Music at the Border: Red Tape and Trump’s Rhetoric Are Keeping Artists Out of the U.S.

Shred Kelly had the paperwork. 

The Canadian indie-folk band had hired an immigration lawyer, secured their visas, and lined up their spring U.S. tour — a run that included a coveted slot at Idaho’s Treefort Music Festival, booked in partnership with Music BC, a nonprofit funded in part by the Canadian government to promote talent from British Columbia. 

The logistics had already been a hurdle. Expedited processing alone cost Shred Kelly more than $5,000 CAD, plus $1,500 to join the American Federation of Musicians — a requirement to secure visa approval. The band spent weeks compiling documents, contracts, and tour dates, which they planned to put in a binder to present at the border, just in case they were detained or separated. But they felt like it was all worth it for a chance to break into a bigger market just south of home.

“We were trying to do things by the book, at a time when it seems like the book is being rewritten,” says Sage McBride, vocalist and keyboard player in the band. 

Shred Kelly — McBride, Tim Newton, Ty West, and Ryan Mildenberger — weren’t new to the international circuit. They had already toured Europe seven times, played across the U.K. twice, and performed in the United States twice, all in under eight years. “But we’ve never received so many messages from people worried about our travel plans,” says McBride. 

As they weighed their options, reports continued to flood in of the arrest and detention of Canadian and European travelers. A backpacker from Wales spent nearly three weeks at a U.S. ICE detention center near the Canadian border, according to BBC News. A Canadian actor on a work visa was detained at the Tijuana border for 12 days before being sent home, according to The New York Times. Another woman, a tourist from Germany, spent more than six weeks locked up, including over a week in solitary confinement, The Associated Press reported. 

Then, during a band meeting in late March — just days before their scheduled Treefort debut — one of the members says what they all seemed to be thinking:

“Do you think we should even go?”

They weren’t the only ones asking this question. Over the past several months, multiple international artists have withdrawn from U.S. tours or showcases, citing political volatility, visa uncertainty, and concerns over border treatment. The cancellations span genres and geographies — from indie singer-songwriters to renowned classical performers — many of whom had already secured the necessary paperwork before ultimately backing out. The reasons echo a shared unease: fear of being detained, denied entry, or caught in bureaucratic limbo.

When Red Tape Becomes Razor Wire 

Some of what Shred Kelly experienced isn’t new. 

Even before Trump returned to power on Jan. 20, 2025, the U.S. had become one of the most expensive, paperwork-heavy, inflexible, and unpredictable countries for touring artists to enter. 

The U.S. visa system is uniquely punishing; among the most burdensome in the world for international performers. Even short visits for showcase festivals often require massive expense and risk. 

Under the Biden administration, on April 1, 2024, the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) introduced an increase in visa fees for the first time in nearly a decade, raising the cost from $460 to over $1,615 per application — a more than 250 percent increase.  

For comparison: Most of the world treats touring like what it is: cultural exchange. Countries like Canada, the U.K., Mexico, and much of the EU offer short-term performance visas with minimal red tape and modest fees. In Canada, U.S. artists can perform for up to two weeks without a work permit, provided they show proof of engagements. For longer stays, a permit runs about $230 CAD ($170 USD), and union members can get a cultural exchange letter from the CFM for $50 CAD. It’s not frictionless, but compared to the U.S., the red tape looks more like ribbon. In the U.K., performers can apply for a Permitted Paid Engagement (PPE) visa for just $155 USD, allowing them to work for up to a month without a formal sponsor — as long as they’re invited by a reputable venue or organizer and can prove they’re professionals in their field.

In the U.S., the process is treated like formal employment, with all the cost, bureaucracy, and friction that implies. 

Before a single note is played on U.S. soil, international artists must clear a bureaucratic gauntlet so convoluted and costly, it feels less like a process and more like a warning: For some, “proceed at your own risk.” For others, “stay out.” 

Even superstar acts can get snared in the system. Just days into her Eusexua tour, FKA Twigs announced she had to postpone shows in New York, Chicago, and Toronto due to visa paperwork issues, calling the news “heartbreaking.” On April 5 — citing “ongoing visa issues,”  the British singer-songwriter took to social media to announce the cancellation of all of her remaining North American tour dates for April, including Ceremonia and Coachella.

At the center of that maze are two main visa types: the O-1B, for individuals with “extraordinary ability” in the arts; and the P-1B, for members of internationally recognized performance groups. Both require months of planning and thousands of dollars — just to ask for permission to perform.

It starts with a U.S.-based sponsor — usually a booking agent, manager, or venue — willing to file a petition with USCIS. That petition must include a mountain of supporting materials: tour itineraries, signed contracts, press clippings, proof of international acclaim. It also requires a consultation letter from a relevant American labor union, such as the American Federation of Musicians or SAG-AFTRA, attesting that the artist is qualified and won’t displace domestic workers. That letter alone can cost hundreds and take weeks.

Once the stack is assembled, the sponsor submits Form I-129 to USCIS, along with a $1,055 filing fee. From there, the wait begins — standard processing can take anywhere from three to six months, sometimes more. Unless, of course, you pay to jump the line. For an additional $2,805, artists can opt for “premium processing,” a 15-day fast-track that brings the total cost of the visa process into the $5,000–$10,000 range — before a single plane ticket or hotel room is booked.

And that’s still not the visa.

Once approved, the artist receives a Form I-797 — an approval notice that allows them to schedule a consular interview in their home country. There, they’ll submit more paperwork, pay another fee, and sit for an in-person appointment that can make or break their tour. This is often the most unpredictable step — where last-minute denials or inexplicable rejections can derail everything. And especially for artists from the Global South or marginalized communities, systemic disparities, such as inconsistent consular standards and limited access to resources, can make the process even more precarious.

But even with a visa in hand, the journey isn’t over. At the port of entry, U.S. Customs and Border Protection has the final say. Border agents can — and sometimes do — deny entry on the spot, regardless of prior approvals. More than a few artists have watched tours crumble from an airport terminal. 

In March 2025, The Guardian reported that British punk band UK Subs were denied entry to the U.S. after an 11-hour flight. Bassist Alvin Gibbs said he was detained for 25 hours before being deported, suspecting his public criticism of President Donald Trump may have played a role. Similarly, in 2017, Italian post-punk band Soviet Soviet was deported after arriving for a South by Southwest (SXSW) showcase due to visa issues, according to NPR.

All told, the process involves at least half a dozen agencies and institutions, each with its own rules, fees, and timelines. A single misstep — a missing document, a clerical error, a slow union turnaround — can tank months of planning and tens of thousands in sunk costs. And if the artist is traveling with a crew, a band, or support staff? Rinse and repeat. 

Then there’s the IRS.

Unlike most foreign workers, nonresident entertainers and athletes don’t benefit from tax treaties that prevent double taxation. The IRS imposes a flat 30 percent withholding on gross income — no matter how much you earn. The rule was designed to catch high earners gaming the system through shell companies, but there’s no floor. A headliner playing stadiums pays the same rate as an indie act pulling in a few hundred a night. There are workarounds, but for emerging acts, it’s just another wall.

“When you’re a young artist making $250 a night on a support or club tour, then you get slapped with a $7,500 immigration bill, and you’re paying out 30 percent off the top?” says Jackson Haring, general manager of High Road Touring, a leading agency that works with international acts navigating the U.S. live market. He’s seen firsthand how the rising costs and red tape are pushing promising new talent to the margins — or off the map entirely.

For large acts with legal teams and major-label budgets, this complex system is a headache. For artists working on tight margins — or still trying to break through — it is cost prohibitive, and increasingly inhospitable.

Fear Is the New Border 

Many of the bureaucratic complexities that plague international artists predate the present political moment. What is new, however, is the atmosphere of unease ushered in by Donald Trump’s return to power. “Because it’s not just the cost,” says Andrew Cash, president of the Canadian Independent Music Association (CIMA). “It’s the perceived instability.”

Cash would know. Before leading Canada’s indie music trade group, he spent years on both sides of the border — first as a touring artist signed to Island Records, later as a member of Parliament for Toronto’s Davenport riding. Now, he’s watching an old problem metastasize into something new: a cultural climate where fear, not just policy, is shaping who dares to cross the border.

“The rhetoric, the arbitrary enforcement, the unpredictability. That’s a really tricky space to ask independent artists to risk their limited resources in.”

In February, amid President Trump’s escalating rhetoric on tariffs and even hints at annexation, CIMA pulled out of SXSW just weeks before the festival — an unprecedented move that underscored the climate of uncertainty for international artists, as previously reported by Rolling Stone.

“What I will say is that both the U.K. and German governments have issued travel advisories to their citizens, saying that even if you have the correct visa, you could still have problems at the border. That’s telling you something,” Cash says. 

This volatility seems to go hand in hand with a political shift: an administration seemingly indifferent to, or unconcerned with, how its policies and rhetoric ripple outward. How they touch sectors like the arts that were never part of the conversation, but feel the consequences all the same.

Under immigration policies first introduced during Trump’s first term — including what the administration described as “extreme vetting” — foreign artists faced mounting delays, heightened scrutiny, and an exhaustive list of demands. A supplemental visa form introduced by the State Department in 2017, DS-5535, required applicants to submit 15 years of travel and employment history, five years’ worth of social media handles, and details about funding sources and personal contacts. Advocacy groups and immigration lawyers noted at the time a disproportionate impact on applicants from African nations and Muslim-majority countries. They also documented a steep rise in visa denials and last-minute holds, especially for artists from the Global South, where consulates disproportionately applied the added screening. Even artists with approved petitions were sometimes left in limbo or denied entry altogether. 

Even so, for many in the global touring circuit, the present moment feels less like a continuation of past challenges, and more like a new phase altogether — more stark, more pervasive, and unmistakably more personal. It carries the weight of something deeper: a sense of being deliberately unwelcome.

“There was a sense internationally that the U.S. was a ridiculous bureaucracy. Now, it feels antagonistic. That sense that this is part of an anti-art, anti-foreigner sentiment,” says Matt Covey, executive director of Tamizdat, a nonprofit that helps international artists cut through U.S. visa red tape. For more than 20 years, Covey’s been in the trenches, advising everyone from emerging bands to world-renowned performers on how to navigate America’s notoriously byzantine immigration system. If there’s a canary in the coal mine of cross-border touring, it’s him. He notes that for every artist who goes public about canceling U.S. dates, there are several more who don’t — quietly stepping back out of fear — afraid they might be flagged, denied a visa, or lose work.  

The recent revocation of Mexican band Los Alegres del Barranco’s visas — after they performed a song praising a cartel kingpin — only intensified concerns about how artistic expression can collide with U.S. policy. The State Department cited imagery from the performance as justification, with a top official declaring, “The last thing we need is a welcome mat for people who extol criminals and terrorists.”

In a similar vein, late March saw the State Department revoke more than 300 visas, many in response to political activism by students, a move critics saw as a broader warning shot for anyone whose speech, art, or affiliations might be seen as controversial by the current administration.

For international artists already second-guessing whether the U.S. is worth the risk, it was a stark message: What you say — or sing — could cost you.

“Like, we always understood that U.S. border agents can look through your phone, your social media. That’s always been within their purview. But I had never heard of that actually happening,” Cash says. “Until now.”

Ultimately, Shred Kelly decided at the end of March to cancel their Treefort Music Festival set. “Sad news buds,” they posted on social media. “Unfortunately due to changes with crossing the border recently, we aren’t 100% sure we have the paperwork ready to cross the border without issue. So won’t be able to make it to Treefort this year.”

They added: “Even more bummed of course about our US-Canadian relations, with this being the most insignificant ripple effect compared to everything else going on, but wanted to share anyways.”

They had the visas. They had the gigs. What they didn’t have anymore was trust.

“We weren’t confident with crossing the border,” says McBride. “We needed more time. We couldn’t take the risk. It just didn’t feel like it was worth it.”

Shred Kelly’s decision wasn’t isolated. Across the music world, other international artists — even those with far more name recognition and resources — are coming to the same conclusion.

Hungarian-born pianist Sir András Schiff recently canceled all of his 2025 U.S. performances, citing Trump’s “unbelievable bullying,” while German violinist Christian Tetzlaff withdrew from an eight-city U.S. tour in February, stating the political atmosphere left him feeling like “a child watching a horror film,” according to The New York Times.

But is there a tipping point where the U.S. stops being worth it for international acts? For mid-level acts and larger, the U.S. remains the number one music market in the world. 

But for smaller acts? “I wonder if we’ve reached that point now,” says Haring.

Rethinking America

It’s not just international artists feeling the strain. The teams, agencies, and export organizations behind them are being forced to rethink where — and whether — to invest their time, energy, and limited resources in breaking into the U.S. market. “Most governments put money into developing artists in what they see as a crucial market: the U.S.,” says Covey. 

Governments in Australia, Canada, and across Europe invest in programs that help their artists break into international markets. That support can mean footing the bill for travel, visas, tour support, and marketing costs, or securing spots at high-profile industry showcases like SXSW or The Great Escape. “Those entities are very seriously considering turning away from the U.S.,” Covey warns. 

The combination of perceived fear and very real bureaucratic gridlock creates a kind of paralysis — a deadly amalgam that suffocates momentum for international artists, especially those chasing fast-moving opportunities.

“The vitality of hot moments happening across music means there is an immediacy,” says Esti Zilber, executive producer at Sounds Australia, a government-funded music export initiative that has helped launch dozens of Australian acts onto the global stage. “And being able to capitalize on those moments — the visa system in the U.S. right now does not allow us to do that. There’s no quick way in.”

The U.S. remains a top priority for international artists — for good reason. The global live music market is expected to grow by nearly $18 billion between 2025 and 2029, with North America projected to drive 35 percent of that growth, making it the most lucrative and influential live music region in the world, according to market research firm Technavio. From a career development standpoint, breaking into the U.S. can be a game changer. It offers unmatched touring infrastructure, a massive and musically diverse audience, and exposure to influential media, labels, and booking agents. 

“This is the biggest marketplace in the world, so why would you not pay the money?” Haring acknowledges. 

But how that priority is approached is starting to shift. Rather than shoulder the escalating risk and expense of sending export-ready artists abroad, organizations like Zilber’s are leaning into a reverse strategy: bringing U.S. industry to them. Events like BIGSOUND in Brisbane and SXSW Sydney are becoming key touchpoints, designed to give U.S. labels, agents, and promoters a chance to discover new talent on Australian soil. (In 2021, Rolling Stone’s parent company, PMRC, acquired a 50 percent stake in the SXSW festival.)

But there is also the very real risk that, if the U.S. keeps slamming cultural doors, artists might just stop knocking. That cascade doesn’t just erode opportunities for artists abroad. It narrows the soundscape here at home. Audiences lose out. Promoters hedge their bets. And the cultural conversation grows a little quieter.

“Some agents are not signing international artists,” says Covey. “Many venues aren’t booking them. Labels are questioning whether to sign them. Because if an artist can’t tour the U.S., what’s the point of signing them? It’s a cascading effect.”

The Cultural Toll 

The U.S. may still be the ultimate prize, but for many international artists and their teams, the cost of chasing it is starting to outweigh the payoff. What was once seen as a necessary investment is now being reevaluated — and in some cases, rerouted.

“There is definitely a dilution of focus,” Zilber says. Not because the U.S. isn’t important — “It’s still the number one music market in the world,” she emphasizes — but because the risk-reward ratio is shifting for developing artists. 

With steep upfront costs, long lead times, and growing uncertainty, some acts are looking instead to rapidly expanding markets like Mexico and India. These are regions where streaming numbers are climbing, international industry presence is growing, and logistical barriers are fewer. As for the U.S., she says, “It’s not something we’re turning our back on, it’s just something we’re trying to be smart about in terms of working our way in.”  

Andrew Cash, president of the Canadian Independent Music Association, agrees. “We’re not seeing an immediate pivot, but yes — some artists are starting to look at other markets. It’s not that they don’t want to play the U.S. It’s that they’re asking if the stress is worth it.”

‘The Show Must Go On’

The U.S. isn’t fading from the world stage; it’s just making itself harder to get to. If enough artists start looking elsewhere, America could become a cultural blind spot — by choice, not by chance. But if voices like Cash and Zilber have anything to say about it, the show’s not over yet.

“And I really do want to stress,” Cash says, “that despite the current challenges, the bulk of independent Canadian artists and their teams who are touring and doing business in the U.S. are intending on continuing. It’s hugely important.” 

The desire for cultural exchange hasn’t gone away. What’s needed now is a system willing to meet that desire halfway. Because in the end, a nation that closes its borders to art isn’t just keeping others out — it’s shutting itself in.

“International collaboration is a huge part of music,” Cash says. “This isn’t just about visas. It’s about our relationship, culturally and politically. It’s how people understand and connect with each other.”

Still, for some the connection is no longer worth the risk. On April 4, still reeling from their Treefort pullout, Shred Kelly pulled the plug on the rest of their U.S. dates: three gigs in May, a string of summer shows, and another run in the fall.

The final straw was a Globe and Mail report in which immigration lawyers advised travelers to scrub their social media or leave their phones behind — advice that hit a little too close to home. “It was all just beginning to feel like now wasn’t the best time for us to try to export and grow into the U.S.,” says Sage McBride. “And since our plan was to cross multiple times over the next eight months, we weren’t sure we’d feel at ease.”

The show must go on. But for more and more artists, it’s going somewhere else.

Alex Ashley is a journalist and musician based in Los Angeles and Seattle. His reporting has appeared in Rolling Stone, The Atlantic, NPR, and other national outlets. When he’s not writing, he’s onstage — touring as a professional musician and songwriter.