Chapter 88

Radio Free Nashville didn’t have its corporate office among the other big boys in Nashville. Liz told me that there were almost 500 companies claiming to be recording labels in the city. Some had dozens of artists; others had one or two. Some had earnings in the billions of dollars; others made a couple of grand each year. Some had high-rise office buildings; others were in somebody’s garage.

Radio Free Nashville wasn’t the largest in any sense of the word. It didn’t have the biggest offices. It didn’t have the most artists under contract. It didn’t have the highest total revenues.

What it had that outshone the rest was Liz Larimer. She was the only reason RFN was considered one of the biggest labels in the city.

RFN was set up differently than the other huge labels. The big-name groups covered all genres of music. They had their corporate offices in New York or Los Angeles and released discs from hip-hop artists to Broadway compilations.

RFN concerned itself solely with country music.

Its stable was relatively small when compared to its revenues, again mostly because of a single performer on its roster. The fact that Liz’s fans were so willing to shell out hard-earned money for music and merchandise permitted the label to expand its roster, its offices and its employment numbers.

The label had a vested interest in keeping her with them.

Her contract expired at one minute after midnight on the first day of June. RFN would have the exclusive ability to negotiate with her until 11:59 p.m. on August 29th. On August 30th, she was free and clear to begin negotiations with any other label under the sun – or even create her own label if she so desired.

Of course, unknown to but a few, the negotiations had already concluded.

As Liz had suspected, Geoff Granger had not been able to eliminate the 90-day exclusivity clause she had agreed upon. The label had, however, (knowingly or unknowingly) broken the confidentiality clause (privately, at least).

A spokesman had confirmed to Detective Robin Trowbridge that Michael McHenry’s actions were predicated upon the fact that Liz’s current deal was set to expire. Liz’s attorney had a copy of the statement given to the police – and everybody was praying that the label’s negotiating team didn’t have anything that I might have said to the police in their repertoire.

RFN wanted to get an immediate start to negotiations, mostly because they knew their former employee’s actions had made the situation extremely dicey for them. They knew they were going to have to bend in ways they had never considered to keep their biggest star (and moneymaker) from walking out the door.

They politely asked Liz if she was amenable to starting negotiations on June 1.

There were several rounds of talks among Liz’s inner circle – and those on the outer edge (her attorneys, her business manager and even her parents). At first, Liz wasn’t going to negotiate at all. She wanted to announce that she was breaking ties with RFN at the first possible opportunity and let the chips fall where they would.

Her attorneys convinced her that she at least had to put forth a feigned effort to come to an agreement with RFN. After all, the major label was far better positioned to release her music than RaveLand was if they would agree to structure the deal in a similar fashion.

I looked at things from a public relations and marketing standpoint. The goal from the outset was to make sure that Liz came out looking like the bigger person in all this mess. Her net worth was pretty well known. Everybody knew her business empire stretched well past the music industry and most knew that a large portion of her earnings came from outside endeavors.

After consultation with Rick, Sarah and Susan – along with the 10 or so people they’d hired so far to work in San Diego, we came to the conclusion that it would look better if Liz would at least appear to be acting in good faith with the label.

To that end, we arrived down the block from Radio Free Nashville’s headquarters at a little before 9 a.m. on a warm, muggy late spring day. Liz was out from under a contract for the first time in 15 years when she shook hands with her lead entertainment attorney.

I had never met the woman. I knew only that this was the third attorney to act on Liz’s behalf and that she was planning to leave the field as soon as negotiations were concluded. She seemed polite enough and Liz told me that she was extremely competent (which Mickey Larimer had confirmed in Dallas) so I was content to be silent.

I was with the group, which included Skye, Jill and the three security guys. I was not acting in any official capacity, however. I was along merely as an adviser and for moral support. I had already determined that the latter was something I was willing to do but any advice I might offer would be done from ignorance. I had sat quietly while my father and my agent had negotiated my minor league contract with the Angels organization so many years before.

I had no doubt that Liz’s best interests would be better served if I were to repeat that performance in the RFN conference room.

Somebody at the label had gone to great lengths to ensure that Liz felt appreciated the moment she walked in their doors. The receptionist was on her feet the moment Liz’s dainty little toes graced the entryway, offering an assortment of refreshments (and saying that she would be happy to go out personally to get anything Liz might want that wasn’t already in the building).

Several other people (all men, I noticed) made their way across to shake hands with Liz and greet her with warm smiles and words of camaraderie. I wasn’t introduced to any of them except by name (perhaps they expected me to understand what role they played just from that information) but the cut of their suits told me that these people did not toil for $12.50 an hour.

Geoff Granger was the last to greet us. I had seen the man through a computer screen and talked to him on the telephone but I had never had the chance to make his acquaintance in person until that moment.

He was smaller than I had expected, standing perhaps 5-feet-6 or 5-feet-7. His iron gray hair was cut short and it was pretty evident that he did it because he was going bald on top. Geoff looked to be in his early 50s and the suit he had chosen that morning cost far less than those that adorned the fawning executives around him.

The RFN negotiating team was already in the conference room. There were five men and one woman sitting at the table. They stood as one as we entered and made their way around the table to shake hands.

This time I got titles to go along with names and faces.

The woman was Eliza Hanratty, RFN’s in-house legal counsel. She appeared to be in her middle 40s but the dress she wore that day was made for someone a decade (or perhaps two decades) younger. It was form fitting and cut low in the front to display generous amounts of cleavage. It was also cut a little too high for someone her age.

The first man to make his way to us was the Artist and Repertoire Coordinator for the label and had worked with Liz for many years. The others included the new Executive Vice President for Artists Relations, the head of the marketing and public relations department, a representative from the research department and the head of the human resources department.

It was obvious that Liz already knew and liked everyone in the room (and just as obvious that their presence was solely to make sure Liz felt like part of the family).

They took their cues from Eliza Hanratty.

I was a bit surprised when Geoff Granger was the first one to speak after we all sat down.

“Liz, first of all, we feel terrible about how things have been handled,” he said. “I know it’s bad to start negotiations by showing weakness but I’m not going to worry about that right now.”

It was obvious that Eliza Hanratty was concerned by his admission.

“But,” Geoff continued, “I think Dallas shows you just what we can accomplish when we really work together. That’s what I want going forward. I want LLE and RFN to work in concert to make sure that you’re getting everything you need to put together that sort of performance every time out. I took my family to Dallas for the show and I have never seen anything better in my life.”

I glanced at Liz. I hadn’t known Granger had been in town. The look on her face said that she was unaware of the fact, too.

“It was recreational,” Geoff said with a smile. “And...”

He sighed heavily.

“I figured the less people from the label you saw hanging about, the better things would go today,” he admitted. “I just want you to know that we are willing to listen – to really listen – to anything you want to bring up to us.”

“But,” Eliza cut in, “you have to understand that there are some things that we simply cannot do.”

Liz nodded and looked to her attorney.

Trisha Winston looked placidly down the table at the RFN team.

“My client is well aware of what RFN does and doesn’t do,” she said. “She’s been under contract to you for half of her life. And, for half of her life, her wishes have been ignored or refused under the guise of corporate policy or larger profit margins or bigger commission checks for the people in this building. I will tell you right now that unless you agree to every single thing we ask for, Liz will be signed to a new label by the fall.”

“And, I’m telling you right now that even if you agree to every single thing we want, it probably won’t be enough,” Liz said. “The only reason I agreed to meet so quickly was so the few people I genuinely like in the company will have the time to get ready for what life is going to entail after the money I make for you is gone. Let’s just get that out there right now.”

“I understand,” Geoff said. “And, although I cannot speak for the entirety of the ownership group, they have seen fit to keep me on as chairman after the most recent debacle so I assume they still trust my judgment. I am prepared to make significant concessions to keep you with us, Liz. I say this not only because of the financial windfall you bring to RFN. I say this because I think that this label is the place you fit best. I honestly believe that you will be unhappier if you move elsewhere. I ... I know how things operate. We’re small enough to provide the day-to-day interaction that someone of your status deserves but we’re big enough to make certain that you always have a way to do almost everything you want to do. Every single person we sign is a valued member of our team ... but none is more valuable than you. I’m speaking as a person, Liz. I’m not talking about your entertainment value. I’m talking about the worth I see in you as a human being. If I thought for a moment that you would be better served with one of the larger labels, I’d probably tell you to go.

“You won’t be happier. I’m sure you’ve looked into things. You’ve interacted with artists from those labels frequently. You know that they are less likely to look the other way on contract violations than we are. You know they are more likely to push you into becoming a corporate pawn than we are. I’m sure you’ve seen the stories about artists being scheduled to play for a CEO’s daughter’s Sweet 16 party or at a political fundraiser. We’ve never done that to you, Liz. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Trisha answered. “It isn’t what she wants. In fact, what Liz wants most is autonomy. She wants the ability to pick her own projects and to schedule her own appearances. That is the first thing you’ll need to agree upon.”

The marketing head exchanged a startled glance with the A&R executive. They had often used the lure of appearing with Liz as a carrot to dangle in front of a reluctant artist or media outlet.

“No place is going to permit that,” Eliza said dismissively. “If that is your opening gambit, there is little use of continuing.”

“I agree,” Liz said, standing. “I thought it was fruitless to even come here today but I was talked into it. I will have those things, Ms. Hanratty. I will have complete control over every facet of my career. I will determine who can use my songs; I will choose where my catalog gets pitched; I will decide where I perform and when.”

“You might think so,” Eliza said, also standing, “but you’re going to find out the real world doesn’t work that way.”

“No,” Liz said, “you’re going to find out that in the real world, money talks. Call your finance department and see how much of your salary comes off my ass, lady. Pete, tell the lawyer there what sort of marketing plans you can put together for RFN without me in the mix. Alex, let her know how hard it’s going to be to acquire new talent when I’m somewhere else. You have it all wrong, Ms. Hanratty. I’m the only reason you’re still in business. Six months after I leave, these doors will probably close because you’ll have no access to anything that I bring to the table.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can milk a few ‘Greatest Hits’ albums until we find somebody to take your place,” the attorney said.

“Your access to Miss Larimer’s catalog ended when the contract expired this morning,” Trisha informed RFN’s in-house counsel. Eliza Hanratty blinked and glanced at Geoff Granger.