Kale was in the music room with his Ibanez RG lying atop a thin padding of foam on the small table in front of him. Perched upon his favorite padded bar stool, he had just finished adjusting the action of his main guitar and was now wiping down the Arctic Frost finish with a soft cloth.

He and his band, Secret 77, had just returned home from a three week tour that began in their hometown of Virginia Beach and ended in Jacksonville, Florida. They played clubs they’d played at almost a dozen times before and had amassed a respectable following for an unsigned band. All but three of the 14 shows they played were sold out.

After unloading all of their gear in Kales flat, his band mates had hung around to once again discuss what they could do to get noticed by a major label. As usual, everyone left without any viable suggestions on the table.

The doorbell rang and Kale answered it to find an odd looking man in a tailored suit standing before him who simply said, “I have a deal for you.”