A Musical Beginning

Growing up in a musical family, rhythm was always part of my daily life. There was always a record spinning or someone humming a tune. My own connection to music came through the drums. I picked up my first pair of sticks as a kid, and that was it—I was hooked. Something about the rhythm, the timing, the energy—it got into my bones and never left. Drumming became more than just a hobby. It became a language, one I felt completely at home speaking.

What I didn’t realize then was how much that early love of percussion would shape me, not just as a musician, but as a person—and eventually, as a producer. It’s funny how something that seems so specific and narrow ends up being the foundation for everything that comes later. For me, the drums were where I learned how to listen, how to collaborate, and how to stay present in the moment.

Finding the Groove

When you’re a drummer, your job isn’t to be the star. It’s to find the groove and hold it down so others can shine. That means you have to pay attention. You have to really listen to what’s happening around you. The bass player might change things up. The vocalist might slow down a phrase. You’re constantly adjusting, responding, locking in. You’re part of something bigger than yourself.

That lesson stayed with me. Years later, when I moved into the world of producing, I found myself drawing on those same instincts. Producing isn’t about being the loudest voice in the room. It’s about tuning in to the people around you—writers, directors, designers, performers—and helping them find their rhythm. You can’t do that if you’re not listening. You can’t do that if you’re only focused on your own agenda.

The best drummers don’t just keep time. They create space. They allow others to breathe and move and build something together. That’s what I try to do as a producer.

Being in the Pocket

There’s a concept in drumming called “being in the pocket.” It’s when everything feels just right—the tempo, the groove, the feel. You’re not rushing. You’re not dragging. You’re locked in with the music and with your fellow players. It’s a feeling of effortlessness that comes from trust, practice, and deep attention.

I think about that feeling a lot in my producing work. Every project has its own rhythm, and part of the challenge is figuring out how to get into that pocket. Sometimes it happens quickly. Sometimes it takes time. But when it does, you know it. The team clicks. The energy flows. Everyone’s moving in sync toward the same goal.

Getting there doesn’t mean everything’s perfect. It means people feel safe enough to take risks. It means there’s room to breathe and explore. It means the foundation is strong. Just like in music, when the beat is steady and true, everything else can come to life.

Listening Beyond Sound

Listening, in the deepest sense, isn’t just about sound. It’s about attention. It’s about awareness. It’s about being present with what’s in front of you and resisting the urge to jump ahead or talk over someone. That kind of listening takes practice. And like drumming, it’s something I’m always working to improve.

In theater, listening shows up everywhere. It shows up in how you hear a script for the first time. It shows up in the way a performer reads a line differently during a rehearsal. It shows up in the conversations you have with collaborators when something isn’t working and no one’s quite sure why. Producing has taught me that being a good listener often means being okay with silence—giving space for someone else to speak, or even just to think.

Drumming taught me that, too. Sometimes it’s the space between the beats that makes the music feel alive.

Staying Grounded

One of the things I’ve always loved about drumming is how physical it is. You can’t fake it. You feel it in your arms, in your chest, in your whole body. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you honest. Producing can sometimes feel abstract—budgets, calendars, logistics—but I try to keep that same grounded energy. I want to be present, real, in touch with the work and the people creating it.

Even now, when I sit behind a drum kit, it feels like coming home. It reminds me why I fell in love with performance in the first place. It reminds me how much of this work—whether it’s music or theater or any other creative endeavor—is about connection.

The Rhythm That Carries Me

I don’t get to drum as much as I used to, but the lessons are always with me. The rhythm, the focus, the listening, the teamwork—they’ve shaped every part of who I am, especially in my life as a producer. They remind me that no one creates alone. That every project, like every song, is a collaboration.

When I think about what I hope to bring to the theater world, it’s not just ideas or experience. It’s rhythm. It’s the steady presence of someone who knows how to listen and how to hold the beat—even when things get chaotic. That’s the role I love playing.

And just like in music, when everything comes together and the whole room is alive with energy—you know you’ve done your job right. You don’t need to be in the spotlight. You just need to keep the beat.