One thousand five hundred miles northeast of Lafayette is one of the nation’s newest Cajun and zydeco festivals.
The Bayou Boogie, three days of dancing and camping in the rolling Connecticut hills, features some of Acadiana’s finest: Geno Delafose and French Rockin’ Boogie, the Pine Leaf Boys, and Steve Riley — the festival’s headliner, co-organizer and booker.
Gigs like these are the bread and butter of Lafayette’s traditional music scene. It’s how most touring players make a living. And in 2025 that’s getting harder, many say, as folk festivals across the country close or shut down stages long reserved for Cajun and zydeco bands.
Disappearing stages were a prime motivation for Riley and his partners at Bayou Boogie. The festival was launched two years ago to replace the demise of another Connecticut festival that shut down after a 25-year run.
“The promoter decided he didn’t want to do it anymore,” Riley says. “So me and a few people just kind of decided, ‘let’s try to do this on our own,’ because it’s important to not lose any more festivals that promote Cajun and zydeco music.”
Meanwhile, what opportunities remain are paying less. Gigs back home aren’t earning what they used to either. It’s put many players in a financial squeeze and spurred some Lafayette officials to explore the health of the local music economy through the Lafayette Music Census launched this year.
Of course, not making money isn’t a new gripe in the music industry. And historically, traditional music hasn’t been lucrative.
“It is not easy to be a zydeco and Cajun musician. It is not mainstream music. You’re not selling buttloads of records. You’re making your money performing, but I have had to diversify beyond just that,” says Riley, making note of a pivot to producing events like the festival and some specialty shows back home.
The crunch isn’t limited to traditional Acadiana music, as it coincides with a decline in the live music industry nationally.
The causes of that decline are complex, murky even. Some mish-mash of Covid, a growing disinterest in live music among younger audiences — registered across venues and genres — and a surplus of freely available music via streaming services.
Indeed, there’s pressure all around the music economy. It’s harder to make money making records, too. Historically, Louisiana musicians in general have made their money playing live. And summer festivals around the country have long been a prime source of revenue for Acadiana’s musical exports.
For instance, the 2024 Waterfront Blues Festival in Portland, Oregon, featured Lost Bayou Ramblers, Curley Taylor, Daiquiri Queens and K.C. Jones. The year before brought CJ Chenier, Geno Delafose, The Revelers and Jourdan Thibodeaux.
In 2025, Waterfront’s lone Louisiana-flavored booking was the Too Loose Cajun Zydeco Band — from Portland, Oregon.
Festivals and venues, also facing higher costs, have turned their attention to safer bets on bigger names, presenting another challenge for emerging artists.
“Venues are struggling, and grant funding has been cut, as you know, tremendously,” says Mollie Farr, a booking agent based in Lafayette who represents notable Acadiana touring artists like Jourdan Thibodeaux, Cedric Watson, Kelli Jones and others. “So these bigger festivals … can’t really afford to take the risk of not selling out for everything every show.”
Folk festivals often rely on public and private philanthropy to fund their operations. Farr, who also works with Smithsonian Folkways, says the uncertainty around grants after the Trump administration’s cuts to the National Endowment for the Arts is also to blame for the decline in pay and opportunity. Pandemic-era funds are also sunsetting, many of which were at least partially dedicated to businesses most affected by the pandemic, such as live music venues.
Local bookings, which pay considerably less and are also seasonally dependent, can’t make up for that loss in revenue.
“You can make a living that way,” Farr says of life on the road. “You can eke by. And then it comes to the winter time, and it gets more difficult.”
Riley, for his part, has turned to producing live shows locally and elsewhere in recent years, putting on compilation performances like Cajun Accordion Kings or Creole Accordion Kings.
He would likely have diversified his portfolio regardless, Riley says. He doesn’t like to be away from his family for long stretches, although he’s brought his son Burke on this summer’s jaunt to Nova Scotia, the longest tour he’s taken in years.
This year, Bayou Boogie made money for Riley and his partners, and the bands he booked. Enough, at least, to do it again next year and maybe franchise it to the West Coast one day.
“I will probably transition more to being a promoter in the years to come than a live performer,” Riley says. “I think it’s just a smart thing to do, considering my age and the way things work. The bottom line is, as a musician, you have got to diversify. You have got to maybe have another part time job. It’s unfortunate, but that’s what it is.”
Louisiana has a long history of supporting its cultural exports. The state provides stipends through the Music Ambassadors program. Lafayette Travel makes ad hoc grants available, but at most a handful each year, says CEO Ben Berthelot, given the funding available.
This year, Berthelot has seen an uptick in requests. Even festival organizers have begun making calls to get help.
Standing up a formalized program to support traveling musicians has been cost prohibitive, he says. Big picture, he hopes musicians are able to earn their keep at home. Lafayette has the potential to become a music city in its own right, he argues, the question is how to get there.
“I would love for our musicians not to have to travel every month to make a living,” Berthelot says. “So how do we become a place like Nashville, a sort of hub of incubation for music?”
Lafayette Travel is one of the organizations behind the Lafayette Music Census. The broad goal of the program is to recognize the economic value of the local music scene and develop ways to support it institutionally.
One finding in the census: 83% of those surveyed earn most of their income from a job other than music. The average take per local gig, $482. On the road, $910.
“Guarantees are not going up no matter who the artist is. And travel expenses, hotel expenses, everything is through the roof,” says Joel Savoy, a scion of the Savoy family Cajun musical dynasty and owner of Valcour Records. “So what I am seeing in my immediate circle is bands shrinking. You can take what a five-piece band would normally do; we’re now doing with trios to keep all the costs down, to keep the daily rate of each musician up.”
But for Savoy, that shift is not necessarily a marker of decline or a looming existential threat. He’s more concerned about the tariff rate on accordion reeds imported from Italy, a bigger issue for his day job.
“What I do for a living is I build accordions with my dad every day. I run a recording studio. I operate a record label, right? I travel playing music, and I fix vintage electronics for people,” Savoy says. “Everything I do relates to music, but I do a lot of things to scratch up a living. I do not make a living as a touring musician.”
From an early age, his dad Marc, leading by example at the Savoy Music Center, insisted Joel and his siblings made a living apart from making music.
Joel Savoy is a bit of an optimist about the current state of affairs, even as he sees a need for the public sector to step in and support the music industry.
Sure, bands might tour less or in smaller arrangements, he acknowledges. But that demand for Acadiana’s cultural commodities will sustain is a safe bet in his view. It’s the same logic that brought Riley to restart the Bayou Boogie. And for others to continue to hit the road, despite the economic headwinds.
“In Acadiana, our exports are Cajun and zydeco music. It doesn’t come from anywhere else,” says Savoy. “I still think that they can survive today, and I don’t see that ever going away.”