Every journey has a turning point—one defining moment when the path ahead becomes clear, even if it had been forming in the background for years. The Echo and the Voice didn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s the culmination of decades spent creating, observing, and understanding the way stories and music shape us. But at some point, it became clear that this project wasn’t just something I wanted to do—it was something I had to do
The Moment It All Came Together
For years, I had been writing songs, crafting narratives, and collecting experiences that all seemed to circle around the same themes—how culture shapes us, how we shape culture, and how finding our own voice within the noise is both an act of rebellion and self-discovery. But the pieces hadn’t yet connected.
Then, there was a moment—one I can pinpoint—where the idea of The Echo and the Voice snapped into focus. Three events converged to make it undeniable. First, I found a box of old photographs—slides and negatives dating back 50 years. As I scanned and organized them by year, I realized they weren’t just images; they were a story waiting to be told. Then, an old friend I hadn’t seen in 20 years, Adnan Iftekhar, introduced me to Suno.ai, an AI-powered music production tool. This was the catalyst that allowed me to bring my songs to life in ways I had only imagined decades ago. The first album, Heartlands, became a journey through life—childhood, wild youth, adulthood, and family—ordered like a narrative, and as I heard these songs fully realized, something clicked. The floodgate of creativity I once knew in my 30s came rushing back. That’s when I knew—the project had to be done. The echoes of past voices, of old songs, of stories I had told and retold—they all carried a weight, a responsibility. I could either let them remain fragments, scattered across time, or I could gather them, shape them, and give them a purpose.
Why This Project Had to Happen
There are stories that live inside us whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. Some fade away, while others press against the edges of our consciousness, waiting to be given form. The Echo and the Voice is filled with those stories—ones that refused to be ignored, ones that still had something to say.
I had spent years watching how the world changed around music and storytelling. I had seen the shift from deeply personal, intimate artistry to mass-produced content designed for an algorithm. I had watched artists struggle to be heard, not because they lacked talent, but because their voices didn’t fit the formula. I knew this wasn’t a recent phenomenon—it was just the latest version of a long cycle. I had seen it firsthand when I worked inside Sony Music headquarters in New York City as a butler, serving meals to top executives. Sitting in those rooms, I listened as lawyers and accountants discussed artists—not as visionaries, but as commodities. The way they talked about them when they weren’t around was dismissive, even dehumanizing. That was the moment I knew I wasn’t in this for fame or fortune. I was in it to be free.
It became clear that this project wasn’t just about me—it was about reclaiming something bigger. It was about remembering what it means to create, not for fame or validation, but because the stories demand to be told.
An Invitation to Explore
This isn’t just my journey—it’s an exploration of something universal. I believe that every human being possesses their own voice whether they hear it or not. For certain, every artist, every storyteller, every musician has their own turning point, their own moment when they realize they can’t ignore what’s calling them. The Echo and the Voice is my response to that moment.
What’s yours? Have you ever felt an undeniable pull toward something creative, something meaningful? I’d love to hear about it. Let’s explore this together.