The Music Room
A lifetime of sound, built one note at a time.
I bought my first decent guitar at 17. No formal lessons, no grand plan—just a quiet pull toward an instrument that would shape the years to come. Over time, 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, each one a lesson, a 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.
Layered guitars that shift from whispers to walls of sound.
Basslines that pulse and weave like unspoken conversations.
Drums that guide, challenge, and propel forward.
Synths that rise like forgotten echoes, filling the space between.
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 form—about sound becoming something more than just vibration. Each piece I’ve written reflects that process:
- Some songs came quickly, as if they had always been there.
- Others demanded time, revision, and a willingness to let them breathe.
- All of them taught me something.
Somewhere between instinct and structure, between trial and refinement, lies the music I create. It’s not about perfection. It’s about resonance.