Nevada City, CA — In an industry-shattering deal only a corporate suit could think up, Nevada City’s own The Thorny Blackberries sold their entire musical catalog to Sony for the princely sum of $5.34. That’s right, folks. Five dollars and thirty-four cents. After a decade of trying to break out of the Nevada City circuit, The Thorny Blackberries finally found themselves in the kind of corporate boardroom they’d only seen on “Shark Tank”—and walked away with enough cash to buy a coffee. Maybe.
Now, if you’re a regular at the Crazy Horse Saloon (where they’ve unofficially become the “house band” through sheer persistence, not payment), you know The Thorny Blackberries. You’ve probably sat through their nearly ten-minute epic, “Pinecone Heartbreak”, or Dusty Freelander’s guitar solos that take so many turns they’d have made Jerry Garcia dizzy. You’ve heard them talk about “making it” for years. This, though? I’d bet five bucks (and some change) they never saw this coming.
Corporate Irony Meets Local Grit
The idea of selling their catalog reportedly thrilled the band. They’d seen the headlines, just like everyone else, about Dylan and Young selling out for hundreds of millions, and thought, hey—why not us? But after some back-and-forth and likely some quiet snickering on the corporate side, Sony settled on the eye-popping figure of $5.34. Which they actually sent. With a straight face.
Bradley “Brad” Thorne, Sony’s Senior Vice President of Artist Relations and Acquisition Strategy (or as I like to call it, Head of Signing Dreams Away for the Price of a Latte), issued a statement on the deal with all the warmth of a cold call. “We assessed the value of The Thorny Blackberries’ catalog based on industry metrics, projected reach, and, of course, the name itself,” he said, likely stifling a laugh as he read his cue card. “With a name like The Thorny Blackberries, they really stand out… but perhaps not in a way that translates to today’s global streaming audience. We feel $5.34 is a fair valuation, considering their local appeal and unique brand identity.”
Translation? Sony’s not interested in rootsy backwoods charm or “authenticity.” Thorne and his team took one look at the name and pigeonholed the Blackberries as “local flavor” with all the long-term appeal of an off-brand granola bar. And the irony of it all? The Blackberries ate it up, not even tasting the sarcasm dripping off Thorne’s PR speak.
Lead singer Zeke “The Hawk” Hawkins, with an earnestness only he could pull off, called Sony’s response “really validating.” He went on to add, “I always said our name had character. And it’s nice that Sony appreciates our local flavor—guess they’re into that folksy, small-town authenticity vibe!”
So, What to Do with Five Bucks and Change?
After a quick IPA-fueled celebration at the Crazy Horse, The Thorny Blackberries got down to brass tacks—or rather, to nickel and dime deliberations. With $5.34 in the band’s collective pocket, they brainstormed like the scrappy locals they are. Ideas included:
- Buying Sticks (their drummer, who probably hasn’t bought new sticks in five years) a single, high-end drumstick to replace the duct-taped relic he’s been using since 2012.
- Printing a single sticker for Dusty’s pedal board with the tagline “More Bitter Than Your Local Blackberry Wine.”
- A laminated tip jar sign that reads, “Tips & Corporate Sellout Fund: Sony Gave Us $5.34; You Can Spare Another Nickel.”
Final decision? They went with the sticker. “We’re all about branding now,” said Willow, the bassist, who incidentally wears more rings on a single hand than Sony sent them in cents. “It’s corporate synergy, you know?”
Now, if you’re wondering how The Thorny Blackberries managed to land a residency at the Crazy Horse, well, it wasn’t exactly by design. According to Crazy Horse bartender Greg, they’ve been showing up, Thursday after Thursday, for the better part of five years. No official contract, no real payment—just the unspoken understanding that they’d be on stage, running through their setlists, adding new songs nobody asked for.
“People ask, ‘How’d you land the house band gig?’” says Zeke. “Honestly? No idea. I think we just kept showing up, and eventually, everyone accepted it. It’s kind of beautiful, actually.”
Greg, for his part, just shrugged. “We’re not paying them, and people seem to like them. Good enough for us.”
