THE OAK BRIGGS SAGA part I: gone country
If wishes were horses
I'd have me a stable
With four acres of pasture so they could all run free
And I'd spend all my daydream hours
Carin' for them wishes
But my number one wish-horse would always be
You comin' back to me
...Whi-hi-hi-nny.
In the hotel room, Nathan Sokolowsky put on his cowboy hat, buttoned and strapped on his Western garb, and slipped into his current / less-comfortable nom de plume. He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror to make sure his transformation into Oak Briggs was truly complete.
Nashville's version of August made the most seasoned of the local pros question their longstanding dress code. "Oak" was soon sweating profusely in his chosen ensemble, practically choking on the butterflies in the back seat of the taxi cab.
The imminent downtown meeting had been years of blood / sweat / tears in the making, not that anyone but Nathan or his manager would have noticed or cared. Then his manager called him up to give him the increasingly unexpected good news, just after he'd finished his latest demo. He'd surely never get another shot like this.
Meetings like this had always been rare-- much rarer than the general public had ever imagined-- for industry unknowns, even in the good ol' days of the business. In 2013, such opportunities for outsiders were as common as sightings of basketball-playing leprechauns riding Harley-Davidson-branded custom unicorns... with an eager, intoxicated entourage of smokin' hot mermaid groupies hanging off the back.
It was a blessing, Nathan thought, that he had just the right voice for country. Mainstream country and Christian rock were the only two genres left that were basically piracy-proof and still selling actual records. At this point, the remaining consolidated major labels were only signing about eight, ten artists a year in all other genres combined. But they were still willing to "gamble" annually on maybe 25 new country artists... just so long as those "gambles" were all predictable, painlessly marketable, and absolutely sure bets to recoup.
If my dreams were livestock
I'd have me a big ranch
I'd make sure every calf was pure grain-fed
No hormone injections for my dreams
They'd be free-roamin', what a beautiful scene
But in my dream-barn of well-loved hens and sows
My dream of you's my number one cash cow
...Mee-ee-ee-ow...?
"Mr. Dressler will see you now, Mr. Briggs."
"Much obliged, ma'am." Nathan picked up his guitar, not that he thought he'd actually need it, and tipped his hat gratefully to Jimmy Dressler's voluptuous young secretary as he walked past. She smiled; although she surely saw two dozen dashing country stars in the flesh each and every week, Nathan could tell she particularly liked what she saw today.
A good sign, to be sure, but Nathan was also sort of used to that by now. He'd been killing himself daily at the gym for the last three years, planning for a day like today. In modern Nashville, moreso than even Hollywood, you didn't stand a chance of an exec's second glance if you weren't extremely easy on the eyes.
Strutting slowly into Jimmy Dressler's office, Nathan did his best to look unfazed, humble, warm, stoic, sexy, and instantly likeable to middle America all at the same time. He set down his guitar case, grabbed Dressler's outstretched hand, and shook firmly while giving Dressler a look at the best smile $12,000 worth of real-country orthodontia could buy. "I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Dressler. It's truly an honor."
"Sure, sure, the pleasure's all mine, Oak. Glad you could make it into Nashville on such short notice. Please, though, do call me Jimmy. And have a seat, let's chat about what you can maybe do for us."
Nathan sat in the only chair without armrests, just in case he might need to get out his guitar after all. "Well, my manager says you've already heard my latest demo, Jimmy," he said helpfully, reaching into his pocket. "But I brought a copy in on my iPhone just in case you'd like to listen further with me."
Dressler stared at him blankly. Nathan cleared his throat and moved on.
"I'm, uh, I'm guessing you've already heard 'If Wishes Were Horses.' We were both thinkin' that might make a great first single."
"Oak..." Dressler spoke slowly, eyes on his desk, twiddling a pen in his hands. "I think maybe your manager, or maybe you, misunderstood a thing or two over the phone. But yeah, I've... I've heard the demo. There's just no way to say this nicely... it sounds like you might be trying a little too hard to be 'country.' Like, trying to the point where I wasn't totally sure that you weren't... making fun of country audiences."
If my goals were all pickup trucks
I'd proudly park 'em all side by side
On that long dirt road leadin' to my double-wide.
'Cause garages are for city folk, hey.
I'm just a workin' man, USA.
So my country-boy carport's only got one space,
But I know which goal-truck's goin' in that place,
Because I love you.
Nathan stared silently at Dressler. All this time, backbreaking effort, mountains of money spent trying to make himself a microwave-ready country star... and yet an old pro like Jimmy could see through everything he'd done in seconds. Did Dressler somehow know he had once been pre-med at Northwestern too? And all this time he'd thought his lyrics could pass on radio for the real deal.
"So, huh, I guess you'd be more interested in me not as a singer-songwriter, but just as a classic Nashville performer?"
"Well, not so much that, either, Oak. That trying-too-hard thing I mentioned, it, uh, it definitely goes for your vocal performances too."
Nathan did a visible double-take. "So... maybe... maybe the sort of thing where I get a Nashville vocal coach, and..."
"Well, that is always a possibility, and of course there's not a signed major-label artist who's allowed to walk into the studio without at least two coaches and an Autotune site license these days." Dressler chuckled before going stonefaced again. "But based on what I've heard so far, to be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Briggs... in this particular case I'm not sure that's worth the money or the time... for you, me, or the vocal coach."
Nathan's head spun with the further sting of the unexpected critique.
"With all due respect, then, Jimmy... why am I here?"
"OK, well, you see, Oak... my secretary opened your demo by mistake. We normally never look at unsolicited anything - you just got lucky, having the same last name as one of our most reliable scouts. She noticed your headshot right off the bat and brought it to me, along with your CD and DVD. I popped the DVD in first, with the sound off at first on accident. It soon became clear to me that you could potentially be a big asset for us."
Nathan was naturally dumbstruck.
"...What? You just said--"
"Right, I know I'll need to explain further, Mr. Briggs, and I wanted to bring you in face-to-face to discuss all this with you. I can tell that your art is very important to you, that you have been working very hard to get to this point in your career... I very much wanted to talk to you about our somewhat divergent possible plans for your talents in person... just to make sure there are no misunderstandings. But before I get into all of that, there's someone you really need to meet first.
"Ms. Newmark," Dressler nervously barked into the intercom, "I think we're ready. Could you... could you please send Brad in?"
TO BE CONTINUED (if I get the chance)