroes; the festival’s identity was subcultural, distinct from the mainstream. A look back at the 2010 lineup is telling: the biggest names included cult favorites and alternative legends like Pixies, Pet Shop Boys, Wilco, Gary Numan, Orbital, and Wire. These weren’t flavor-of-the-month pop stars, but artists revered in niche circles. Primavera was an oasis of the eclectic and esoteric. Even in 2015, as the festival grew in prominence, its headliners were still proudly left-of-center. That year saw veteran art-punk poet Patti Smith, garage icons The Strokes, alt-rockers Interpol, and shoegaze reunion Ride grace the top of the bill. Yes, there were popular acts in the mix – The Black Keys and Alt-J drew sizable crowds – but the overall vibe remained “indie first”, with electronic innovators like Richie Hawtin and politically charged rap duo Run the Jewels adding diversity. The festival was defined by its curation and its community, not corporate hit-making.
Fast-forward to Primavera Sound 2019, and the tide was visibly turning. That year’s edition – tellingly branded “The New Normal” – made headlines for achieving a 50/50 gender-balanced lineup, but it also marked a pivot toward the global mainstream. The headliner roster included R&B icon Solange, trap superstar Future, reggaeton king J Balvin, and pop rebel Miley Cyrus, alongside indie stalwarts like Tame Impala and **Interpol】. Booking Miley Cyrus – a former Disney star turned chart-topping singer – would have been unthinkable at Primavera a decade prior. It symbolized a new strategy: broaden the appeal, tap into wider pop culture currents, and sell more tickets. The 2019 lineup was praised for its diversity and boldness, but it also blurred the line between Primavera and any other big festival. The once-underground festival was now courting many of the same marquee names as Coachella and Lollapalooza.
Under Superstruct’s partial ownership and influence (Providence Equity and later KKR’s capital infusion), Primavera Sound accelerated down the commercial path. The 2025 lineup makes this crystal clear. The Barcelona edition in June 2025 is headlined by a trio of outright pop acts: Charli XCX, Sabrina Carpenter, and Chappell Roan. That’s two internet-savvy pop stars and a rising Gen-Z singer-songwriter anchoring a festival that used to be synonymous with underground music. Supporting those headliners are legacy indie names like LCD Soundsystem and Stereolab, and critically acclaimed artists such as FKA twigs and Beach House, ensuring Primavera hasn’t completely shed its left-field credibility. But the inclusion of a Disney Channel alumna (Sabrina Carpenter) and a glossy pop provocateur (Charli XCX) as top-billed artists signals a seismic shift in tone. Primavera is now as much about trending pop culture as it is about subculture. The unique identity that once set it apart has been sanded down into something more homogeneous and marketable.
Critics point out that Primavera’s curation has lost some of its edge. In chasing broader audiences, the festival risks the very formula that made it famous. Where Primavera once might champion an experimental newcomer playing to a niche audience at sunset, it now faces pressure to pack its schedule with globally recognizable names that justify a higher ticket price. The Primavera persona – that of the adventurous music aficionado discovering rare gems – is harder to sustain when the top of the poster reads like a who’s-who of streaming-friendly pop. Even the festival’s branding is more corporate: stages are named after sponsors and multinational brands, from electronics and fashion companies to beer manufacturers. (Back in 2019, stages like the Seat (Volkswagen) Stage and Ray-Ban Stage were already prominent, and this branding has only become more overbearing since.) Longtime attendees can’t help but feel that something intangible has been lost amidst the VIP lounges and branded cocktail bars – namely, the scrappy, community-driven spirit that made Primavera special.
To be fair, Primavera Sound’s organizers have tried to strike a balance, expanding geographically (with editions in Porto, Los Angeles, and beyond) and financially (through partnerships) without “selling out” the festival’s soul. When the festival first allowed outside investment in 2018, they insisted the deal “guarantee[d] the identity and independence of the festival.”. And indeed, Primavera still offers an impressive range of artists in 2025 – you can catch underground metal band Chat Pile, avant-jazz ensemble Spiritualized, and post-punk upstarts High Vis on the same weekend as radio-friendly names. Yet, the essence has undeniably shifted. What was once an underground “indie oasis” now operates more like a well-oiled mainstream music machine. The question is not whether Primavera can still book obscure geniuses alongside pop stars (it can), but whether the culture and community that flourished around it can survive the onslaught of commercialization.
Sónar: From Avant-Garde Experimentation to Big-Room Spectacle
If Primavera’s evolution exemplifies indie culture’s gentrification, the case of Sónar – Barcelona’s famed festival of electronic music and digital art – is even more emblematic of subculture turned corporate commodity. Sónar began in 1994 as a visionary gathering of DJs, producers, and multimedia artists – a forward-thinking “Festival of Advanced Music” that helped birth global electronic trends. For years, it balanced experimental sound art by day with cutting-edge club music by night, cultivating a devoted community of electronic music devotees. In its early years and throughout the 2000s, Sónar’s bookings were daring and unapologetically niche. Sónar 2010, for instance, featured trailblazers like The Chemical Brothers and LCD Soundsystem (both then at creative peaks), French electronic duo Air, the legendary Roxy Music, techno icon Plastikman (Richie Hawtin), UK grime star Dizzee Rascal, electro-rockers Hot Chip, and even old-school hip hop crew The Sugarhill Gang. The mix was eclectic and refreshingly unconventional – exactly the kind of lineup you’d only find at Sónar. Crucially, these acts were chosen for their creative impact, not just commercial clout. Sónar’s identity was entwined with the underground and avant-garde, its stages a launchpad for new sounds and multimedia experiments.
Autechre Sonar Hall 2015
By 2015, change was in the air. Sónar was drawing bigger crowds, and organizers sprinkled in a few mainstream names to broaden the palette. That year’s edition still showcased experimental heroes (the radical noise of Autechre, the deconstructed club music of Arca), but it was impossible to miss the presence of crowd-pullers like Skrillex (then the poster-boy of EDM) and even an ’80s pop powerhouse, Duran Duran. The 2015 lineup put The Chemical Brothers atop the bill once again and included rising rap star A$AP Rocky and art-pop performer FKA twigs – choices that hinted at Sónar’s widening scope. The festival was carefully straddling the line between credibility and popularity, trying to have it both ways. Importantly, 2015 was still pre-Superstruct; these choices were made by Sónar’s independent team, perhaps acknowledging that to remain competitive (and solvent) they needed to embrace some mainstream trends. Attendees largely welcomed the diversity – after all, Sónar has always been about innovation, and sometimes the cutting edge does overlap with popular taste. A surprise pop/R&B set or a famous DJ didn’t feel like a betrayal so long as the experimental core was intact.
However, once Superstruct bought a majority stake in Sónar’s parent company Advanced Music S.L. in 2018 (which just happens to be the last time I attended after almost two decades since my “first time” in 2000) the corporate strategy took hold in earnest. By the time KKR assumed control via Superstruct in 2024, Sónar was firmly implanted in a global festival portfolio, expected to contribute to a healthy return on investment. The consequences are evident in Sónar 2025’s programming. The lineup announced for June 2025 is heavy on big-room electronic acts and superstar DJs aimed at mass appeal. The first wave of artists featured mainstream names like house diva Honey Dijon, Melodic techno hitmaker Peggy Gou, trance legend Armin van Buuren, big-tent techno duo Overmono, and even Skrillex (this time paired with underground techno wizard Blawan for a special set). Also on the bill: EDM heavy-hitter Eric Prydz and Brazil’s viral sensation Mochakk, alongside respected figures like Four Tet and Helena Hauff. It’s a powerful lineup, no doubt – but one that leans on globally recognizable acts and crowdpleasing genres more than ever before. Sónar 2025 will still host avant-garde projects (e.g. an experimental collaboration by Actress and synth pioneer Suzanne Ciani is scheduled), yet these feel like exceptions nestled between the headlining blockbusters.
The tone of Sónar has changed. What was once an underground laboratory now sometimes feels like just another major EDM festival – at least on the surface level of marketing and headliners. The festival’s “technological avant-garde” identity has inevitably diluted since becoming part of a venture capital portfolio. Sónar’s founders always stressed independence and cutting-edge creativity; but as one local outlet wryly noted when the buyout news broke, “Sónar is no longer an independent festival… an American investment fund took control”. Indeed, the original management (Ricard Robles, Sergi Caballero, Enric Palau) initially stayed on, and they likely fought to preserve Sónar’s soul. Yet, corporate ownership brings corporate priorities. There’s pressure to grow attendance, to integrate Sónar into packaged tours, to attract sponsorship from global brands – in short, to monetize every aspect of the experience.
Look no further than the branding around Sónar now. Major sponsors dominate the landscape, some glaringly out of sync with the festival’s underground roots. The 2025 edition, for example, counts Coca-Cola and even McDonald’s McFlurry among its official sponsors. (Yes, the same Sónar that once championed minimalist sound art in dark auditoriums is now brought to you by Big Macs and soft drinks.) Artists and activists have flagged these partnerships as emblematic of Sónar’s drift toward the commercial mainstream. The presence of fast-food branding on-site feels like an affront to many longtime attendees – a neon reminder that no subculture is too sacred to be sold. It’s not just Sónar; virtually all big festivals now teem with branded stages and corporate “experiences.” At Sónar by Night, you might dance in the [Tech Corporation] Arena or grab a selfie at the [Lifestyle Brand] Lounge. Each sponsor infusion pads the festival’s budget and, by extension, investor returns. But each one also chips away at the independent ethos that once defined these events.
Musically, Sónar’s programming is starting to echo that of other large festivals under the Superstruct umbrella. There’s a certain homogenization creeping in. The same trending DJ who headlines Sónar will headline half a dozen other fests across Europe in the same summer. What used to set Sónar apart – its willingness to book obscure experimentalists alongside dancefloor visionaries – is harder to spot amid the blockbuster names. The concern among cultural critics is that the festival’s role as an incubator for new ideas is diminishing. If Primavera Sound has become a “mainstream indie” festival, Sónar risks becoming a “hipster EDM” festival – a slightly artsier version of the mainstream, but mainstream nonetheless.
Influencers, Brands, and the Erosion of Festival Culture
Another byproduct of this venture capital takeover is the shifting atmosphere at Primavera and Sónar. With global brands and big-name headliners comes a different audience profile. The crowds in 2025 are larger, more international, and – for better or worse – more mainstream in their expectations. These festivals have always attracted music lovers worldwide, but now you’ll also find a significant contingent of content-hungry influencers and corporate VIPs in the mix, seeking that perfectly curated “authentic” festival experience to broadcast online.
It’s a phenomenon perhaps most famously exemplified by Coachella in the U.S., which in the past decade turned into “every influencer’s personal playground” – a backdrop for style bloggers, celebrities, and sponsored posts rather than a pure music pilgrimage. Europe was somewhat insulated from that level of influencer culture… until recently. Now, at Primavera Sound, it’s not unusual to see Instagram personalities doing photoshoots in front of the art installations or VIPs more interested in branding opportunities than the bands on stage. As one commentary on Coachella put it, festivals have become “a style and status competition, an opportunity for online content creators to flex… in a virtual hierarchy,” where having a good time is secondary to getting good photos. The same critique is increasingly leveled at once-underground events like Primavera and Sónar.
With Superstruct’s influence, the festival experience is more commodified than ever. At Primavera 2025 you can upgrade to a pricey VIP pass that offers a separate entrance, upscale lounges, and prime viewing areas – perks that appeal to influencers and affluent attendees looking for comfort and exclusivity. Sponsored activations are everywhere: one beer brand throws a branded “hidden stage” party; a fashion retailer sets up a chic popup for “festival outfits”; tech companies sponsor interactive art exhibits that double as product demos. Overbearing brand presence pervades the festival grounds, ensuring that nearly every sightline has a logo and every Instagrammable moment has a corporate tag. Longtime Primavera and Sónar-goers recall when such festivals felt like temporary autonomous zones – escapes from the ordinary rules of consumerism. Now, the consumerism comes baked in. The underground community vibe, where attendees felt a familial bond through shared subcultural knowledge, is diluted by an atmosphere more reminiscent of a trade fair for cool.
Furthermore, the programming itself has taken on a safer, more crowd-pleasing bent in some areas. With investors to satisfy, the margin for error narrows. Stages once reserved for experimental acts might now host a trendy influencer-DJ set that guarantees a packed audience. The overall curation tilts toward what will look good on social media and draw broad attention. After all, a viral moment of a surprise pop guest or a big production DJ set can boost a festival’s profile (and profitability) far more than an obscure experimental musician – even if the latter is more in line with the festival’s original mission.
This isn’t to say Primavera Sound and Sónar have become hollow corporate shells – not yet, and hopefully never fully. On the ground, you’ll still find passionate fans who care deeply about music, and corners of each festival that resist the pull of commodification. But in 2025, it’s impossible to ignore that these events feel different. They feel… bigger, richer, and somehow emptier at the same time. The crowds are there, the spectacle is grand, but the sense of an intimate community forged around a countercultural idea is fading. Homogenization is the word that comes to mind: line-ups increasingly overlapping with other festivals, VIP sections populated by the global elite of festival-goers, social feeds flooded with similar looking festival content no matter the locale. What differentiates Primavera or Sónar from any other major festival is shrinking, as they all gravitate toward a common denominator of maximal profitability and global brand recognition.
The Underground Strikes Back: Hope for a New Counterculture
Yet, it is precisely at this moment – when over-commercialization seems to swallow everything – that the seeds of the next underground are being sown. History shows that whenever the mainstream co-opts and commodifies a subculture, a new wave of creativity and resistance emerges in response. The excessive branding, the influencer invasion, the homogenized bookings… these might ironically become the catalysts for a rebellious counter-movement in music and events.
Think back to the late 1970s: as big corporations tamed rock music and disco filled stadiums, the punk movement exploded in sweaty clubs, entirely anti-commercial and inaccessible to music industry moguls. Or consider the late 1980s and ’90s: as major labels commodified pop and MTV culture, the rave and free party scenes in Europe took off in fields and warehouses, pointedly outside the reach of corporate control – a scene now celebrated for its unifying, anti-establishment spirit. Each time the industry concentrates power and commercializes culture, the underground finds new cracks to slip through, new ways to remain unbuyable and authentic.
In 2025, we may be at such a turning point. Many dedicated Primavera and Sónar attendees, disenchanted by the new direction, are already seeking alternatives. All across Europe, independent micro-festivals, DIY raves, and local artistic collectives are thriving just out of the spotlight. These smaller events consciously eschew corporate sponsorship and curated Instagram perfection. They prioritize community, experiment with non-commercial models (cooperatives, crowdfunded events, secret locations), and keep the spirit of discovery alive. They’re harder to find – which is exactly the point. If Primavera and Sónar have become too accessible, too visible, then the next underground will flourish in the spaces purposely kept inaccessible to venture capital.
Ironically, even as we critique Superstruct’s commodification of live music, we can thank it for one thing: highlighting exactly what we stand to lose, and thereby galvanizing those who truly care about the culture. The discontent brewing among artists and fans is not a death knell for music festivals; it’s a rallying cry to reimagine them. Perhaps Primavera Sound and Sónar themselves will course-correct – there may come a reckoning if authenticity-starved audiences begin peeling away. Or perhaps new festivals will rise to carry the torch that these pioneers lit decades ago, recapturing the magic in a form that can’t be bought out because it deliberately stays small, scrappy, and under the radar.
The Berlin Love Parade 2000 drew an estimated 1.5 million people under the "One World, One Love Parade" techno ideals. An event that had risen from the Berlin Underground Scene, had a massive, street party. This was one of the last editions held at Berlin’s Straße des 17. Juni, and it was a massive techno celebration that captured the peak of '90s rave culture. The explosive success of Love Parade, which began as a small political demonstration and grew into a massive global spectacle, inadvertently catalyzed the gentrification of Berlin’s techno scene. As millions flocked to the city, drawn by its raw energy, abandoned industrial spaces, and anarchic spirit, the global spotlight transformed these once-marginal zones into lucrative assets.
What began as a countercultural movement rooted in freedom and experimentation became increasingly commodified, attracting real estate developers, municipal branding campaigns, and nightlife tourism. Iconic clubs like the original Tresor were eventually displaced by commercial projects like the Mall of Berlin, symbolizing the shift from DIY rave culture to a corporatized landscape where property speculation, investor interests, and curated “authenticity” replaced the chaotic spontaneity of Berlin's post-wall underground. (ORIGINAL PHOTO COURTESY OF ANTAINE REILLY)
One can already observe glimmers of this optimistic future. Local communities in Barcelona talk about organizing “Post-Primavera” shows in tiny venues the same week as the big festival, featuring artists who prefer an intimate setting. In warehouses on the outskirts, unsanctioned Sónar afterparties ditch the VIP sections and bring the focus back to the DJ and the dancefloor – no brand logos in sight. Across Europe, there’s a subtle but growing cultural pushback against the corporatization of music events. The narrative is changing: festival-goers are starting to value experience over spectacle, authenticity over algorithm-friendly lineups. A desire for a deeper connection – the kind that can’t be live-streamed or sponsored – is bubbling up.
So, as we critically examine Primavera and Sónar’s venture-capital makeover in 2025, we can also allow ourselves a measure of hope. These festivals may have lost a lot of their subcultural sheen, but the spirit that animated them isn’t gone – it’s merely regrouping offstage, preparing its next act. In the cyclical dance between underground and mainstream, the pendulum will swing back. The over-commercialization we see now will hit a ceiling, and when it does, a new generation of underground innovators will be there to catch the falling pieces and build something fresh, pure, and thrillingly inaccessible to any private equity firm.
Ultimately, culture finds a way to transcend commodification. Primavera Sound and Sónar taught the world to love adventurous music; if they’ve become too tamed by commerce, then that inspiration will simply migrate elsewhere – to the next secret stage or unmarked warehouse, where venture capital can’t follow. In that truth lies a reassuring thought: no matter how powerful the monetization machine, the underground will always rise again, born anew from the very forces that try to consume it.
By Alex Lawton
Founder and chief Zagger at LA PIPA IS LA PIPA
Global Group CEO at ReMotive Media
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Sources include: Primavera Sound & Sónar lineup archives; news on festival acquisitions and backlash; commentary on festival culture shifts.
