Publicist Dana Meyerson didn’t grow up fantasizing about a career in music. Her single mom, a Chicago public schoolteacher, wanted her to be a doctor. “I’m Jewish, and I think Jewish mothers like to say, ‘Be a doctor!’” Meyerson says, laughing. By her junior year of college, she knew medicine wasn’t going to work out, and when her mom got sick during her senior year, Meyerson’s fallback plan to get a teaching certificate also fell through. She graduated in 2001 and returned home to Highland Park feeling directionless. A friend hooked her up with a job doing corporate relocation for a real estate company, but it bored her—and she had a lot of debt. She needed to make a bunch of money, and she wanted a glamorous life.
Meyerson started daydreaming about being the publicist for a Madonna type—and in her quest to get there, she waited tables through three unpaid music-industry internships. Working in entertainment turned out to be way less exciting and lucrative than she’d imagined, but it broke open her brain to the diversity of talent out there. In 2005, Meyerson was hired at Biz 3, whose founder, Kathryn Frazier, she describes as a mentor, friend, and hero. Nearly 20 years later, she’s a partner at Biz 3, which now has offices in Chicago and Los Angeles, and she and Frazier run an eight-person agency supporting a robust stable of artists at multiple tiers of the industry, including Sen Morimoto, Ms. Lauryn Hill, and Chappell Roan. Meyerson finally has her “Madonna” clients, but she remains grounded by a passion for storytelling and a supportive community.
As told to Micco Caporale
I was 23 years old and doing what I thought you’re “supposed” to, but I was always interested in entertainment. I’d also racked up serious credit card bills. I thought I was Carrie Bradshaw and was living it up in the city. I had a fancy apartment that I couldn’t afford. I was out every night. For some reason I thought that if I worked in entertainment, I could make a lot of money quickly–which is hilarious, looking back.
It was 2002, which was a great time to invest in real estate, and I was thinking about getting my real estate license. Instead I had this vision of working at a major record label and being, like, Madonna’s publicist. Madonna was the ultimate for me—just the coolest person in the world. [When I was] growing up in the 90s and early aughts, MTV was this bastion of cool music, and there were all these music magazines. My life was very sheltered, and I wasn’t exposed to things that weren’t being played on the radio, so that stuff was how I learned about a world beyond mine.
When I decided to get into music, I wanted to do the opposite of what my mom did, because she was always complaining about bureaucracy and having no money or respect. She loved her students but felt a lack of support. Being a teacher is really hard. I didn’t know that I wanted to be a publicist; I just thought working in music would be glamorous and the opposite of how teachers are treated.
I learned that John Mayer’s record label, Aware, was in Chicago, so in 2003, I got an internship there. I didn’t know what jobs were available in the industry or if this would lead anywhere. When I asked my first mentor [Jason Rio, then comanager of Liz Phair] what he thought I should do, he said, “You should be a publicist, because you talk a lot.”
I waited tables so I could afford that unpaid internship. I was at Aware for a year, only to find out my best work friend—my male counterpart—had been offered a job while I got passed over. I felt really upset by that, but I also felt like it was not the right environment for me. It was mostly men, and I was aesthetically gravitating elsewhere. I took another internship at a start-up called Better Propaganda, which gave away free MP3s on behalf of labels. It was housed above the Empty Bottle.
I became really involved in the indie/alternative scene and was exposed to a whole new world of sounds. It reshaped my whole perspective. I found “my people”—but there was also no end in sight to me waiting tables. Suddenly all my friends were starting to have fancy jobs and condos, and I was, like, getting backstage passes. Then this guy in this band Pulseprogramming was like, “You should try to work for my publicist, Kathryn.” That was my introduction to Biz 3.
I’d only had male bosses up until this point, and I really wanted to work with a woman. Kathryn had become, like, Chicago’s hot indie publicist. She’d worked at Metro, then started her own company, but she grew up raised by a single mom. Her favorite artist was Madonna, and she waited tables to help start her career. I was like, “Oh my god, she’s just like me!” I emailed her, but she’d just had her baby so she didn’t respond right away. I followed up, and in 2005 I was once again . . . an unpaid intern.
“At Biz 3, I found this happy medium where I got to work on things that I think are artistically and culturally significant but still support myself.”
My first day, I was like, “I don’t want to do any filing and stuff. I want someone to teach me how to be a publicist.” We laugh about it now, but Kathryn’s like, “Well, the first thing you should know is everyone at Biz 3 does the filing and stuff, so humble yourself.” After three months, I really got my butt kicked. I learned a bunch and got hired on, but I was tired.
I thought being a publicist was going to be super glamorous, but it’s hard work. It’s 24 hours a day. Then you throw in traveling and people’s egos. . . . There are fun parts, like pontificating about music and learning all the time, but there’s also so much politics and strategy. And I still had to work a second job to pay for my dream job. At my height, I was working seven days a week and rode my bike everywhere.
Two thousand and nine was a pivotal year for me. Kathryn and I started doing press for Justin Bieber. The Kid Sister and Flosstradamus scene blew up. We connected with Scooter Braun, who wasn’t Scooter Braun yet, and we started doing restaurant press because Pete Toalson at the Empty Bottle opened up Longman & Eagle with Bruce Finkelman. We realized how many cool things we could do at Biz 3—not just indie music but a big pop star, a cool restaurant, all kinds of things.
But I was so burnt out. I went to Kathryn and said, “I can’t keep working at Biz 3 and waiting tables. I’m turning 30. I need to pay off my credit cards and figure out my life.” Kathryn helped me pay off my debts and gave me a raise so I could just do what I love. At Aware, I felt like I was in this factory trying to make the next John Mayer, and at Better Propaganda, I was at the indie-est of indies but knew I’d be waiting tables forever. At Biz 3, I found this happy medium where I got to work on things that I think are artistically and culturally significant but still support myself.
In 2013 I became a partner, but publicity is always at the forefront for me. I tried managing at different points, and I’ve had side gigs in A&R, but I always come back to publicity. I love using publicity as a tool to tell the right stories.
Like, last year I worked on an album for an artist called Chief Xian aTunde Adjuah. He was known to the world as this celebrated jazz trumpeter named Christian Scott, but for his 14th studio album, [Bark Out Thunder Roar Out Lightning,] he changed his name from his government name to his First Nation American name. His family is a mix of First Nation Americans and freed Black slaves. It was his first time singing on an album, and he used an instrument he invented called an Adjuah Bow, which is an electric double-sided harp.
If you listen to this album, it’s not a jazz album—if anything, it’s closer to rock—but because he was formerly a jazz player and he’s Black, it gets labeled jazz. He’s someone reclaiming their heritage, but he’s still fighting against being labeled a jazz musician. His story is a much bigger one about culture!
I’ve had a great year. It started with Victoria Monét, who’s a longtime client, winning Best New Artist at the Grammys. I feel incredibly proud because she’s the fucking coolest, most humble, generous, kind, beautiful spirit. Then I had Raye blow up, who broke records at the BRIT Awards this year, and then Chappell Roan. So Victoria, Raye, and Chappell—these are three people who are so kind and say thank you at every turn and have teams that make me feel so good.
I’ve had a bunch of clients who almost took me to that Madonna place. Then it didn’t work out, and they became really famous anyway. At the time, I was disappointed, but the one thing I can say now is that everything happens when it’s meant to. I’m having my moments with the right people—not the people that were mean to me or didn’t appreciate me or made me feel like I wasn’t part of their team.
I think that’s why I never left Chicago: Chicago keeps me grounded. I’m not in the muck in the same way of, like, Los Angeles or New York, where it feels so industry and competitive. I still drive my 2010 Toyota and live in Albany Park, but the Chicago industry is super supportive. It makes me happy to see people who choose to do things unconventionally find success.