[Editors' Note: Our newest contributor is a self-proclaimed "musician, filmmaker, writer, actor, visual artist, music journalist and all-purpose narcissist." We'd like to proclaim him Nashville's most skilled and ruthless free-stuff collector. These are the stories of our friend and hero, Seth Gravy. This is the Gravy Train Report.]
I assume lots of you readers are a young, impressionable, quixotic, wide-eyed, career-minded lot with your whole lives ahead of you, just looking to snag a free bite here and there till you hit the big time. However, if you love free shit as much as we do, if you feel it so ingrained into your very being that you can’t see leaving it behind any time soon, consider a career that involves getting free stuff all the time.
Basically, the rule of thumb is, by and large, all the folks who need free shit the least (i.e. the rich and famous) are the ones who get it the most. But, there’s a little runoff onto those of us who give those guys media coverage. Basically, anyone with a WordPress account these days can be a “journalist” if you sell yourself correctly. And that title will get you into any number of “VIP” tents, areas and events wherein nobody expects you to pay for a god damn thing. That’s right, drinks and eats are on the house and as long as you let your inner hobo start shoving hors d’oeuvres in your pockets like a mad man, you can get by with getting loaded and stuff on the reg while getting paid for it.
Hence, coverage of Next Big Nashville’s exclusive VIP free-for-some is not to gloat. We’re here to motivate. We’re to let you know what’s on the other side of the curtain and invite you do whatever the hell it is you have to do to come join us. We need more people like you in there grabbing all the free you can hold.
Last night’s opening party at The Hutton Hotel was pretty much par for the course – if not actually subpar. Given Magic Hat beer and Firefly Vodka were the sponsors, those were basically your two options. But again, I’m not the kind to snag free beer and then bitch that’s the “wrong brand.” Hors d’oeuvres were delivered by traveling servers which was kind of annoying given I walked in starved, ready to park myself at the buffet till I was full. That shit was mighty tasty, though, and I was definitely stuffed before I left. The best part is watching out-of-town industry schmoozers lining up along side local bands who could give a shit less about anything but the free.
If tonight’s Gibson Showcase party is anything like last year’s, I won’t remember enough about it to report. But that remains to be seen.
// Photos by Seth Graves and his iPhone.