When concerts collapse last minute…

There is a particular cruelty to a concert that collapses the day before it is meant to happen. The posters are up, the tickets are sold, the artist is hours from boarding — and then, quietly, the whole thing evaporates. Over the past week, Dhaka has watched this play out not once but repeatedly, as a run of Pakistani performers found their shows shelved on the very eve of the curtain rising

Murtaza Qizilbash's "Sense It with Murtaza Qizilbash Live in Dhaka" — billed as his debut international show — was the most visible casualty. "These unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances have left me with a heavy heart as well, and my first-ever international show has had to be postponed," the singer wrote to his fans here, promising that "we will come back stronger than ever."

He was not alone. A day before, Primewave Communications announced that Kaavish Live in Dhaka, scheduled for 26 September, would not be held as planned. Their statement was pointed in its phrasing,"Despite completing all necessary preparations, approvals, and formalities, we have been directed by the relevant government authorities not to proceed with the event due to unavoidable circumstances beyond our control."

Dhaka Beats, the organiser behind the Qizilbash show, echoed the same helplessness, citing "last-minute security interventions and following directives from the relevant authorities" for a 25 September event that had to be rescheduled. 

In each case, the message to ticket-holders was identical: your ticket stays valid, and for the Dhaka Beats rescheduling, a refund will be available through the Quicket app within seven business days.

A bureaucratic loop

To understand how a fully cleared show can die overnight, we spoke to Rezwan Rashid, COO of one of the organisers of these concerts, who walked us through a permission process that is far more punishing than most fans realise.

By his account, an organiser is out of pocket long before anyone approves anything. Clearance begins at the Cultural Ministry, where proof of advance payment to the artiste must be attached upfront. 

From there, directions flow to the National Board of Revenue to collect taxes, and to the Home Ministry to run background checks through its constellation of agencies — the NSI, Special Branch and the Dhaka Metropolitan Police.

The tax bill alone is steep, and it is paid in advance. VAT is charged both against the artist — flights, hotel, stay — and against projected ticket sales, at 26.5% on every ticket sold. Crucially, that money is handed to the state before a single ticket changes hands. 

"You haven't even sold the ticket," Rashid explained, describing how organisers must estimate their audience and remit revenue to the government pre-emptively.

Then comes the sting. Even with DMP clearance secured and a positive NSI report in hand, the decisive nod comes last and comes late. "Home Ministry is final step," Rashid said. "You go to the Home Ministry after everything is done" — and its approval, he added, usually arrives perilously close to the date. In the Qizilbash case, he said, NSI cleared the show on the 24th; by the same day, it was off.

What frustrates organisers most is the ambiguity of the final signal. "If it's a yes, then it's an official letter," Rezwan said. "But if it's not a yes, it's quite vague, and without that particular clearance, you can't really do the show." 

"I don't blame the government," he stressed, acknowledging genuine security concerns. 

Rashid is candid that the losses are his to absorb. "We are in huge loss," he said, and yet the online commentary has painted organisers as villains — chor, dakat, batpar, fraudster. "I've paid the government its revenue, I've paid the tax, and I'm still offering a refund," he said, visibly deflated. His larger worry is structural: "It's bad for the whole music industry in Bangladesh. And it's saddening, actually."

'Let there be music'

For musician Zohad Reza Chowdhury, the repeated foreign-artist cancellations are less a dead end than an opening — a chance to reroute the momentum inward.

Before speaking to us, he had posted the night before on social media arguing that once shows had finally restarted well, the smart move was to protect that revival for local acts. In conversation, he sharpened the point: if circumstances keep barring visiting performers, organisers should "have shows that have local artists, have different kinds of shows" 

"I want shows to continue. If we can't bring foreign artists, then we'll do it with local artistes… At the end of the day… let there be music!" Zohad Reza Chowdhury, Musician

"Bring folk musicians. Do all sorts of shows. Why not? Make it a festival, you know?" He gestured to the depth already on offer at home, from Coke Studio Bangla's fusion and mashup work to a Nemesis, Avoid Rafa or Cryptic Fate bill.

His concern about reputation, though, was sober. The real casualty of last-minute collapses, he warned, is trust — on both sides. Foreign acts "will lose the trust of these organisers that are trying to bring these artists back," while local audiences "will also start losing trust from now on." Having watched a fragile ticket-buying culture return, with young fans finally willing to spend 500, 800, even 1,000 taka on a night out, he fears each eleventh-hour cancellation chips away at it.

For all the exasperation, Zohad's verdict was generous. "I want shows to continue," he said. "If we can't bring foreign artists, then we'll do it with local artists." Or, as he put it in his post: "at the end of the day…let there be music!"