It was probably in the late 70’s that I heard my first true stereo recording. Oh sure, I had been listening to music forever, but on that fateful day I really heard the intense power that a gifted recording could have on a listener. I literally stopped in my tracks. My jaw dropped. I had to have that disc. It turned out to be a Sheffield Lab recording and audiophiles everywhere understood that Doug Sax and Lincoln Mayorga recorded some of the finest live two-track recordings in the history of the medium.
 
Each disc was a guilty pleasure, to be hoarded and not so discreetly coveted. You know what I’m talking about – albums in which track after track was emotionally invigorating and sonically spectacular. I couldn’t wait to get home, jam that sucker on my turntable, crank the puppy up, and sigh, sinking deeply into the rich, graceful tapestry woven by my favorite artist’s most intimate musical confessions.
 
I spent considerable time with Doug and Lincoln in those days and by doing so, actually learned how to listen to music.  I had been hearing music for years, but I never really knew how to listen. There’s a big difference. Til then, I never understood the intricacies of truly listening to something or to someone. An invaluable experience, to be sure. At that time, the creation of music was, for me, a lofty, idealistic, completely unobtainable heaven.  Each song became a moment of magic, a true moveable feast often cascading me into netherworlds where the present tense (and present tensions) ceased to exist.
 
And then - I did something really silly. After completing law school (what was I thinking?) I became a record producer (what was I thinking?).  Oh, the horrors.
 
As a record producer, I discovered I couldn’t just think about the music anymore. Ever had to deal with a nasty and very pregnant singer who hated her record label with an evil passion, had a splitting headache as well as a debilitating tooth ache all on the day that four lead vocals had yet to be recorded? (WHO’S YOUR DADDY!?)
 
I had to massage egos. I had to negotiate with record companies. I had to achieve – excuse me – buy airplay. I had to revise budgets. I had to secure chart positions. I was an errand boy. I was a chauffeur. I was a banker. I was a supplicant. I was a sycophant. I was a politician. It was money this and money that. I discovered that no one told the truth, even with the loftiest of intentions, lies proliferated, nonetheless.
 
I wasn’t an angel, either. I too, had crossed over to the dark side.
 
Nevertheless, I have spent the last twenty-eight years re-creating the magic of my youthful, but naïve exuberance for music.  I still record the old-fashioned way - with real musicians. I still relish each opportunity to create elusive moments of magic, to create a timeless piece of art – continuously doing whatever I can to perfect my craft. Make no mistake, the craft of making music is an art.

True.