There’s a bit of a story here.

Almost twenty years ago, I was a recent graduate of The Conservatory Of Recording Arts And Sciences. I loved the place, had done very well academically, and was ready to “go out there.” Take over the world. It was at that place I had met a man that I’ll call “The Guitar Player,” or TGP for short. We spoke at length and became friendly.

TGP was a middle-aged musician who had reached a certain amount of success as a younger player. Now, he said, he was ready to get back in the game. He wanted to start a record company with its own recording facilities – and would I like to run the technical side of things?

I couldn’t have possibly said no to that.

Now, you have to remember that this was right at the turn of the century. The Internet hadn’t upended everything yet, and the recording arm of the music industry still supported “the big studio” in a way that is much more in the realm of memory now. In my mind, the business was at a kind of peak that is unlikely to be repeated. It seemed entirely plausible that a kid just barely into his 20s could get snapped up and put in such a position as was being offered. I was hooked.

What followed was a tremendous amount of initial excitement and the slow unraveling of a dream. I saw a lot of warning signs, but talked myself and everyone around me out of interpreting them correctly. Meetings that would truly move the project forward always fell through. Deals would always be finished “in a couple of weeks.” When I got to the point of asking tough questions, TGP would get agitated and I would back off.

In the end, I was always complimented. Honored, even. Introduced as the guy who would be in charge of the coolest studio in Phoenix. There was a dinner at TGP’s apartment where I was treated like family. I think my presence was necessary for TGP to keep selling his story. In a way, my guess is that he was desperate to put something together that would work, and justify all the hype he was building. It was a Ponzi scheme, but the currency was life itself. The magic would happen, it just needed more time. More time. A little more time.

I couldn’t bail out. No sir. The music industry was full of stories where somebody took off, and a month later all the folks who stayed had hit it big. There was always exactly enough hope for me to hold on, until someone from the school finally showed me how all the pieces couldn’t possibly hold together. I can’t exactly remember how I felt, although I think a mixture of crushing disappointment and vague relief were the cocktail on offer. I said that I had to attend to some family business in California, and I was sorry I couldn’t stay on. I packed up my one-room apartment and moved to my Grandma’s place near the coast.

TGP said that family was the most important thing, and that he’d get me paid for my work. The money didn’t come, but I didn’t expect it to.

In the course of the saga, I was asked to create designs for the grand facility that would get built “once the lawyers had signed all the papers.” I took a couple of days and poured out my vision of what could be. Recently, in the process of cleaning out a bunch of old documents, I ran across my drawings again. I still have a sense of pride in them. You’ll see a bunch of monitor speakers laid out for 5.1 surround mixing. (The music industry was still pushing for higher fidelity and more playback channels, not realizing that convenient portability would win every battle for the hearts and minds of listeners in just a few years.)

Control Room A

Control Room B

Preproduction/ Songwriting

Studio Proper

When I post this article to Patreon, I’ll get a bit of money from my supporters. That means I’ll finally get paid for these designs after almost 20 years.

I also recently learned that TGP passed away. I think he managed to get a band together and play shows after the parting of our ways. I don’t know if he ever recaptured that sense of glory and triumph he had when he was young. But maybe he did.

In whatever case, I hope he sailed into the West and that he’s drenched in joy, playing a soaring solos at the great gig in the sky. I can’t be angry with him. The circle is closed.