Bro Paul Brown on Playing Every Note with Gratitude

The award-winning keys player and producer shares how he was a once-destitute kid who found a lifelong home in music

Written by Lisa Battles

Memphis-based keys player, songwriter and producer Brother Paul Brown has an unforgettable spirit onstage and off – full of life and contagiously positive.

It’s in how he produces and plays with other artists, carefully enhancing their gifts without imposing his own. And when he shares his own stories, he affords that same kind of reverence and grace to earlier versions of himself, along with a lot of laughter.

His presence is as much about what he doesn’t bring as what he does. There’s no fear of being seen, no shame in his circumstances and no holding back the memories, whether heart-filling or heart-wrenching.

There’s also no fear of being heard, because he sees the lessons in all of it and wants to inspire others by sharing them.

Valuing lessons and progressions

Brown sets the scene for the story of his difficult early life by matter-of-factly stating that he wet the bed until his late teens before launching into the details and, most importantly, what he’s learned.

He was 12 when his mother died and his stepfather left him and his siblings to fend for themselves. The Department of Human Services sent them first to juvenile court and then to Tennessee Preparatory School in Nashville, a school for homeless youth.

As a teen, juvenile court guards and a dorm supervisor at TPS shamed him for bedwetting. One time, the dorm supervisor threw his mattress on the lawn with his name tagged on it for other students to see.

“It was just, oh, it was horrible. But she had this bright idea that if she did that, it would solve it. And of course it didn’t. But it was so humiliating, it made me strive that much harder to be better. Music was the one thing that I felt I could be really good at, and I felt like it was my purpose in life. That experience just pushed me harder,” Brown says.

Many years later, R&B artist Shirley Brown threw one of her high heels at him mid-show the first time he played with her. That was her way of checking him for inserting a little too much funk during one of her soft ballad breakdowns. While she missed, he says their conversation afterward taught a lesson that forever shaped his complementary style.

By then, a flying shoe only felt like an invitation to learn something after what he’d been through to find his way back to Memphis and be on that stage.

Finding a home in music at a homeless school

Despite it being a school for homeless youth, Brown found a home in music not long after he arrived as a preteen.

He credits the school for opening the world of music to him, with specific gratitude to two teachers who saw and nurtured him and his gifts. The first, Barbara Biggs, introduced him to the piano.

“What was so incredible is that she somehow realized how this instrument was gonna save my life. She just saw and felt how connected I was to it and fostered that. She would allow me to come in after school, sit down with me and show me songs, taking all this extra time. And I tell you, man, it just transformed my life,” Brown says.

At one point, a foster couple in Memphis took Brown, and the experience did not go well. They treated him poorly, he says, before returning him to juvenile court one night under the pretense of going out for pizza. He learned they’d told administrators he’d caused them trouble.

Sent back to TPS for the remainder of high school, deeply shaken and confused, Brown met Jerry Pickle, the second music teacher who took a special interest in him.

“He was a brilliant piano player. He saw how rattled I was, and he just took me under his wing and brought me back to life,” Brown says.

Pickle set him up with a dedicated space and time to learn instruments like sax, trumpet and flute. Brown formed a band and also played his first show ever in the school’s auditorium, using both the piano and organ to play Foreigner’s “Cold as Ice.”

His teacher also introduced Brown to country artist Louise Mandrell, who would become his musical sponsor for a time. She gave him a trumpet, had him play a couple of songs at a local appearance with her and took him on his first record store visit to buy a player and albums. Already a huge rock fan, he chose Black Sabbath, KISS and Foreigner.

As Brown began to thrive and get attention for his talent, things started changing for him at school. Mandrell’s sponsorship abruptly ended. They were each told separately that the other wanted that, which wasn’t true. About four years ago, they reconnected and have remained close since, Brown says.

The school also ended his other music privileges, so he left TPS, this time for good. At age 17, he scaled the dorm wall with a road atlas and his trumpet.

Memphis, the Mississippi River and expanding musical horizons

Brown ran away to Memphis and was homeless again, often sleeping in city parks while looking for work. Not surprisingly, someone stole his trumpet one night as he slept.

With survival as his priority, he pressed on to find a job. One of his brothers, Pete, told him where to get hired as a deckhand for boats hauling crude oil barges up the Mississippi River. While it took many tries to get the job, he eventually did and says he enjoyed the good money, especially being able to buy and practice instruments again.

“When I got on the river, I had nothing. By the time I left the river, it would take me two or three trips to get all of my music stuff. I had like three or four different guitars, amps, and I’d gotten myself a trumpet. Oh man, it was crazy. I already knew it was gonna be my career,” Brown says.

Things were looking up until one day, when the boat, with three barges attached, hit a bridge and almost sank. Brown asked for time off to mentally regroup. When denied, he quit. A month later, the same boat hit a lock and sank, killing three deckhands and the cook, he says.

Not long after, he married his first wife and started a family with her, having twin sons, Paul and Pat (the latter of whom passed away in 2020). Brown did odd jobs to make ends meet – car washes, building fences – until landing at a music store. That reconnection eventually opened opportunities to rehearse, play and meet other musicians in the Memphis scene of the mid-1980s.

He learned how to use a sequencer and arrange music while touring with a hotel-circuit pop-rock band. After their sets, he and the band’s drummer would jam late into the night, experimenting with other musical styles. The two of them moved back to Memphis above a recording studio, and more connections developed from that. He got his first publishing deal and started recording his first original songs, and other artists started picking them up.

A studio connection recommended him to The Bar-Kays after the departure of the funk band’s original keyboard player, Winston Stewart, who moved on to work with Shirley Brown. When Stewart left that gig, Bro Paul was a natural fit – at least after the shoe-throwing incident. He then worked with Hi Records’ soul artists, Ann Peebles and Don Bryant, and blues artist, Bobby Rush, the latter with whom he’d earn his first GRAMMY® Nomination in 2014 for producing “Down In Louisiana.”

“One memory I can still see in my mind’s eyes was Stax session guitarist and a true hero and mentor of mine, Bobby Manuel, and I at each end of that beautiful console, riding faders together on Ann Peebles’, Mavis Staples’ and Shirley Browns’ vocals and mixing those records with so much feel and love,” Brown says.

Returning to Music City and the greatest gift

Eventually, Brown met the woman who’d become his second wife, a paralegal named April who lived in Knoxville. In 2006, when a friend called and urged him to return to Nashville for a standing gig at the city’s B.B. King’s Blues Club, he and April decided to meet in the middle of the state and start a life together.

Brown landed the gig at B.B. King’s and picked up many others, while continuing studio projects and touring with established artists. He quickly became known beyond his musical abilities for his unwavering dedication.

One legendary example is the night he insisted on playing his gig with Mike Farris despite having an accident that took off the tip of his ring finger while unloading gear earlier in the day.

“When we talk about pivotal moments or an epic moment in my musical life, it’s like … That happened, and I still did the gig,” Brown says.

(Many years later, it was Farris who recommended Brown to play with Gloria Gaynor on her Grammy-winning gospel album “Testimony” in 2020.)

Over time, he and April grew apart and began the process of divorce in 2010. That ended abruptly when April called one day for help after a fall. He rushed to her aid, and they learned she had stage IV metastatic bone cancer. They stayed together during her treatment and journey afterward, during which time April discovered her own musical and artistic gifts.

Given a Native American flute as a gift during a cancer wellness retreat, April took to it naturally. She then tried her hand at oil painting and created beautiful works on canvas. She and Brown recorded an album together, “Elders and Ancestors,” released in 2015 and still used as a calming tool in many cancer treatment centers all over the world, he says. April transitioned in 2017.

“I watched her get so much out of cancer instead of getting beaten down by it. She gained so much and gifted me so much from it, just being able to take this journey with her,” he says. “She never looked at it as something that was taking life from her. She always looked at it as though it was giving her something, a gift, which gave me a gift.”

Brown says he learned an unforgettable lesson in humility, seeing how she used her newfound talents not for personal acclaim but to inspire others not to give up to cancer.

In the cyclical way he’s seen his work and life play out, he’s now working again with Trish Bowden, who helms the label that released that record.

This latest project with Bowden is a tribute album to blues singer Koko Taylor and will feature many talented guests. He says one of the things he cherishes most about gaining all of these experiences and perspectives is that he can bring them all into the studio to support and produce great vocalists.

“Humility is a big one for me these days. I feel a lot more humility in the things that I do and the things I accomplish, because I feel like what I’m accomplishing is for the good of other people, supporting artists and helping them be as great as they can be,” Brown says. “My sweetheart Janni Littlepage, who is an amazingly soulful singer, songwriter, pianist, garden designer and painter, is the same way. There’s so much selflessness to her, and she inspires me and so many others by what she does.”

A blues tour, a bluegrass show and a new band

For the past 11 years, Brown has been part of The Waterboys, a rock group founded in 1983 by Scotsman Mike Scott. They connected in 2013 through a Kentucky-based folk singer, bluegrass artist and radio show host, Michael Johnathon.

During their tour promoting “Down in Louisiana,” Bobby Rush and Brown played Johnathon’s show, “WoodSongs Old-Time Radio Hour.” They hit it off, and Johnathan invited Brown back to play with his band for several more shows. A big fan of The Waterboys and Scott, Johnathon booked the band and recommended that they have Brown join on organ.

“Recommended” may be an understatement. As Brown describes it, it took three persistent emails from Johnathan to convince Scott to give him a chance.

“We did the show, and it’s on film. It just turned out so beautiful. After that show, Mike Scott said, ‘I don’t know how or when, but we’re gonna work together again,’” Brown says.

One day and a year later, Brown received an email inviting him to be part of the group’s next album, and he’s been with them ever since.

With gratitude and humility, he’s got faith in being right where he needs to be.

“My playing to me speaks volumes in gratitude,” Brown says. “I get people who come up to me after a show and tell me how great they feel after watching me play, how much joy they feel. They ask me where that comes from, and I’ll always say the same thing. It’s gratitude. It’s gratitude. Every note that I play is just filled with gratitude … Sleeping in parks and the hardships – it’s all in there.”

 

Indie Artist and Producer Illicit Ghost on Music as a Guiding Lifeline

The musician, songwriter and producer shares how songs travel faster than light through life’s dark tunnels

 Written by Lisa Battles

New York native, multi-instrumentalist, songwriter and producer Illicit Ghost made the move to Nashville in 2022. It was a bold decision to move to a new city with no established support network, much less amid a global pandemic, perhaps more acutely daring for someone who’s tackled mental health challenges throughout life.

While she says the pandemic was the primary reason she chose to leave New York, the allure of music was also important. While some see a guiding light at the end of a tunnel, for her, it’s always been songs.

By then, she also had a few friends along for the journey – lessons learned through her instruments of violin, clarinet, piano and guitar – and the voice she’s developed through them all. For the past seven years, she’s been using that voice to guide others facing similar struggles.

Early expression through music

For Illicit Ghost, violin lessons began at age 3, opening the door to expression through music at the same time young children typically begin developing sophisticated verbal communication. While she took to both, the latter felt more natural, and she also picked up the clarinet in her middle school and high school years.

“The anxiety piece has always been there for me in school. When I was growing up, I remember sitting there and just shaking because I was afraid that the teacher was going to call on me. And that happened throughout college as well. If they did call on me, I didn’t feel comfortable speaking,” she says. “And then at the parent-teacher conferences, every teacher would be like, ‘Oh, she doesn’t participate and she’s too quiet.’ On the inside, it was like this war in my mind with all these racing thoughts and being on loop and then all this anxiety, just having to be around other people for so long during the day and just feeling uncomfortable.”

Meanwhile, she was always listening, mostly to music, whether it was what she produced, music made by others or her internal voice. When it all became too noisy, her actual voice would emerge, humming along to the music of the times, usually under blankets so her parents wouldn’t catch her listening to music they deemed inappropriate.

As a teen, songs by Third Eye Blind and Alanis Morissette resonated for different reasons. Eventually, she found yet another musical instrument to carry those thoughts and her voice from beneath her blankets: the piano.

Pulling back the covers

When her parents bought a baby grand piano when she was 14, she taught herself to play it, singing softly to herself. She says that was the start of her songwriting, and it also coincided with her first awareness of having mental health issues.

“I remember having these thoughts that would just be on a loop in my mind, and I thought it was normal. I didn’t know what was happening, so I just kind of pushed it down. Later, I would find out that that was OCD, the obsessive thinking, compulsions and doing things that would prevent something bad from happening,” she says.

Although mental health awareness has come a long way now, the silence surrounding it at this time of her life made it incredibly difficult to speak up about what was going on, she says. Songwriting on the piano provided a more comfortable form of expression.

When it was time to go to college, she chose to continue playing in the orchestra with the violin and the band with the clarinet, while not pursuing a major in music. By then, music had become her preferred communication style, and she did not want to compromise that touchstone.

“My heart was always in music, and I didn’t make it my major in college because I loved it too much and didn’t want to ruin it,” she says.

Instruments opening up a voice

After finishing her studies, she continued making music and playing shows. While still a reserved person, when it came to music, her extroverted side appeared in full force.

“I started to take songwriting a lot more seriously around age 24 and began writing songs, performing at open mics in New York City, playing violin with a backing track, and all these different bars pretty much three or four times a week at night. It was intense and competitive, but it was fun. That’s where I honed my performance skills and got more comfortable singing in front of people and playing. And making those connections in the community was vital for me,” she says.

The experience revealed a desire to learn about producing music, so she started contacting people whom she admired locally, asking for help and advice on what to do next. Again, bold, for a “quiet girl,” and those connections pointed her to Ableton software to learn and refine her production skills.

By 2018, she began releasing original music via her social media channels, starting with “Drunk and Alone,” written and produced during a huge snowstorm when she was trapped inside in Brooklyn. The song just came to her, she says, with lyrics focusing on the duality of both accepting and dismissing someone’s words while seeking solitude and inner peace. When she saw her music resonate, she began releasing several more tracks, including “Rabbit Hole,” which explores quiet struggles beneath the surface; “Weekend Warrior,” which leans into fleeting escape; and “Wide Open,” about wanting a connection where nothing is hidden. Another, “Help,” examines how difficult it can be to ask for support when you’re struggling internally. Acknowledging that struggle in herself and wanting to help others was one big reason she launched an Instagram Live series in 2020, called “Anti-Anxiety Hour.”

“When I was in school, not wanting to speak up, not wanting to be called on, it completely disappeared when I started performing. I don’t know why. Once I get on stage and I’m singing, it’s like I’m in this different world. I feel free. And I can feel people looking at me, but in some weird way, I’m okay with it,” she says. “Maybe part of that is because I know that I’m speaking from my soul and trying to get messages across that are important to me and maybe important to other people. And it just goes back to wanting to help people.”

Emitting song signals

Illicit Ghost has released several singles over the past seven years, focusing on emotional strength and combating inner struggles. While the dark moments of mental health issues can be an equalizer, what sets some people apart is how they’re equipped to get through them.

For Illicit Ghost, lessons learned through violin (patience), clarinet (breathing) and piano (opening up and singing) have been critical, she says. She also wants to hold a light at the end of a tunnel for others by sharing her story and what keeps her going.

“Music has taught me so much in life and has given me so many skills that I’ve been able to transfer over to my professional career, not only in music, just having that drive and being persistent. Mental health has always been really important to me,” she says.  “Anyone else struggling isn’t alone. Just getting out of bed in the morning is the hardest part. If you can do that, you’re winning.”

“Yes, it is very hard for me to create when I am low, but finding that drive, even if there’s just a little bit inside, and just picking up the guitar or playing the piano is super helpful. I know [melancholy in music] has been romanticized, but it’s real for a lot of people. And channeling it into art for me has been lifesaving.”

Pianist Lara Downes on charting new dimensions

The acclaimed artist shares how a search for self-identity led to amplifying the voices of others

Written by Lisa Battles

Pianist Lara Downes holds a place, places even, that few classical musicians occupy today. Her approach to life and work is akin to quantum mechanics, with subtle interconnections, strength in duality, embraceable uncertainties and powerful outcomes.

While she doesn’t describe it this way, her music and career yield evidence that her lens of discovery, both of herself and others, is inherent and difficult to measure.

Multifaceted musical presence

Downes’ presence is like a play of light across media, venues, organizations, genres and audiences, with NBC News calling her “a musical ray of hope” and other critics praising her for pushing music forward while breaking down conventional perceptions about classical music, its place in history and those who create it.

She takes on historic scores and newer compositions, blending genres and delivery to reach people far beyond concert halls.

Named NPR’s 2022 Classical Woman of the Year, she herself created and hosts the hugely popular NPR video series  “Amplify With Lara Downes.” She’s topped Billboard charts as a recording artist. Meanwhile, she continues a steady stream of live performances with orchestras from Philadelphia to Los Angeles,  and on stages from New York’s Lincoln Center to Berkeley’s Cal Performances. Currently, she’s one year into a three-year appointment as the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra’s first Creative Partner.

Downes has even been a “New York Times” crossword clue. That fact is near the top of her bio, an accomplishment that speaks to her passion for connecting classical music to as many people as possible, far beyond the concert hall.

Uncovering her own story

The internal drive to write that personal story has always been at the heart of what she’s accomplished and still aims to achieve. With a markedly nontraditional background, there’s been much to uncover, she says.

As one of three daughters to a scientist father of Jamaican descent who grew up in Harlem and a mother who was a lawyer and “Jewish girl from Akron, Ohio,” Downes and her siblings all began piano lessons as soon as they could play in San Francisco. Their parents chose to raise and homeschool them there, perhaps “trying something utopian,” she says. Her father died when she was a preteen, and eventually her mother chose to move the family to Europe, where Downes stayed for seven years.

There, Downes says, “Growing up was a weird, homeschooled music bubble and for so many reasons, I just didn’t think about it. And then in Europe, a lot of things made sense and connected themselves again, via the pathway of music. There was that tradition that is real there – present and important. Just meeting so many other young people for whom this was the center of the universe was very grounding and comforting in so many ways. But on the other hand, we were also always ‘the American girls.’ So when I came back here [at age 21], it was just time to break away from my family and figure some things out. And I realized that I had a lot of things to figure out, and I had no idea what it meant to function in this country, either personally or artistically.”

Embracing unexpected advantages

When Downes arrived in the U.S., she began exploring American musical traditions to uncover her heritage and find her place within them. The journey has forged a career that blends her diverse experiences while bringing what she’s discovered to new audiences. In considering how nonlinear her approach has been, she reflected on how her homeschooling had felt like “unschooling.”

“It was not very structured at all. I had learned from the age of five or six just to find a book if you wanted to know something. Nobody was feeding information to me. So my journey into American music was very much like, ‘I need to go out and figure out where this stuff is,’” Downes says.

At times, she grappled with not having a conservatory network like most of her peers, while appreciating that her experience and curiosity led to unique opportunities that may not have presented themselves otherwise.

“There’s something really strange about not knowing, not having the experience that most people have of curriculum and structure and linear pathways in learning. If you don’t have that, you also don’t know what other people don’t know. So it’s like everything is new. It was like being an alien who had just gotten here,” Downes says.

Changing perceptions about classical music

Her process led to a major shift when she finally discovered the history of women and people of color in the classical music tradition. While her work in this space has brought recognition for resurfacing lesser-known musicians and forgotten compositions, she is emphatic about framing that experience accurately.

First and foremost, it was a search for identity and discovering how she fit into the picture of classical music throughout history. She says it was also a pure search for history and sound versus a tidy fit into a social justice category, which was not her primary intent.

“And then it did become an understanding that if this music exists and it speaks to me in this way, then think about all the other people that it speaks to because it can crash through those barriers of [thinking that] classical music is boring, old, dead, white and for rich people. Look at all these people who’ve been part of it,” Downes says. “But it had nothing to do with solving racism in America. I’m feeling so urgently the need to be really clear about that. It’s a privilege that I’ve found this music, that I’m able to share it, and that more people know it. It’s not that I’m doing this music any favors … I just think that music is vitally important [and] it’s not right that everyone doesn’t get to experience it if they want to.”

Reframing values through voices

Her latest initiative, The Declaration Project, commemorates America’s upcoming 250th anniversary through spoken, written and musical storytelling about the foundational concepts of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The project encourages individuals from all walks of life to reinterpret these ideals from their perspectives, moving beyond historical narratives to envision a collective future.

Through regional residencies and workshops and the project’s website, Downes is gathering and compiling submissions into a national digital archive with stories featured in a video installation that will accompany her multimedia concert, DECLARATION, premiering in New York in July 2026, and featuring new works for piano and orchestra by Grammy Award-winning composers Valerie Coleman, Arturo O’Farrill and Christopher Tin. Each composition will be a contemporary musical exploration of one of the three principles.

The project embodies the kind of work Downes sees as most valuable because it can be catalytic for reflection, dialogue and transformation.

“I really feel so clearly and deeply the role that music can play in opening up dialogue in all the places where I go and among all the people that I meet. And the more evident it is how completely impossible that is in most arenas, I try to make the most of that superpower,” Downes says. “There is no piece of music that doesn’t touch on one or two or all three of those concepts. So the project is meant to mark this moment in time, but I think more it’s meant as a pathway, again, for me just to get out there and find ways to create conversation and communication that is otherwise really hard to come by. I think probably the worst problem we have is the inability to just listen to other people and other perspectives. So I love it. I mean, it’s turning into something so massive that it’s taking on new dimensions every day.”

 

 

Radiating Warmth: José Sibaja on transcending fundamentals and formalities to keep music alive

Written by Lisa Battles

Warmth radiates through every part of acclaimed trumpet player José Sibaja, from his music to his mindset. Rooted deeply in his Latin American heritage and with decades of rich experience, he champions humanity, humility and humor.

An 18-year member of Boston Brass, the Costa Rica-born Sibaja has played as an international soloist with many major symphony orchestras and wind ensembles, teaches master classes worldwide and is an associate professor at Blair School of Music in Nashville, Tennessee.

Training the ear and mind

While Sibaja instructs students on fundamentals, he says his greater goal is to show how mastering them is the starting point for greater possibilities in their artistry and life.

“We’re going to be as good as we are able to hear, and I think that also applies to life. We’re going to be as wise and empathetic as we’re able to hear and listen to others,” he says.

Deep values for inclusion and accessibility form the core of Sibaja’s philosophy, driving his approach to make music more relatable, human and open. He believes music loses its magic when it becomes elitist or detached from everyday people and was always meant to transcend cultures and socioeconomic status.

“Music has always been created and played for celebration or communication. We made it serious … Music didn’t start happening in the music hall. We did that. Music was always either a song or a dance. You were trying to enamor somebody or celebrate the fact that you were with people, together,” Sibaja says. “And then to go way earlier, when we had only singing and percussive noises, those were used to communicate between tribes. We were the ones who made it serious with all our expectations in life.”

“The word ‘expectation’ in my life is very important. I try to keep my hopes really big but my expectations low with everything. So I think that gives me an edge on being relaxed. In my opinion, expectation is the number one enemy of a healthy relationship, be it humanly or musically.”

This idea permeates everything Sibaja does. Whether he’s in a concert hall, an intimate gathering or teaching a class, he aims to resonate with people in ways that connect them to a greater awareness of being, no matter their background.

Early life influences in Latin America

Sibaja says his experience growing up in Costa Rica and early adulthood in Miami and Venezuela shaped his perspectives on music and how it resonates across different cultures and classes of society.

“I am a true believer that music is made for inclusion and for unity,” he says.

It all began for him at age 13, when he fell in love with the trumpet sound in the Latin music that filled his childhood home. He picked up the instrument and started his training at the Youth Program of the National Symphony Orchestra in Costa Rica. Eventually, he earned a scholarship to the University of Miami to study classical music. He pursued his studies there for two years before taking the opportunity to become the principal trumpet player in the National Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela.

He stayed with the orchestra for two and a half years before venturing more into commercial music and recording, which took him to New York for a while. Then December rolled around.

“I was recording a really late-night session in Manhattan. I went down to the subway, and it was two in the morning. The train was late. I was freezing. Right then, I made the decision that was not for me. I had to go back to Miami,” Sibaja says.

Another important factor in his decision to return was mentor and professor Gil Johnson at the University of Miami.

“He helped me understand how important your work ethic is, not only for music, but just in general in life, and if I accomplish anything, or not. I am blessed that way a lot because of him. Not only musically speaking, he really took me under his wing and shaped me literally to have a work ethic,” Sibaja says. “Talent is nothing. You can be the most talented person in the world, but if you don’t work, nothing happens.”

Dancing between classical and commercial worlds

Back in Miami, Sibaja got to work, re-entered school, picked up recording projects, played principal in the Miami Symphony and the Palm Beach Orchestra, and took on some commercial music work. Local connections led him to Ricky Martin, whose band he joined at around age 24.

Off he went touring the world for about a decade, while also recording with Martin and other famous Latin artists, including Alejandro Sanz, Gloria Estefan, Celia Cruz, Luis Enrique, Rey Ruiz, Marc Antony and more.

During this time, Sibaja did a stint with Dallas Brass, a quintet experience that piqued his interest when he learned of an opportunity with Boston Brass. He auditioned, won the spot and has been with the group ever since, touring and supporting its mission to perform great music while also “leaving a footprint” wherever it goes, Sibaja says.

Dancing between the classical and commercial music worlds was not something he imagined for himself in the first few years of learning his instrument, he says. His mental shift about it happened around age 16, when he attended a concert by Mexican artist Luis Miguel.

“Until then, all I wanted to hear was classical music. A friend of mine invited me to go, and I didn’t want him to go alone. I wasn’t into it [but] once I got in there and the band started playing, I was like, ‘Whoa, whoa, wait, wait, wait! There’s more to this dude than I thought there was going to be!’” Sibaja says.  “And then, of course, he’s one of the most incredible singers you’ll ever hear in your life, and the band was sounding great. That day, my perspective on music changed. I was really happy.”

Another amazing influence on his early non-classical musical discoveries was the Cuban band “Irakere” and one of his trumpet heroes, Arturo Sandoval.

“Music with that much soul and honesty is an experience hard to recreate, but immensely rewarding and transformative. When I first heard Arturo play, I was in awe and didn’t know you could do that with a trumpet. The fact that he played the trumpet like that, that he spoke the same language I spoke, and that he came from a small Latin American country, was a big boost of inspiration, hope and energy for me as a young musician.”

Discovering both artists taught him huge lessons about not boxing in or stereotyping oneself or others, and how suspending that kind of judgment can lead to satisfying personal discoveries and uniting people, he says.

Passing along a mindset

Even with a relentless work ethic, Sibaja prizes authenticity over perfection, doesn’t take himself too seriously, and strives to pass those values to others through his teaching opportunities.

“Music has to be sincere. We are not here to be perfect, and nobody’s perfect. So if my aim is to be perfect, I am missing the point, and my music becomes stiff and contained. I want to be as human as possible with music. If I make mistakes, as long as people are enjoying themselves and having a good time, it’s OK.  I think that’s our job. That’s the most important thing to me,” he says. “And I want to bring that to students, [the knowing] that they have a license to make a mistake. When we give freedom to our minds, the way we perform improves dramatically, and we start being ourselves. In my opinion, that’s what you need in music.”

When asked what gets him up in the morning, Sibaja’s answer is simple: the blessing of being able to make music. As for what helps him sleep well at night, it’s his commitment to how he goes about it.

“I just want to be remembered as a fun person. That’s it. Hopefully, I can contribute something positive to your life. If I happen to play the trumpet a certain way and you remember that, that’s great. I would love it if when people think of me, it brings a smile to their faces,” Sibaja says. “To me, that’s much more important or transcendental than people thinking that I was smart or I was a virtuoso or if I was this or I was that … It’s a lot about respect, respecting others, respecting people and staying true to who you are.”

Elena Bonomo on finding delight in infinite possibilities

The Broadway drummer tells how curiosity and versatility have helped chart her course

Written by Lisa Battles

Elena Bonomo says it’s a meditative moment when she takes command of the beat eight shows weekly as the drummer for Broadway’s Tony-award winning musical, SIX.

The setting wouldn’t give just anyone a sense of ease. The band is part of the onstage cast for the high-energy, pop-rock show. After playing her dream gig for almost four years, Bonomo says the show’s music has become “part of her body,” yet she still fully embraces her role within the show’s dynamic in new and different ways.

In her mindset, there’s always something to learn or discover, and that philosophy brought her to this stage – on Broadway and throughout life.

Early keys to curiosity

As a young child growing up an hour outside of the city, Bonomo spent many hours sitting next to her grandmother, watching her play the piano. She specifically requested it during their time together, loved seeing the joy it brought and benefited from some early lessons.

While time at the piano with her grandmother sparked her love of music, Bonomo also discovered the drums around that time, thanks to a few other relatives who played. With some help from her uncle,  she was hooked after a couple of lessons. Her parents heard her pleas for a set of her own, which she got for Christmas at around age 9.

Bonomo began private lessons and played in the middle and high school bands. But it wasn’t until playing in her school musicals that she first felt the pull toward musical theater. “I realized, ‘Yeah, this is what I want to do for a living,’” she says.

Feeding a love for versatility

When considering college, Bonomo sought a program to help her develop her skills across musical styles.

“A lot of schools are very classical-oriented or very jazz-oriented, and I knew at that time that I loved playing all styles of music. I loved rock and funk and Latin music and even the possibility of Broadway, which can sometimes be every single style of music combined into one show,” she says.

She says she chose Berklee College of Music because “they weren’t so focused on just one style.”

She was also ready to experience life in a new place. Beyond that, some of her favorite artists had attended Berklee, like John Mayer and Terri Lyne Carrington, the latter of whom she got to study with at school, along with Neal Smith, Bob Gullotti and Jamey Haddad.

After college, Bonomo joined the Boston-based Americana folk band, The Novel Ideas, for two U.S. tours. That meant five people squeezed into an unreliable van with little money to cover lodging, yet innumerable treasures in seeing new places, making friends and having fun, she says.

“It was an amazing experience because it was my first time touring around the country. Before that, I hadn’t seen too much. With this band in our little van, we got to see the U.S. and play different types of venues,” Bonomo says.

After developing a love for travel with this first post-college gig, Bonomo revisited the idea of working on cruise ships after auditioning back in school. She landed a gig with Holland America Line and set sail on new adventures.

Taking in the world of sights and songs

Bonomo played on cruise ships and saw more places she’d never thought she would, like Australia, New Zealand, Greece and Fiji. Guest entertainers would fly to meet the ship, rehearse with the house band and deliver shows together.

“Every night was different. It trained me to be the working musician I am today in New York because I was sight reading music, playing with different artists every night, playing along with a click track, using in-ear monitors and playing along in a real show with actors. All of that was such a great way to prepare me,” Bonomo says.

Between cruise contracts, she’d return home, play community theater locally and visit the city frequently to work and network. She played with singer-songwriters and wedding bands, did workshops for new shows and picked up some opportunities subbing for other musicians on several shows.

“Somebody once said to me, ‘When you first get out of school, just say yes to everything. You never know where your next opportunity is going to come from.’ So even with the smaller shows, I was like, ‘Yes, absolutely. This sounds fun. It’s more experience,’” she says.

The power of mentorship

Bonomo credits many people and mentors who recognized her passion and facilitated connections along her path. After all, you have to have the question to answer “yes.”

“Sometimes it’s luck; sometimes it’s the stars aligning. But I don’t think the stars are going to align for you unless you put yourself out there and you make yourself open to receive these opportunities. It’s all about putting out your energy into the universe and then you’ll get it back,” Bonomo says.

Being so close to Broadway helped. Her high school choir accompanist had a career on Broadway and introduced her to drummers Larry Lelli and John Redsecker. Bonomo contacted them and asked if she could shadow as they played a couple of shows, and they both agreed.

She and Lelli reconnected when he did a clinic for Berklee’s percussion department, and they stayed in touch. When Lelli needed subs for Cagney, an off-Broadway show he had been working on, he called Bonomo. That gig opened doors, and soon after, she got the call to sub for Waitress, marking her Broadway debut.

“I was ecstatic. It felt like everything I’d worked for was finally paying off,” she recalls.

After that, she was offered the Waitress National Tour, so off she went for a year around the country.

Dynamism and consistency

With SIX, Bonomo says that establishing the comfort with the show over the past several years has allowed her to channel different things into her performances and tune into the nuances of interaction between people on the stage and in the seats. Show after show, she still loves the show’s groove-based, pop-rock drumming and being on stage.

“It’s just so much fun to actually be part of the show and be able to interact with the rest of my band members and the queens and see the audience every night. They laugh at different things all the time,” Bonomo says.

Meanwhile, she keeps her calendar full and skills sharp with other gigs, saying “yes” to all she can manage “just for the variety.”

“Something that I feel like I can always relate to is that I’m a forever student. I’m constantly learning and growing as a musician, and I need that in my life to feel healthy and keep me on my toes,” Bonomo says.

Taking care of the music

An important principle of lifelong learning is giving back by empowering others to learn, too. Bonomo teaches privately and mentors through Maestra Music, an organization that connects mentees age 18 and older pursuing music careers in theatre with professional women and nonbinary mentors working in the industry.

“Every day that I’m playing the drums, I feel so lucky. I feel so grateful to say that I get to do what I love. That’s because I had other people to look up to as a kid … not only just to look up to but people who offered guidance and showed that they cared about helping me – someone brand new to the scene that they didn’t know,” she says. “If I didn’t have that, maybe I wouldn’t have broken into the Broadway world. Maybe I wouldn’t have become a musician. It just takes one person to change somebody’s life.”

Kinetic Joy & Forward Motion
Rebekah Ko on music, cycling and their power in dispelling limiting beliefs

Written by Lisa Battles

Much of Seattle percussionist Rebekah Ko’s early career has been about figuring things out—embracing the process, managing expectations, doing the work and discovering her strengths.

Ko’s parents and brother immigrated from Taiwan before she was born in Torrance, California. The first part of her musical journey is similar to many others. Her mother enrolled her in piano lessons, something she always wanted herself. Respectful of her mother’s wishes, Ko did her part with piano for six years but was not passionate about the discipline beyond the performance aspects, she says.

Even so, when it was time to choose high-school extracurriculars, the band felt like the natural fit over sports options.

“I was an indoor kid, wasn’t involved in any sports, and was never really presented with outdoor activities as an option to be pursued,” Ko says. “I didn’t think of myself as an athlete.”

She started with the flute and in eighth grade, she was nudged toward percussion.

Finding New Rhythms

In short, Ko’s band director needed a percussionist who could read music, and she is very frank that she was not the best flutist. Initially reluctant, she soon discovered a deep connection to the kinetic nature of percussion. It was a revelation.

“I fell in love with it. …Something that was really lacking in my life was this kinetic energy connection, this physical connection with doing something and the joy of movement. That’s really what drew me in,” Ko says.

“That was the first time I had an organized activity, and I found a sense of community for the first time through marching band and indoor drumline.”

Despite these benefits, Ko didn’t initially plan to pursue music in college, much less as a career. She wasn’t clear on what that picture would look like for herself.

She halfheartedly applied to business schools while auditioning for something she knew she did want—a spot with the independent percussion ensemble, Pulse. While she wasn’t accepted because the organization did not take high schoolers with programs available to them, she gained a mentor with the group, who encouraged her to apply to music schools. Despite having missed critical deadlines with some, he encouraged her to find others while helping her upskill for auditions.

Around the same time, she earned a spot with the Santa Clara Vanguard Drum & Bugle Corps, where she connected with students from the University of North Texas.

Ultimately, UNT became her school of choice among the four to which she applied. Not only was she accepted to all of them, but she was offered varying scholarships, as well. The same could not be said of her business school applications.

Taking it as a sign, she decided to follow the path music was laying out for her.

Keeping an Open Mind

Ko says her first two years at UNT were rigorous, tackling a highly structured program that laid out four years of lessons and expectations for progress every week.

“I was trying to keep up with this curriculum that assumed you were starting from a certain place because you were there. …I was in a class of almost 40, and my expectation for myself was, ‘Don’t be the worst. Be the second worst.’ …That just allowed for a lot of freedom not to worry about comparing myself to others, which is really easy to do at a school with that many people in a department. I had the freedom to just find my own standards and decide what I wanted out of it and where I wanted to go with the time I was spending,” Ko says.

By her final two years, she had not only improved but developed a competitive edge. And yet she still wasn’t convinced she wanted to pursue an advanced degree. Instead, she leaned into her love for marimba, an instrument that became central to her musical identity.

Entering a New Cycle

After graduating in 2016, Ko’s path took an unexpected turn toward bicycles. A relationship with a bike shop owner introduced her to cycling, and she began helping out around the store. He built her a customized bike, and riding it “was like flying,” she says.

Much like the first time she experienced the physicality of percussion, this was an empowering experience, further breaking down misconceptions she had about her abilities.

While the relationship changed, they remained friends. When Ko moved to Seattle, he backed her up as a reference to land a job as a bike mechanic to make ends meet. Meanwhile, she networked in the local music circles, picking up work with community orchestras and chamber ensembles and playing private events.

Her daily cycling for transportation took the back seat when she bought a car. That temporary bike shop gig turned into a seven-year career in which she became manager.

Tackling New Challenges

In 2020, the pandemic brought a sudden halt to performances while fueling a surge in outdoor recreation. Needless to say, Ko stayed busy.

She also bought herself a mountain bike, a decision that deepened her connection to cycling and herself. Much like her marimba playing, the sport became a form of meditation, requiring her to enter a flow state where hesitation could lead to mistakes.

The process of learning to trust herself on the trails reminded her of the journey she had taken with music in college—overcoming fear, building confidence and pushing through self-doubt.

“If you tense up, things do not go well,” she says.

Mountain biking reinforced an important lesson: moving forward without second-guessing herself. It was a space free of expectations, where she could simply be.

“I think that was something that mountain biking really offered—just something new where I got to be without expectations for myself again and find that freedom,” Ko says. “Remember how that felt, hold that close this time, and apply that to everything else in my life. I think that’s the gift mountain biking has given me over the past four years that I want to move forward with.”

Sharing Her Gifts

Eventually, Rebekah left the bike shop to pursue work in public service. She now works as the director of community resources for Bike Works, a nonprofit focused on building resilient communities through sustainable transportation.

The organization offers educational programming about cycling for youth and adults while working to increase accessibility to underserved communities through repair classes, bike donations and a refurbishing program. Last year, they processed over 5,000 bikes—and that’s not even a record year.

At Bike Works, Ko touches almost every aspect of its mission, including educational programming, determining the viability of donated bikes and assisting with the BikeMobile, a free bicycle repair service. She says her involvement with the organization allows her to combine her passion for cycling with the greater purpose of empowering others with the freedom biking has given her.

Returning to Music with Renewed Intention

As for music, Ko now chooses projects with more intention and excitement. She and three other percussionists are launching a percussion chamber ensemble nonprofit. The idea grew from a longtime collaborator’s school, Seattle Percussion Works, which is dedicated to youth and adult percussion education. That space will serve as the foundation for their ensemble collective, providing access to instruments and practice space.

She is also reviving a trio she formed in 2018 with one of these same percussionists and a keyboardist/guitarist. After pausing in 2024, they are returning under a new name, aptly “AGAIN.” She says this time, they’ve agreed to clearer expectations to focus on experimentation and creativity without strict deadlines.

Another of her projects features an electric guitarist, a drummer, a mini organ player, and herself on marimba. Ko says it was the first group where she got to choose what she wanted to play, and she loves the challenge of adapting marimba to music that sometimes doesn’t strike her as the best suited for it.

“My mechanic, problem-solving brain gets tickled by that experience. It’s fulfilling in that I’ve gone through this process of feeling like I’ve made possible what seemed technically impossible at the beginning. That feels like I’ve conquered something,” Ko says.

Grateful for Perspective & Growth

Ko says the mountain views in Seattle help her keep a healthy perspective about the immediacy of life and her place in the world.

“The clouds will break, and there’s a straight shot of Mount Rainier,” she says. “It’s humbling and grounding, a reminder of how much bigger the world is outside of myself and the city.”

With those perspectives, she’s shifted how she approaches her next steps. While she long stood by embracing the process of elimination, exploring to rule out what she doesn’t want, now she is actively focused on those things she does.

In the same vein, she no longer views music as something that must be a singular pursuit requiring her to choose between it being a career or a hobby. The connection between music and cycling has shown her that both are avenues for growth, spaces where she learns about herself.

“Something I’ve been deconstructing the past couple of years is a mentality of music having to be a career versus a passion or hobby,” Ko says. “It’s a way of living and way of life, my lens of viewing the world and part of my everyday. Both music and cycling are disciplines that have added value to who I am and how I see things.”

Wayfinding to the Spotlight: Emerging artist Tanner Olsen on discovering his voice and what drives his determination

Written by Lisa Battles

Internalizing the power of music, heartbreaking loss and resolute determination all stand as milestones along Tanner Olsen’s path from Chilliwack, BC to Nashville, Tennessee, by way of New York.

The emerging band leader has collected many life lessons from country-music-cranking bonfire parties along rural Canadian backroads to establishing himself in the epicenter of Music City’s live music scene. A decade in, his story has just begun.

Starting Points

While Olsen’s parents introduced him to piano lessons at age 5, and he went on to play in many school bands, his first love was for sports. A shared passion for lacrosse formed a bond with his father as he rose to become a star player.

“He would be at every practice, every late-night training session, whatever it was, he was always there,” Olsen says. “I fell in love with the sport just because I think it connected me with him the most.”

Olsen eventually earned a lacrosse scholarship to attend university in New York. During his two years there, he found his voice and discovered his true calling: music.

He and a teammate entered a talent contest “as a joke,” performing a Jason Mraz cover “to impress the girls.” Instead of laughter, they were met with awe — a reaction that set events in motion Olsen never expected.

“It just went crazy. People came up the stage, ogling over us, saying ‘Wow. That was so cool.’ We were just a couple of lacrosse guys. We didn’t know,” Olsen says. “Once I got a taste of that one little thing, I was like, ‘I think I want to do this as a career.’

“It just hit a spark in my brain that music can make people feel connected to words, feelings, emotions, a certain song … or whatever it is. It was seeing that people connected so hard with that and were genuinely passionate about what we were doing. That’s where I was like, ‘Okay, this is really cool. I love that.’”

Following the Signs

Around that time, another friend back in Canada urged Olsen to relocate to Edmonton, Alberta, and audition for a role as a music teacher. He dropped out of school, studied up on instruments beyond piano, and landed the job. After a while teaching, he moved back home to BC and launched what eventually became the Tanner Olsen Band.

Back home, a casual connection landed the band its first big appearance — a three-day, eight-show booking at the Abbotsford Agrifair in 2017. Once again, Olsen became a quick study and got a little help from his ever-supportive father, who stepped in as a prompter.

“I’m singing country music that I’ve heard on the radio and had just learned to play guitar. I was like, ‘I don’t know how to do this thing, man,’” Olsen says. “So he’s holding up these big poster board cue cards in the back of the stage. I was excessively reading them because I was like, ‘I don’t want to mess these words up.’ After that, we just kept getting booked and booked and booked,” he says.

Support to Change Course

Rock-solid backup came naturally for Olsen’s father, who he says chose intense jobs throughout his life, from serving on SWAT teams to providing personal security for high-profile musicians. That ethos for seizing opportunities and taking risks became a guiding principle.

“He tried things that he loved. When he got bored, he changed it,” Olsen says. “… I kind of always knew I didn’t just want to get a degree and work a job. I knew I wanted to be something bigger and different.”

Meanwhile, Olsen took a truck driving job while building his band’s local following, and talks with his dad often turned to Nashville. He wasn’t keen on giving up his comfortable lifestyle, making good money, driving a nice truck and paying for other toys, as he calls them. Even more, he also wasn’t all that confident in his abilities to make it in Nashville.

“[Dad] was like, ‘You have to do it. You gotta give everything you have and just try.’”

Not long after, Olsen’s father had a series of critical health scares, and in May 2023, passed away following a heart attack.

Eyes on the Road

After several months of working through the initial grief, Olsen carried through on those discussions about Nashville with his dad.

“I talked to that man every day of my life. He wouldn’t let me get off the phone without saying, ‘I love you.’ […] Losing him was the hardest thing ever,” Olsen says. “I got to a point where I just said, ‘You know what? Enough’s enough. Life’s too short.’ He would’ve wanted me to do this Nashville thing because he and I talked about it for so long.”

Olsen called his bandmates, who agreed to make the move despite having nothing lined up once they arrived—the first couple of months required relentless networking just to find the opportunity to secure their work visas. Soon after that, though, the Tanner Olsen Band was booking a dozen or more four-hour shows a week on Broadway.

“We’d play four hours at a bar, pack up our gear, run across the street, set it back up at a different bar, and play for another four hours,” Olsen says. “That’s the way that Broadway works. It’s chaos, amazing, tiring and a struggle most of the time to keep your voice from going.”

Olsen says the band’s living situation could be described in similar terms, which also wasn’t easy.

Staying the Course

Olsen’s father had left his kids some life insurance money, which he leveraged to make the move and support the group, especially in those first several months. They lived in a two-bedroom Airbnb, taking turns for who got stuck on the couch or floor.

“That was the only thing that allowed me to move. But that was like the sacrifice I knew my dad would’ve wanted me to make. I would rather risk literally everything I have to make this happen rather than play it safe. So it was really scary, but we just kept going,” Olsen says. “At the same time, I was grieving like crazy. It kind of felt like I just ran away from my life and my emotions. But it helped to have the guys with me.”

Steadfast in fulfilling his dreams, Olsen keeps his eyes trained on the horizon while his father’s memory lights the path. With each success, his command of the wheel becomes more confident. With any setback, he checks the rearview and tightens his grip.

Sometimes the compass points back to family time amid his hometown’s agricultural fields, massive trees and soaring mountain backdrops. At other times, it directs him back to that small stretch of towering, neon-emblazoned honky tonks in Tennessee or summertime festival crowds.

The next step for the Tanner Olsen Band is developing and recording more original material to make its mark far beyond Broadway. So far, though, Olsen says it’s been satisfying to set an example with all the band has accomplished so far, exemplifying his father’s passion for life and belief in taking chances.

“This stuff is possible, these weird, wild dreams. I am showing everyone back home and anywhere in the world that these things are possible. I think they can happen,” Olsen says. “You just have to try and even if you fail … that’s how you grow, how you learn — and what makes you who you are.”

Living in Purpose, Making Room for More Magic

Will Wells on the second movement of his career and the intermission that’s made it so meaningful

Written by Lisa Battles

Following his studies in film scoring, music production and engineering at Berklee College of Music, Will Wells established a relatively astonishing list of credits over a decade.

He served as the electronic music producer for “Hamilton.” He was the executive producer and co-writer for Cynthia Erivo’s debut album, and Anthony Ramos’ first EP and subsequent first two full albums. He’s music directed the Heisman Trophy ceremony live broadcasts for years and composed its first theme song. He’s also held many musical direction, performance and production roles touring with artists such as LMFAO, Nikki Yanofsky, Imagine Dragons and Logic. These highlights scratch the surface.

Then Wells took a long beat. From August 2022 to the following summer, he stepped away for an intermission that set up the second movement of his career, now underway and progressing beautifully. While there are times when the pace is as rigorous as ever, he’s established a more deliberate dynamic and tone – fully living in his purpose and bringing more thought and intention to every moment.

Wells recently shared insights from then to now in a talk that followed eight days of nearly nonstop work. He’d been in the studio for a yet-to-be-announced album, separately reviving another exciting collaboration with Ramos, and directing music for the 2024 Heisman Trophy Ceremony – all during unexpected and emotional circumstances impacting him and his family. He says the demands of the week reminded him of how his life used to be and also revealed how his mindset shift prepared him for things he never expected.

“What I can say with every fiber of my being is that it was 100 percent worth it,” Wells says. “ […] There’s a moment in the second movement of ‘Karelia Suite [Op. 11]’ by Sibelius where the ensemble just holds a note and lets it sit and lets it breathe. You have to wait for it. And then it opens up and swells into the most gorgeous chorale. I am in a place in my life where I’m just letting the notes breathe a little bit more. I’m letting myself breathe a little bit more.”

Enchanted trajectory

It took keen self-awareness and a lot of inward work to get to this place, not to mention a fair amount of courage to pause when he did. Most would agree Wells’ early career seemed almost charmed by a series of fortunate events.

Within one week of moving to LA after graduating college, Wells landed a job working for Alex Lacamoire as a music department assistant on “Bring It On: The Musical” at the Ahmanson Theatre.  His work on that production introduced him to writer and actor Lin-Manuel Miranda and choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler – and ultimately the opportunity to work on “Hamilton.”

“It felt like an enchanted trajectory,” Wells says. “Imagine that, literally within a week after arriving in Los Angeles, these are the people I was so fortunate to be in a room with day after day, which led to some incredible opportunities later in life.”

More opportunities opened while working for and being mentored by Richard Gibbs at Woodshed Recording, where he forged working relationships with some of the world’s most celebrated artists. Those connections often led to touring gigs, songwriting collaborations and production projects.

Meanwhile, having made a fast friend and collaborator in Ramos during their work on “Hamilton,” Wells executive produced the artist’s first EP and two subsequent albums. He also co-produced the highly acclaimed song, “Stand Up,” performed by Cynthia Erivo in her leading role in “Harriet,” the 2019 biographical film about Harriet Tubman. That same year, former ESPN Vice President of Production Kate Jackson (now Netflix Director of Sports) extended the opportunity to compose the first-ever theme music for the Heisman Trophy Presentation, which he seized and directed live with a flourish. He then executive produced Erivo’s debut album, “Ch. 1 Vs. 1,” released in 2021.

While the successes kept coming, Wells’ finely tuned ear eventually turned inward to notice something was off.

Following the feeling

The Eureka moment came when he was en route to direct music for the 2021 ESPN Sports Humanitarian Awards, he says. Wells called his mother in tears and said he missed his friends and family.

“The irony being that my band was some of my closest friends, and they were all flown out to perform for this ceremony,” Wells says. He adds that when these types of performances ended, allowing everyone time to relax, he’d skip socializing and head back to the studio to write more music.

“Leading up to some of these really incredible and special moments is that my internal dialogue would be saying ‘I have the Heisman ceremony on Saturday. I can’t wait for Sunday.’ You know, what a profound way to disrespect the beauty that is that moment. That I get to contribute music to a night that will be so important not just for the finalist who wins but for all the people around him,” Wells says. “I want to be there. I want to feel that energy and that celebration, as well. I don’t want to be drained. I want to be fully there. I want the ensemble I am so fortunate to have committing time to performing with me to feel that from the top down: I am excited about what we’re about to do, and that I honor these gifts that we have been blessed with.”

Wells adds that he equates not being present in that way to “abusing his blessing” and in some regards was “teetering on abuse and self-abuse” for the latter part of those first 10 years of work.

“That was really the catalyst for taking a moment, taking an intermission, to think about my intentions for every single thing I did next,” Wells says. “There is always room for magic, but [I realized] if I can be intentional about what I accept, what I don’t accept, what the sacrifice is, it would help me understand what is and what is not worth it.”

Stating his purpose

Wells says he immediately paid more attention to his mental and physical health, including starting therapy. Another first step was to call and book a meeting with a mentor, renowned organizational consultant Pat Richie of The Table Group, a former longtime chaplain to the San Francisco 49ers.

“He is just an incredible thinker and leader. The first question he asked me while in his backyard in Houston was, ‘So Will, what’s your purpose?’ And I was like, ‘Oh, that’s where we’re starting? That’s a huge question!’” Wells says.

The work to arrive at a clear purpose statement called upon him to inventory his life highlights and consider when he felt most alive and satisfied. Wells recalls several:

On creating an impromptu string arrangement of the Heisman Trophy theme’s second movement: “I will never forget at that moment, I thought ‘This is it!’

On co-producing Erivo on “Stand Up”: “The wave of energy that we shared while making that record, was so palpable, it was almost tangible. I remember putting everything I had in that moment into bringing that record to completion with our collaborators.”

On his time with students at Berklee: “There were some really incredible moments with the students when I thought, ‘Okay, I understand why people dedicate their life to this work.’”

On approaching Ramos to collaborate back in 2015: “Every time he would sing that simple line in ‘Hamilton,’ … ‘Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away!’ there was something so honest about it.”

Wells found that honesty was the common thread between these moments. It’s a quality he’s tuned to receive, what most strongly resonates within him and ignites his collaborative talents to yield the most satisfying results.

His purpose statement?

Amplifying honest voices and touching the soul.

Honoring the energy

To stay true to his purpose, Wells frequently asks himself a favorite question he learned in therapy: “How can you honor yourself right now?”

That can mean deciding whether to continue spending time with someone or simply acknowledging he’s tired and catching some sleep instead of staying up three more hours to finish a project. This particular week it meant going to dinner after the Heisman Trophy broadcast and enjoying quality time with the friend who initially gave him that opportunity. It also meant being present with his family at a difficult time, even while writing some music in the quiet moments.

“This has all been patience plus lessons and an even greater amount of faith, and I believe it’s faith that is the biggest and most important ingredient here. No matter what anybody believes, this is [important] for everyone,” Wells says. “It’s that thing that can’t quite be harnessed. There’s an intangibility to it, and you need it. It’s that belief that you are doing all of this for a reason, and it will lead somewhere. […] It’s been important to have that faith that it is all leading me in the direction that I am supposed to go and that all of these things are ultimately allowing me to live in and act out my purpose.”

Wells is incredibly excited about a new adventure with Ramos – a project they recently revived since its inception in 2018.

“We have been working on a musical, and it feels like one of the most important – if not the most important – things I have ever done, musically and just all around. What I have noticed is, again, I have paid attention to how I feel as I am doing it. It feels profoundly different from anything I have ever done. As we sometimes say, ‘This one feels different.’ […] This one checks every box for ‘Yes, this is something that is important to me to put my energy into because of how I feel while I do it.’”

Resonating notes

Wells offers a thought to anyone on a creative journey: “Pay attention to how you feel and don’t be afraid to check in. Your instincts are powerful. A lot of times we condition ourselves to use logic or reason over those instincts. I just encourage people to not forget the magic of those instincts because oftentimes, great things happen when people follow those instincts.”