Welcome to my site! I really appreciate you taking time to stop by. Here you will find all my music-related projects and inspiration to share my gift with the world so I leave it empty.
I celebrated my birthday yesterday and I'm grateful to God for all the time he has given me so far. I appreciate the opportunity to get up every day and do the work I was designed to do. My music is gift but it is only a gift when I give it away. My site is designed to do that.
I hope I get another 53 years to make and give music. With all the tools today it becomes easier and easier.
The money isn’t in the music anymore. That’s the part nobody wants to say out loud, but every working musician knows it.
Streaming flipped the whole game. For ten bucks a month you can have almost every song ever made, on demand, anywhere. For listeners, that’s heaven. For the artists making the music, it’s pennies—fractions of pennies—trickling in from every play. A million streams, the kind of number that should change your life, might not even cover rent.
Making music has never been easier. A laptop, a mic, and some software, and you can push your work out to the world. That’s incredible. More voices, more creativity, more chances for someone to be heard.
But here’s the other side: the supply is endless. When there’s no limit, the value drops. Music went from being a product you saved up to buy to something floating everywhere, free or close to it.
I play keys—jazz, gospel, neo-soul. I remember selling CDs after gigs, walking out with cash in my pocket. A couple hundred discs moved in a month could carry you for a while.
Now you can release music worldwide, rack up thousands of plays, and end up with less money than you spent to mix the track. That math doesn’t add up.
So you adapt. Church gigs, small shows, teaching, working with plugins, anything to keep it moving. It helps, but it doesn’t change the core problem: the songs themselves don’t pay.
The real money lives around the music, not inside it. Tours can bring in cash, but they’ll wear you down and drain your savings. Merch moves if fans really care enough to buy. Licensing a song for TV or film is often the biggest check an artist will ever see—but those deals are rare.
Most of us patch things together. Teach, produce, do session work, or pick up side jobs outside music. It’s not glamorous. It’s survival. Being a musician today looks less like chasing stardom and more like running a hustle from every angle.
If it keeps going like this, music becomes a side passion, not a career. That’s a loss for more than just the artists. Culture takes the hit when the people making it can’t afford to keep going.
The industry needs new systems—ways to get money back into creators’ hands. Maybe that’s fan subscriptions, patronage, new licensing models, or something we haven’t seen yet. The old world of record sales isn’t coming back.
So the question hangs there: how much do we really value music? If the answer is “a lot,” then it’s on all of us—fans, labels, platforms—to prove it in how we support the people making it.
Lately, the music has been spilling out of me—
not in polished albums or grand productions,
but in short, unfiltered bursts.
Two minutes at a time, I catch the melody before it drifts away,
trap the emotion in a chord progression,
and share it while it’s still warm.
These songs aren’t about chasing perfection.
They’re about capturing the exact moment the feeling arrives—
before the edges are sanded down,
before the truth gets dressed up.
It’s the sound of now,
of what I’m carrying in my head and heart this very second.
And you’ve been listening.
Your messages, your nods, your quiet moments of connection—
they’ve shown me that these little songs
are finding their way to the right ears.
They’ve reminded me that music doesn’t have to be long to be lasting.
Each track is like a snapshot:
a fleeting mood,
a memory that refuses to fade,
a flash of inspiration caught in the act.
Two minutes can hold an entire story,
if you let it.
More is on the way.
The melodies keep arriving—sometimes in the middle of the night,
sometimes while I’m walking,
sometimes right when I’m about to put the instrument down.
And I’ll keep recording them,
because music wants to move.
It’s not meant to be locked away;
it’s meant to be heard.
This is just the beginning.
Two minutes at a time,
I’ll keep letting the music out—
and maybe, piece by piece,
we’ll build something unforgettable together.
As a musician, your hands are your voice. Every chord, every run, every gentle touch on the keys or strings comes from a place of joy and connection. But what happens when your hands start to betray you?
A few weeks ago, I started feeling a dull ache in my left wrist. I brushed it off as fatigue, kept pushing through practice, and kept playing gigs because the music has to go on, right? But the ache turned into tingling, and then into sharp pain that made even simple chords feel like climbing a mountain.
It turns out, I have carpal tunnel in my left wrist.
I didn’t realize how much I took my hands for granted until they couldn’t do what they’ve always done. It’s humbling, frustrating, and honestly scary for a musician to face this. But I’m learning that slowing down is not the same as stopping. I’m taking physical therapy seriously, resting when I need to, and exploring new ways to approach technique so I can keep making music for years to come.
If you’re a musician and you’ve been ignoring those aches, please don’t. Take care of your hands. Rest when you need to. Warm up properly. Stretch. Pay attention to your posture. We only get one set of hands, and they deserve our care as much as the music does.
Have you dealt with carpal tunnel or other playing-related injuries? I’d love to hear how you managed it and kept your music alive.
I’ve been making music for as long as I can remember.
It started when I was 4 years old, sitting at a keyboard with curiosity bigger than my hands. I didn’t have formal training then—just a natural love for melody, rhythm, and the feeling that music gave me. Over time, that curiosity grew into a calling.
Today, I serve as the Director of Music at my church, where I have the privilege of leading worship and helping others connect with something bigger through sound. There’s nothing like building a moment in a service where the music says what words can’t.
But my love for music doesn’t stop at Sunday morning.
In my home studio, I produce my own music—drawing from my roots in gospel, jazz, and soul, and blending them into something that’s uniquely mine. It’s where I experiment, create, and let the Spirit lead. Every note, every layer, every beat is a reflection of years of growth, faith, and passion.
Music is how I express who I am. It’s not just a skill—it’s part of my story.
If you’ve been following my journey or are just discovering my sound, thank you for listening. There’s more to come.
Stay tuned—and stay inspired.