About Gene

I am more excited about this work now than I have ever been. 

And at the same time, I've never been more at peace with the idea of never mixing another show again. That's a strange place to be.

My grandfather was a pastor, my parents were in the choir, and all my favorite musical memories are tied to the church. When I got my first significant audio job at a church, it felt like coming home.

The last church I was on staff grew in ways I couldn't have imagined. One campus became five. Seven thousand weekly attendees became thirty thousand. Radio, television, things I hadn't dreamed of when I started. I got to watch a local church reach communities in real ways, see people's lives change in real time, and do meaningful work alongside people who've become lifelong friends while our kids grew up together. 

The entire experience was a gift. 

The opportunities were far beyond what I was ready for. 

The mission was visible and real.

Yet I burned out anyway.

Let me be clear. It was not the church's fault. They believed in me and gave me more than I deserved. The problem was me. My inability to ask for the help I needed. My desire to be indispensable because each new vision was more worthwhile than the last. My willingness to run empty as long as the work was impacting people deeply.

I crashed. It wasn't pretty. There's a lot I'd do differently.

That crash didn't end my story in the church. It started a different chapter of it. Since then, I've worked at the level most engineers dream about. I'm proud of that work. But despite the photos of Red Rocks or Carnegie Hall, and all the artists I've had the privilege of working with, I still think of myself as a church guy. It's my home.

I don't come to this work from a place of always succeeding. I come from a place of being rebuilt, several times, in fact. I've been the burned-out church staff member who needed grace more than competence. I've been shaped by people who didn't look away when I made mistakes. Mentors, coaches, and parents who invested in potential I couldn't see. Leaders who believed in repair, not replacement. People who walked with me through the mess of becoming someone worth learning from. (My wife most of all.)

I remember the first time someone sat with me after a hard Sunday and didn't try to fix it. They just named what I was carrying. They'd been in that room. They knew what it cost. And something changed in that moment. Not about my technique, but about what I thought was possible for me. That's the thing I can't teach in a course or a tutorial. It only happens in a relationship. 

It's why I do this the way I do it. 

That changes you. It changes how you see other people, how much patience you have for someone in the middle of their own journey, and how seriously you take the opportunity to be that presence for someone else.

When people ask me what I'm most proud of, the honest answer has nothing to do with a tour or show. It's the engineers I've had the privilege of mentoring who figured out that the goal isn't a perfect mix they love. It's a room that serves their congregation well. Watching that idea click for someone is something I don't have words for. That's why I coach the way I do. I know what it means when someone invests in you before you've arrived. And I know that the person you develop is far more valuable than the person you hire.

That's where I want to be involved. Not just teaching technique, but investing the way I was invested in, and staying long enough to see what someone becomes when they finally start to believe they're capable of more.

I limit the number of engagements I take on at any given time so I can show up fully for the people who trust me with their development. If there's space and the fit is right, I look forward to speaking with you.

-Gene