This disparity is not lost on Shawn Gee, the longtime manager of the Roots, co-founder of Live Nation Urban, and a partner in a firm that manages the likes of Nicki Minaj and Lil Wayne. A dozen years ago, the Roots, Gee, and his late business partner, Richard Nichols, recognized that the band essentially paid its bills with the money it made on the European festival circuit. But there were few stateside counterparts, especially ones that focused on hip-hop or soul. Together, they launched the Roots Picnic in Philadelphia. It has since spawned a second edition in New York, and both have become summer-music institutions.

The Roots Picnic embodies the best of what artist-curated festivals can present—massive celebrations where Alicia Keys has performed an unannounced set, the Roots have backed Usher and Pharrell Williams, and Black Thought and Fat Joe have traded lines, all for ecstatic crowds. In recent years, they’ve added a stage for producing podcasts on the spot and another for gadgetry and gamers. Its success may suggest that there would be many other festivals led by hip-hop stars on the rise, but they have yet to materialize.

“The perception has been that, since most of the people putting these festivals together are white, those are the only people capable of pulling together the resources to do so,” says Black Thought. “We were ahead of the curve in breaking that misconception, and we set a precedent.”

When Chance the Rapper wanted to turn Chicago’s U.S. Cellular Field into a one-day festival grounds in 2016, he seemed to run into the problem Black Thought identifies: Most traditional promoters said he was crazy, as his fanbase wouldn’t deliver the necessary numbers. Those promoters even tried to steer him to a run of theater shows or an arena, remembers Mike Luba, a partner in the production company Madison House Presents. But when Luba heard about Chance’s proposal, he jumped at the chance.

“All bands say they’d love to have a festival, but finding bands that are truly motivated enough to do it is rare,” says Luba. “Chance put his money where his mouth was.” In the end, the likes of Kanye West, Skrillex, John Legend, and Alicia Keys joined Chance for that triumphant Chicago Saturday. He sold nearly 50,000 tickets, smashing all of the stadium’s attendance records.

For Black Thought, Chance’s success and the long reign of the Roots Picnic can help dismantle the lingering notion that white men already ensconced in the music industry are best equipped to manage festivals. “The perception is a little disappointing, but it’s all smoke and mirrors,” he says. “You’re seeing more festivals put together by women and people of color. Do I wish there were more? Absolutely. And do I think you will see more? Again, absolutely.”

Indeed, Gee is currently working to build those opportunities for artists of color through Live Nation Urban. On Memorial Day Weekend, gospel legend Kirk Franklin will present the first Exodus Music & Arts Festival in Dallas, in conjunction with Gee. That seems to be only the start. If the rise of festivals in the United States is, to date, primarily one of white artists and fans, Gee knows there is room to replicate the model with a fundamentally different outlook on behalf of the globe’s biggest concert promoter and with the help of artists themselves. “The idea is to build unique live platforms within gospel, hip-hop, and R&B,” says Gee, “to look within those genres and fill the void.”

This is the kind of incremental change that could eventually overhaul a system still dominated by traditional power brokers, even if, as in Gee’s case, it happens from inside the establishment. Recognizing and speaking to the imbalance—especially at a moment when artists have such direct access to their audience through social media—can slowly help correct it.

The possibility of these small, steady shifts represents the ultimate promise of artist-curated festivals. By their mere existence, they can compel other festivals to be more imaginative, to think about programming outside of the buzz bands and radio stars du jour. And because they come with the automatic collateral of marketing power and built-in audiences, they can take risks with challenging artists and nebulous concepts that don’t need to carry the same commercial weight on a hierarchical concert poster.

With Eaux Claires keeping this year’s lineup a secret until the festival begins, they’re betting they don’t even need a traditional promotional poster at all. For Vernon, his team, and, it seems, most every artist risking their own time and money to build such an idealistic event, the risk seems to be a test worth taking. The broad goal is to push back against entrenched festival rules and change the tone of a conversation in which, sooner or later, they all participate. These bands still play major festivals with corporate boosters, after all, because those outsized paydays help fund everything else they do. But that doesn’t have to be the only option.

“Why does it have to be about maximizing profits every time there’s a question about everything? That bugs me,” says Vernon. “We’re not trying to be the biggest festival in the world. We’re just trying to be the best we can be.”