The Music Room
I wasn't supposed to pursue music: I never had the gift to play it particularly well—only a discernment of what constituted good music. I should have remained a listener and been content with that.
Nonetheless, I bought my first decent guitar at 17. No formal lessons, no grand plan—just a quiet pull toward an instrument that would travel with me through time.
Over the decades, I picked up fragments of other instruments—enough to compose, arrange, and produce my own music. Not with the precision of a virtuoso, but with the ear of someone who listens deeply.
Through trial and instinct, I created and produced 95 songs over a little more than a decade, each one a lesson, a small stepping stone. Then came the 96th—the moment where everything I had learned converged.
When in the Course of Human Events
A song not measured in minutes, but in movements. A 20:37-long progressive rock piece where melody and time stretch beyond the ordinary.
I never claimed it was great.
It just was the one song I was not embarrassed to share.
Not just a song, but a landscape. Built to be explored, not consumed.
A self-taught journey in composition
Music, for me, was never about mastering scales or following blueprints. It was about chasing ideas and giving them a form that was uniquely mine.
It’s not about perfection. It’s about resonance.
Feel free to listen to it and draw your own conclusions.