I also come from a lot of places:
“Nowhere” you might say if you were to consider, with a blind eye and a blinder heart, the character of the small towns in which I have lived, with the miniscule font in which it is located on the Rand McNally as exhibit A; quaint in appearance, but dangerous just beneath the Paula Dean sheen.
You see, I come from places where expressing my true self as a secret member of a marginalized community was impossible (without any actual access to anything at all in the way of even resembling a “community”, mostly due to the out-loud bigotry of my neighbors, of my classmates, of my friends, of my teachers in school and in the church, leaders who ensured their communities were explicitly and clearly not for my kind. This environment leaves individuals like me with no choice but to hide in the shadows, where lurk monsters and traumas and isolation).
I come from “The Road”, you might say if you were feeling romantic.
Despite a stint in rural Indiana, “the East Coast” would be most geographically consistent when mapping out my family's constant, almost annual moving (including between three states in one year, making my survival of first grade in three different schools particularly taxing).
“Bynum!” I now like to say, when I get excited someone hasn’t heard of the excellent seasonal music events and community jam sessions that have put Bynum’s Historic General Store on the map, right in my backyard.
Statistically speaking, if I were to combine my tenure in each of three separate towns in Pitt and Martin counties, I could say I’ve lived by far the longest in “Eastern North Carolina” (I wish we had a better name for it like our little sibling state to the south does with their “Low Country”). “Eastern North Carolina” is a geographic designation lumping all the complexity, all the uniquely rich cultures and diversity that, out there at least, filled the all-American metaphorical melting pot with a Brunswick stew of distinctly different ingredients within a common broth, all the beauty and pain, all the community and the insidious, all-too-common exclusion from such of my home region into a most directionally accurate title.
It is for the best.
In my opinion, only art can even get close to conveying the heart of what my one-time home of Eastern North Carolina is.
And I believe this to be true of any small town, big city, bucolic farming community, any sprawling maze of "little boxes" of suburbia; of any once-proud, deteriorating crossroads, quick-stop fast food village; of the forgotten agricultural hub with only one bar left in which one can occasionally hear a local tune. Everyone, everywhere has a story. Some tell it with art. I earnestly want to help them do so.
As for what I do currently: I am a musician, songwriter, and producer who blends introspective lyricism with rich sonic landscapes. I’m also everything that goes along with being an independent musician these days: graphic designer, social media creator, publicist, web developer, roadie, and mail room duty. My background in chemical and biomolecular engineering and a deep, deep love for both reading and doing philosophy shape the way I create—approaching art as a skill, a gift, and an inquiry. I strive to craft items that explore identity, existence, and the complexities of being human, inviting listeners to pause, reflect, and find meaning in the omnipotent chaos.
Music and other arts, even/especially what might be designated the high title of “folk art”, to me, has always been about connection—a connection to the pulse of what it means to be alive right here in this place, in this time, yes, but more often about honoring and connecting folks to the people who came before, their ideas and their influence, preserving traditions, and making sure the voices of working musicians aren’t lost to time (my current attempt at which has unfortunately turned into an obsessive and expensive hobby of collecting local artists’ vinyl and cassette outputs). My own music has been featured abroad and locally in publications in which I have grown up dying to be included: Indy Week, Chapelboro (twice, including their annual list of the top 50 local songs of 2024, my song Something Sweet came in at 27), WKNC 88.1 FM, and a live performance and interview on WCHL 97.9 FM; and has been generally recognized for its thought-provoking themes and evocative storytelling. Musically and lyrically I pull from influences spanning folk, rock, blues, the hymns of my youth, dark comedy, religious and secular mythologies (big time Tolkien nerd here), weaving intricate guitar work, layered production, and deeply personal lyrics into soundscapes that resonate on both emotional and intellectual levels. At the end of the day, I just want to make something that matters, even if just to one other person, even if just to myself. And if I can help others achieve that same end, I am excitedly awaiting our meeting and the chance to work on their vision for what matters to them.
Beyond music, by day, I’ve built a career managing teams and delivering large-scale biopharmaceutical manufacturing processes to clients around the world and at home here in the Triangle. I have led teams of up to 15 engineers for client capital projects as large as $600 million, coordinating our work with wider project teams which include coworkers, vendors, clients, and all stakeholders to bring complex ideas to life. The most meaningful work I’ve done was during the height of the pandemic, boots on the ground here at an RTP-area biopharmaceutical facility helping produce COVID-19 vaccines at a time when every moment mattered. During that strange and sometimes terrifying time early in the pandemic, I lost loved ones to the disease in rural hospitals and others to the rampant misinformation of the day, never to speak to me again as I was “one of them, forcing tracking chips or DNA-altering mind control magic into the veins of the unassuming masses”. The experience of getting those vaccines from the lab bench, scaled up, and into arms shifted something in me—it made me step back and ask how I could do more to serve people directly, and who exactly those people might be (an answer to which came quickly: the artists and storytellers who shape our culture).
And so I returned to the format that has turned me on to so much art, from childhood to today: FM radio. For a year and a half, I worked as the North Carolina music radio host for WCOM 103.5 FM out of Carrboro and WOVV 90.1 FM out of Ocracoke, as well as the music library director for WCOM, helping bring underrepresented musicians’ work to North Carolina's airwaves. This experience endowed me with an understanding of the importance of documentation, production, and ensuring that artists’ voices are heard—whether through recording, performance, distribution, publicity, or multimedia storytelling. Whether in the studio, in the field, or behind the scenes helping artists get what they need, I believe in doing the work that keeps the art alive.
This portfolio should be seen as a showcase of my work across music, DJing, writing, and visual storytelling. Whether I’m leading a team, producing a track, or designing an experience, my goal remains the same: to create something meaningful.
If any of this resonates with you— regardless of what brought you to this corner of the internet, whether you’re an artist, a listener, a future employer, or just someone who loves a good conversation about music and meaning—I would love to chat with you.