Bill Fitzhugh - Fender Benders by Bill Fitzhugh

over- clocker with a Celeron Socket 370 super-heatsink fan combo
for keeping his gear cool.   His CPU was
always equipped with the most memory, the fastest processor, zip drives, and
the latest video and audio cards on the market.   He had a wireless mouse, a mounted digital camera for video e-mail, a
thirty-six inch monitor, and every other cutting-edge peripheral
available.   “Wireless application
protocol connects me to the universe,” was his motto.
    The second office consisted of three walls covered with
framed platinum records, gold CDs, and cassettes of artists the firm
represented.   There were photos of the
artists accepting awards, blown-up charts from Billboard , and racks of compact discs.   It was in this office where Big Bill Herron,
co-owner of Herron & Peavy, sat at his desk flipping urgently through a
paper.   It was the new issue of Nashville Scene — the one with the
annual list of ‘Nashville’s Power
100.’   Big Bill needed to know where he stood
among ‘The Most Important People in Country Music.’
    Big Bill was in his mid-sixties and liked to joke that he
was suffering from what he called ‘biscuit poisoning.’   He wasn’t quite 5’8”, 220 pounds, but he
was damn close.   His gut was the first
thing you noticed after you stopped staring at his spectacularly round
head.   It was a fleshy beach ball.   In fact, all of Big Bill’s features, from
nose to butt, were so unusually bulbous that many people in the business
referred to him as Tennessee Ernie Borgnine.
    “Goddammitall!”   Big Bill threw the paper on the floor, mad as
a pig on ice with his tail froze in.   “I
don’t believe it!   That can’t be right.”   He snatched the magazine up off the floor and
turned back to his listing and sure as God made little green apples, he was
Number 99.   It was a comedown, and a bad
one.   Less than ten years ago Bill was
Number 7, and now he was Number 99?   “Well shitgoddamitall!”
    Like many people in the business end of the music industry,
Bill started out as an artist. But it quickly became clear he was better riding
gain on the microphone than singing into it.   Over the years he established himself as an innovative and successful
producer as well as an artist manager.   He had a good ear for a song, and he had hooked up with a good attorney,
Franklin Peavy, to form a business exploiting their respective talents as well
as the talents of others.
    That wasn’t to say Big Bill robbed his clients blind.   You didn’t stay in business long if all your
clients went broke.   You had to be
careful how and where you got that lagniappe.   You had to know the intricacies of publishing, recording, performance,
and merchandising contracts.   You needed
to know what songs were hits and which ones were filler and who was willing to
give up some of their publishing just to get recorded.   You also had to know when to give up some of
your own points and to whom.   These were
the things Bill and his partner knew as well as anyone.   Given that, Big Bill wondered why he was so
close to being off the damn list.
    Big Bill knew the music industry was voracious, and in more
ways than one.   It chewed up and spit out
talent as well as those who managed and produced them.   The machine had to be fed.   And with fresh meat arriving every day, there
was always someone to feed into the teeth.   It was just that Big Bill was used to doing the chewing.   He wasn’t used to being the meat.
    Once a powerful and successful management firm, Herron &
Peavy was now just getting by.   They
blamed it on the current state of country music.   After a huge surge in popularity in the
1990s, which had translated into record breaking sales and staggering income
for more than a few, the industry had gone into a slump.   In fact if you believed all the whining on
Music Row, you have thought everyone in the business was losing money.   Still, Herron & Peavy had a marginal
stable of