"If I had written about running a record label, I wouldn't be here." Photo: Ben Reed

A sparse flock of early birds huddles around the bar in Delilah’s, pounding two-buck shots of Old Crow and PBR tallboys. Nan Warshaw (M.A. ’93) is tucked behind the bar of the legendary Lakeview whiskey joint, spinning radical rock’n’roll and roots records. Wearing a dress patterned with beer bottles, she’s practically camouflaged.

Warshaw began playing tunes in the punk-friendly tavern around the time she was finishing up a master’s in arts, entertainment, and media management at Columbia and issuing the first release by her Bloodshot Records label, For a Life of Sin: Insurgent Chicago Country. For her graduate thesis, Warshaw had researched the business of putting together tours for independent bands, a process that completely turned her off from a career as a booking agent. She laughs, “If I had written about running a record label, I would not be here.”

Bloodshot’s inaugural compilation documented a budding movement, coined a new genre, and stoked the fire inside Hank Williams–worshipping rebels who wanted to take country back from the Garth Brookses of the world. But with more than 160 releases, Bloodshot is impossible to pigeonhole, having launched the careers of the Old 97’s, the Waco Brothers, Kelly Hogan, Neko Case, and Ryan Adams.

The latter two acts left the label to greater success. When asked if she still keeps up with their careers, Warshaw admits, “There’s too much emotional history there.” Perhaps even more gutting, Warshaw’s son, Finn, has recently fallen for teen pop. The seven-year-old was raised on Mom’s music collection, but he just picked up a Nickelodeon soundtrack. “I made him use his allowance,” Warshaw says. “I’m not paying for iCarly!”

At Delilah’s, Warshaw had planned on premiering the new record by her latest signing, former Flat Duo Jets frontman Dex Romweber, and playing some Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of “the day the music died.” But hours earlier she learned of the passing of another of Bloodshot’s spiritual icons—Cramps singer Lux Interior. “I played Cramps half the night,” Warshaw says. “Our music died.”

—Brent DiCrescenzo