Dean Brownrout’s No Big Deal details his trials and tribulations in the ’80s and ’90s indie record business before the entire industry was cut off at the knees in the late ’90s with the advent of a new music service called Napster. Brownrout’s initial invitation for us to dive between the covers is a hard one to accept indeed, as these indie record label memoirs often follow the same lockstep story arc: music fanatics who live for the dream of getting coffee for execs and rubbing shoulders with rock stars soon break away from the corporate confines because “it’s about the music, maaaan” – only to develop a nagging cocaine problem before the dastardly MP3 drags the carcass of independent music label behind the barn and puts it out of its misery. Heard this one before? Of course you have, but No Big Deal is different. No, really!

Thankfully, Brownrout knows that the story of the death of the music biz is a trek well travelled, and manages to write a memoir that is aimed directly at music fanatics. The real triumph here, and the reason you will thumb past the initial pages, is that the reader is invited to invest in Brownrout’s true passion for music, which does not waver within the sleek 170 pages. 

Of course, his ongoing campaign to set up an independent record label alongside the bigger fish in the small indie pond, as well as his battle against the cigar-chomping corporate ogres, is a death-defying feat and remains the hook. Talk of climbing the corporate ladder as well as taking stock in “moving units” is kept to a bare minimum, but is nonetheless essential to help illustrate the behemoth task of one man’s attempt to capture one pair of ears at a time. There are, of course, tales of the author clasping hands and slapping backs over six figure deals, coast-to-coast red eye flights, bedding down with the major labels, etc., but Brownrout manages to humanize these somewhat callous episodes, and never stoops to completely alienate the music from the business. 

The book is loaded with backroom deals, corporate creeps, contact disputes, hungry bands looking for greener pastures, underlining that the music business was hardly for the faint of heart. The memoir is not afraid to name names, but it’s hardly trashy tabloid fodder. These music biz angels and devils are merely mentioned to paint the cut throat world of the independent music underground that Brownrout commandeered from his living room couch. Since the publication of the book, Brownrout has been completely erased as the founding member of his label Big Deal, which, sadly, currently exists as a husk of its former self, just a blip of bandwidth robbing the author of his providence. Against all the odds that stack up in the late ‘90s, our author keeps swinging to the bitter end, staring at the sputtering fuse attached to the music industry. 

For the Forbes subscriber, or people who love to hear about deals gone bad/good, there is definitely something here for you. But the real takeaway is Brownrout’s undeterred passion and resilience. If you are a real music fanatic who pines for the days of physical media, Brownrout’s dalliance through the music industry of the ’80s and ’90s will have you creasing the cover with relish. Because, at least in this case, it really is about the music, maaaan!mRb