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“With all the music on the radio these days, wouldn’t it be nice to hear an actual song once in a while?”
– Reginald K. Son, professional melody hunter and cassette hoarder

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Let’s rewind a bit. I’ve always known I had an ear for good music. As a kid in 1980s NYC, I was that dude camped out next to the radio with my fingers ready on the record and pause buttons, crafting mixtapes like they were Smithsonian-level artifacts. By the time I hit 60 cassettes, I knew I had a problem—and I liked it.

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Then came the incident. Picture this: a teenage boy in Queens, a hardworking single mom commuting from Manhattan, and too much unsupervised time. Let’s just say I made a few... creative life choices. Mom, however, was less enthusiastic. As punishment, she made me destroy my entire music collection. Cassette by cassette. Tape by tape. I’m not crying, you’re crying. That day, I realized: music wasn’t just a hobby. It was therapy. Also, I learned not to cross my mama.

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Flash forward to 1984. I was dragged—against my will—to see Purple Rain in Detroit with my cousins. I walked into the theater like, “Who’s this Prince guy again?” I left the theater believing I was Prince. I bought a Telecaster and amp before I even unpacked. I played “Computer Blue” until the neighbors filed noise complaints. Eventually, I realized I didn’t love playing guitar. The strings were judgy, and the fretboard had attitude. I sold it all and found a kinder, less fretty soulmate: the piano.

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Fast-forward to the late ’80s/early ’90s. I got myself a synth, sampler, sequencer, and drum machine. Picture a box haircut and a young me, thinking I was an unofficial member of Cameo. Music and I were now in a committed relationship.

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Then I met some folks who became partners in rhyme (and harmony). Art Thomas had a studio and could write lyrics about literally anything you said out loud. Great power, terrifying responsibility. He brought in Alonzo Wells, a guitarist from L.A., and we formed a group called “A.R.A.” (Yes, we thought we were mysterious). We even produced a guy named Hennessey. I wish I were kidding. Eventually, Art moved for his real job (oh yeah, we all had those), and we disbanded like every good mini-legend does.

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Then came AmariM. We connected over our mutual distaste for writing about booties and bling. She was on that soulful, lyrical vibe, and I was all in. That creative “mind meld” became the album Vibes from the Inner Garden. No twerking, all soul.

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Then enter Kia Hamm. We met at one of my day jobs and bonded over music and our shared talent for cracking jokes at the worst possible times. I brought her into the studio and she channeled Denise Williams meets Minnie Riperton. We vibed until life called her elsewhere. But you can still hear our magic on The Sounds page. Yes, there’s a page. Yes, I’m fancy.

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Next on the timeline: Rosie Bans. I found her on a musician’s site, hired her for a track called “This World,” and was so impressed that we co-wrote “Shiver.” Kate Glock (not the weapon, the singer) ended up performing it. She’s got that Amy Lee vibe, and I hope to work with her again if she’s not already touring the solar system.

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Then there’s Caino—rapper, vocalist, renaissance man. He brought the fire on “Vigil,” “The Rider in Your Storm,” “Get Up!” and “Shook.” The guy has more range than a Texas cow ranch.

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And through all this, music has become more me than ever. Every song I write is a kaleidoscope of who I am—my childhood, my gratitude, the women who’ve inspired me, the chaos of the world, and the humor I use to survive it all.

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A special shoutout to Larry Grant Fowler, Jr., who laid down the bass on “Brazilian Queen” before passing from cancer. Larry, your talent was incredible, but your friendship was even more precious. Rest in power, brother.

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If I had to categorize myself in a record store, I’d be lounging in that rare aisle between Asa, Corinne Bailey Rae, Brand New Heavies, Amel Larrieux, Sade, Jill Scott, Me’shell NdegeOcello, India.Arie, Steely Dan, Kenny Loggins, Christopher Cross, Sting, Michael Franks, Goo Goo Dolls, and Groove Collective. I don’t deserve to be there, but I brought snacks and good vibes, so they let me stay.

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So, welcome to my little sonic universe. On this site, you’ll find songs that are playful, reflective, funky, and soulful. Some might make you dance. Others might make you text your ex. All of them are from the heart.

Enjoy the ride.

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— Reginald K. to the Son
“Music for Life (and also for avoiding therapy bills)”