Getting signed to a record label in 1987 was no exact science. You worked up songs, played shows, made recordings, shopped them to whoever would listen and repeated the process. For us, it was mainly a war of attrition. You just kept pushing.
By 1987, we were gaining momentum. Dreams So Real had released two independent records, appeared in the film Athens, GA: Inside/Out, and our demos were getting more sophisticated. Eventually we were talking to a few big record labels.
Back then, and probably still today, New York was the center of the music universe. Many of the record companies—and the people who could say yes—were there. And they weren’t coming to Athens. So our management set up a showcase, inviting the interested companies to see us play live.
Our showcase was at CBGB’s.
That may sound glamorous, but to anyone who ever went to CB’s, you know it wasn’t.
CBGB’s was legendary, but there was nothing glamorous about the place. It was dark, dirty and raw, its walls covered in graffiti, sitting on the still-rough Bowery. The place was almost defiantly indifferent to anyone who played there. What did I expect a showcase to be? Servers with hors d’oeuvres and champagne walking around a room of record executives? This was just another night at CB’s.
Like most nights, there were six or eight bands on the bill. The headliner played around midnight, and somehow we were scheduled dead last.
By the time we took the stage around 3 a.m., there may have been half a dozen people out there in the dark. We were disappointed. It felt like our showcase had fallen apart.
No matter how disappointed we were, we’d come to New York to play our set, and we did.
It was summer, the club was stifling hot, and when we finished we retreated to the graffiti-covered dressing room, soaked with sweat thinking, oh well. Maybe next time.
As it turned out, someone out there in the dark had come to see us.
Her name was Marcy Drexler.
Marcy worked for the newly formed CBS Music Publishing, which was rebuilding its roster. She liked what she heard, and within a few months Dreams So Real became one of its first signings. It wasn’t a record deal, but now a major music company believed in us and had an interest in helping us get one.
What’s interesting looking back is that we didn’t know Marcy was out there. We thought nobody was. But we played the same way anyway.
On Saturday the Dawgs beat Oklahoma by four touchdowns, but afterward Saint Kirby wasn’t particularly interested in the score. Georgia hadn’t always played to its standard, he said, particularly in the second half. The score wasn’t really the point. How Georgia played was.
There are different approaches to making a cocktail. Sometimes it’s just booze in a glass. Nothing wrong with that. But when I’m making a cocktail, I like knowing the details and why they matter.
That doesn’t mean there’s only one right way. Take a Negroni. You can build it over service station ice or stir it and pour it over one large cube. Both work, but produce a slightly different result. The point is to make the choice intentionally.
The Negroni is my lazy drink. There’s no fresh citrus to squeeze or simple syrup to make. You grab three bottles and you’re almost there. But lazy doesn’t have to mean careless. Measure the ingredients. Use the right glass. Don’t forget the garnish.
But there’s just something satisfying about making yourself a drink at home that you’d pay $18 for at a good cocktail bar. Nobody would know if I eyeballed the pours or skipped the orange peel. But if I know how to make it right, why wouldn’t I?
Maybe that’s what we understood at CB’s without really thinking about it. It’s how Saint Kirby coaches football, too.
Vanderbilt comes to Athens Saturday. Different opponent. Same standard.
The Negroni
1 oz London dry gin
1 oz Campari
1 oz sweet vermouth
2 dashes orange bitters
1 orange peel
Add the gin, Campari, vermouth and bitters to a mixing glass with ice. Stir until chilled, then strain over one large cube in a rocks glass. Express the orange peel over the drink and garnish.
