If you knew me, you’d probably say, “None of this adds up.”

Classical music? RVs? CrossFit? Texas?

But if you really knew me, it would make perfect sense.

I like embedding myself. I thrive on learning how people live, listening to how they talk, watching how they work, and noticing how they celebrate wins. I love storytelling. Not as decoration, but as infrastructure. To me, it’s the foundation of any brand that actually wants to last.

I started as a sound engineer, traveling the country for a weekly classical music radio program on NPR. Digital media was still warming up. YouTube had just arrived. Social media meant daily updates from actual friends. From the Top was the opposite of all that. Deeply traditional, proudly mission-driven, and focused on one thing: celebrating young classical musicians by making them feel human, not prodigious. The product wasn’t just beautiful music, it was context. Story. Identity.

The audience skewed (much) older, elite, loyal. And yet the timing was perfect. As the show evolved to PBS, I got my first real education in “content” and my first hard lesson: modern storytelling needed visuals to survive.

I moved to Texas in 2011. I’d lived in Boston my entire life and suddenly found myself sweating (literally) into a completely different culture with completely new characters. I worked on stories about cattle ranchers, neon sign makers, flood recovery crews, and punk banjo players. I helped start On-Airstreaming, a company that stripped polish out of music and put a heartbeat back in. Raw performances, real environments, analog instruments, no click tracks. It was about presence, not perfection.

Eight years later, I was back in Boston as the Creative Director of a...CrossFit brand? Why not?

NOBULL grew during the most accessible era of social media. Brands could talk directly to people, for free, then spend a few hundred dollars to reach more. The deal was simple: feed the beast. And we did. Fast, cheap, and good. Multiple shoots a week. Multiple posts a day. Products, athletes, community, chaos. We built an audience of over a million people and became early participants in Meta’s Disruptors Accelerator.

Translation: we made a lot of content. The important caveat, though, is that we stayed on message. We were world-building, and that takes discipline.

Fast-forward to now – twenty years after YouTube’s first video, a decade removed from the first wave of “instafame” – and content has become a dirty word. Slop. Brain rot. Artificial. We scroll through feeds as users, not people. (Which feels revealing, if not a little bleak.)

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

My career path isn’t typical. Music degree. Live sound. Audio storytelling. Documentary (short-form and long-form). Emmy-nomination. Creative direction. That’s the point. I’ve spent my life entering unfamiliar, sometimes polarizing subcultures and figuring out how to make them feel seen instead of simplified.

I don’t want to feed users. I want to satiate people.

The throughline has always been the same: talking to people makes them listen. Talking at them makes them scroll.


So, let’s talk.