I Always Will

In Which Riley Must (Finally) Relinquish Control

Riley

We've done a round dozen of songwriter showcases in Nashville, but they are usually small events at the honkytonks or local bars. Some aren't much more than an open mic night. Others require a little more legwork to get into. Most of the showcases are just a fan engagement opportunity, although you never know when there might be some A&R guys at the bar, hoping to find an act that fits their needs. When they are there, they always talk to us, probably out of respect for Row's celebrity and my name in the business.

They tell us we've got a tremendous act, beautiful songs, vocal sync that is both dynamic and smooth, great stage presence. However, no one aggressively pursued signing us. I understood that they assumed we had a handshake deal with Colossal. They thought Colossal had just sent us out to look like we were paying our dues. I didn't discourage their notions. I didn't think we'd need a label. I thought our first album would magically catch fire on the charts based on the hype around our appearance on Corbin Frey, and Row's former celebrity, and perhaps the curiosity surrounding our personal life.

I thought we'd generate enough on the music stream apps to found our own independent label, but our downloads barely covered the promotion packages we had to purchase to upload our music. I should have thrown much more money into our branding than into the fancy studio in Muscle Shoals. But I didn't. I tried to run our socials myself, just like I tried to manage our appearance schedule and our money and our equipment and our merch and our publicity and... everything.

And everything else was much more urgent than social media branding and our publicity. It was the last place I put my energy. I thought Row's fame would automatically transfer to our brand. It did not, because I failed to build the cyber-bridge.

In other words, for the first time in my business career, I made a huge error in judgment. Of course, it would be when it matters to most to the woman I love.

After that, I started courting the A&R guys at showcases, because I knew we needed some of the resources a label would help us with—specifically the branding. But Matt's predictions about how our act would be received were all true.

They don't take us seriously. No one wants to risk backing us. They're afraid we won't last as a couple. They don't trust Row's professionalism. They expect she will lose focus again. They think I'm just having a lark, probably some existential crisis after my near-fatal car crash, or perhaps I'm just trying to please my woman by doing her musical bidding.

I know how these guys think. I used to be one of them. Guys who love power rarely comprehend giving it up. They're sure I'll get tired of the tedium of performing and return to management, where I can simply trade one aging act for the new hottest band, and keep the money and the power.

It's one of the reasons we need to get new music out. To show we are serious about going the distance. And our sophomore album—cut at the Clink by our producer Charlie Peacock who is about the only bloke this side of the Mississippi that actually believes in us—is ready to drop on all the streaming apps through the same production platforms we used before, but I've pressed pause. Because doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is insanity.

I need something—anything—to happen for us at this Showcase tonight. This showcase is not like the small-time gigs from last year. This showcase is sponsored by the Ryman. The most respected venue in Nashville. We had to bloody audition, and even then I had to broker a deal for Adam Heartley to host the damn thing, just to make sure we got in.

We need a record deal with a marketing team behind us. Or a publicist willing to work without a retainer, on future commission. Or hell, I'd even take a big industry mag feature to bump up our buzz again before the album drops—it doesn't even have to be Rolling Stone.