About us

My addiction started on a school bus with a Sony Discman. Maybe you can relate. Older kids bullied me, but my headphones carried me into the music. And the music allowed me to escape. Devouring my older brother’s CD collection, I entered a fascinating new world. Emotions transformed into chords and chords into experiences. Artists spoke to me, and their words formed the soundtrack of my adolescence. Nirvana. Kurt’s shrieking vocals and grunge rebellion captured my imagination. He sang my loneliness and anger. The bullying, the rage, the frustration—his music captured it, expressed it, explained it. No parent or teacher understood. But the music did.

(Me at 13 years old. I chopped my bike and welded up log chain handlebars after watching Jesse

James’ Motorcycle Mania)

By the time I started high school, I knew I had a knack for mechanical things. Then it happened. I saw a friend wiring old speakers to his stereo, and I was hooked. Soon speakers and wires cluttered my room, amplifiers filled my closet, and the music flowed in surround sound. My parents hated the noise, but I was a bedroom DJ, and the music was everything.

I restored my first car, 1979 El Camino

Then I fell in love. She was a 1979 El Camino, and my music and I rebuilt her over the summer. Some bodywork, a new engine, a box of 12” subwoofers, and a 1200 watt amplifier and she was ready to roll. I then decided to learn more and apprenticed under a master hot-rodder and technician, learning true craftsmanship and the pride of work well done. Mastering upholstery and refinishing, I worked street rods in my garage. My craft became my art.

Custom upholstery work was one of my favorite creative outlets

I bought salvage title twin turbo 350Z and brought it back to life during my free time working at the body shop

And the music tightened its grip. Experiencing the power of live music, I absorbed concert after concert. The energy of the music energized the crowd as artists created an emotional journey. Music inspired my craft, and I poured my passion for music into my cars, creating works of art that stirred the soul—like mechanical music. Then the pressure mounted. Society said, “Get a real job, health insurance, benefits, and a 401K.” I believed the lie, and suffered years in a cubicle, pounding numbers on spreadsheets, agonizing through mindless meetings, and punching a clock. Even the music suffered. Technology changed. I listened to music on my iPod with ear buds. The digital compression restricted the sound, but I stopped caring. I was suffocating. My music choices devolved, as I drifted into processed, Top-40 drivel—the Little Debbie of music. No nutrition. No power. No soul. It was elevator music for a corporate sell-out.

Music became little more than an escape from reality. What happened to the days when music mattered? When a song was a celebration? When a chord shook my whole being? Day passed day, and I fell into depression. Then I discovered vinyl. At first I was skeptical. Why waste money on old technology? It’s just hipster trendiness. Maybe you’re wondering the same thing. But I wanted a piece with soul—with style—for my living room, so I bought my first old-school record console. The record spun, the music played, and I was floored. Smooth, warm tones filled the room like soft, billowing smoke. I didn’t just hear the music. I experienced it. Music surrounded me, flooded over me like waves, and moved me, just like it had when I was young. I began to listen differently. It became my ritual. Relax. Dim the lights. Spin the vinyl. Feel the album sleeve. Admire its artwork. Absorb the lyrics. Play the entire album, allowing the artist to lead me, teach me. Great musicians revived my soul. Music as it was meant to be. Not just heard. Experienced.

I dove into the rabbit hole. Old music, new music, different genres . . . every Friday night I journeyed into music. Obsessed with building the ultimate experience, I rediscovered my inner artist and put my craftsmanship to work on restoring record consoles, experimenting with turntables, amps, and speakers. I kept digging, searching for the perfect experience, and discovered that German consoles from the 60s represent the best ever made. But I knew I could improve them. I customized the audio, while preserving the classic design. And rather than burying the tube amps, I showcased their warm glow on the top of the unit, while the uncovered, belt-driven turntable spun out full sound. Albums breathed to life in my living room. Now I hear 100% of the music.

Then it dawned on me. This is what I’m supposed to do. No, not as a hobby. But as my life. I live to create your best home audio experience, not just in sound, but also in beauty and experience as well. I told my boss to shove that soulless job and dove in. But here’s the best part: Watching you reconnect with music! As my business began to grow, people like you fell in love with music again. It moved them. They remembered that there is more to experiencing music than compressed sound and white ear buds. They felt what I now know: My consoles offer an entirely different way of interacting with music, a personal, introspective, real experience. Artists you love will carry you on a journey. They will probe your soul. Music will once again be everything to you. So that’s what I do. Technically, I restore consoles. But really, I reconnect people to music—I help them remember and experience again the passion, the power, the love, the music. People just like you.

Are you ready to experience the music?

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