In 1988 I was working as the Chief Engineer at FILMUS, a small studio/production shop in NYC. The work ranged from music for corporate videos to producing original scores for film, video, and special events. The co-owner, Peter Fish, was a piano prodigy with a natural talent for scoring and arrangement (as well as a long time dear friend). We were hired to produce a score that would be played at the close of each day’s events at the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary. It was goi

Social commentary, by its very nature, provides points of view that are rarely broadly accepted. Growing up in Philadelphia—and at one point in my life enjoying a daily commute with views of Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, and Ben Franklin’s final resting place—I developed a deep appreciation for the genius of our Founding Fathers and the checks and balances of the unique democratic structure they created, one they hoped might endure. Lately, much of what we have long he

7. The Beating Art Detroit & Remote — Present Day One of my goals in returning to music production was to bring back the challenge and enjoyment I had shaping audio for film, television, live events, and corporate storytelling. I wondered, with today's technology, what would that collaboration feel like? Last year, that opportunity arrived through a collaboration with Robert Schefman, a Detroit-based visual artist whose work includes a painting selected for the Smithsonian’s

6. Keith McKay: Unheard Voices College & New York City — Late 1970s / Early 1980s I met Keith McKay in college around 1978, introduced by my floormate Rob Aden, who lived a few doors down in my dorm. Kieth was an English Literature major from Paterson, New Jersey, with the soul of a songwriter and the quiet intensity of someone always listening a little deeper than the rest of us. Keith played a well-loved Yamaha acoustic guitar and drew inspiration from artists we both loved

“‘El Camino’, written by Amos Lee, is one of those songs that sits quietly in the back of my mind, resurfacing during moments of change or uncertainty. When I decided to cover it, I wasn’t interested in recreating the original — I wanted to expand on the emotional terrain that speaks to me. This new cover leans into atmosphere: wide-open pads, subtle rhythmic movement and cacophony. I wanted it to feel like a short drive through a complex landscape — reflective, and a little

Quadrasonic Studios, NYC — 1980 I was 21, a recent economics graduate who had spent more time in rehearsal rooms than in lectures. On weekends, I came to New York to play music with my late friend Keith McKay. One day, I saw an ad for a weekend course in audio engineering, offered by the Guitar Study Center. Why not? I signed up. The class was held at Quadrasonic Studios, just north of Times Square. I walked into the control room that first night, a little anxious but excited

Philadelphia & New York City — Late 1979 My first job out of college didn’t last long—something about “budget cuts” and “restructuring"? What it really meant was that I suddenly had an open calendar, just as summer was hitting its stride. So, I did what any newly unemployed 20-something with a golf-obsessed father would do: I spent my days on manicured fairways. My father had introduced me to golf while I was in diapers, so by this point, I was decent enough to join an end-o

Right Track Recording, NYC — Early 1980s We’d just finished mixing Chuck Mangione’s new album, and the master tape was ready to be...

*Given the recent passing of Chuck, this and this following story are being posted out of chronological order Early 1980's, Right Track Recording, NYC It’s around 2am, and we’ve been working on the same track for hours. The session is dragging—slow, dreamy, hypnotic—and everyone’s running on fumes. Chuck Mangione is in the Studio, silent but alert. We all know the track isn’t right. The groove's not landing. Suddenly, Chuck stops the session. The studio falls completely silen

Philadelphia, Summer 1974 I was 16—long-haired, suburban, and obsessed with two things: sports and music. One summer afternoon, my older...

Welcome to the golden hours of studio life in the 1980s—told from behind the console with artists big and small, speakers blaring, rooms...