From time to time, a chance to interview someone we’ve long admired comes up that we simply cannot resist. Stevie Rennie is a music industry expert who started as a promoter in Los Angeles, became a record executive for Epic Records, and ended up managing Incubus. He’s now started his own website for those who want to learn about the music industry, Renman Music & Business (or RenmanMB), and launched an Indiegogo campaign to support it. We were able to catch up with him on a Friday before the itch to golf took over.

How did you get your start in the music industry?

I got my start in the music industry back in junior college at Santa Monica College; I had been working and trying to become a golf pro, as that was my dream. It didn’t work out that way, so I went back to college and took a speech class. I had visions of being a lawyer, so I thought it would be important to do public speaking. I took the class, the professor said, “You should be on the debate team,” so I did that and then he decided we needed a bigger budget, so he decided to have me run for office. I got elected, and it was a totally different position, but it turned out the guy who booked concerts, the commissioner of activities, didn’t like talking to agents and managers but I did. That’s how I got my start in college, booking concerts, got into USC on a debate scholarship, booked concerts there, and ultimately got my first job in the music industry at my own company, Steve Rennie Presents, because I couldn’t get a job in the William Morris Mailroom and they did a degree check. I didn’t have a degree. I basically told them in so many words “fuck you, I’m just going to start my own company.”

So I did. I started my own company. I did that for about two years. I got these crazy lawyers and finance guys who were rock and roll fans to stake me about one hundred grand to put me in the business; I did that for two years and then got hired by the big dogs in town, called Avalon Attractions (who are now part of Live Nation). That’s how I got my first real job in the music business. I was working for them as a concert promoter.

How did you progress from working as a concert promoter to working at a record label and later becoming Incubus’ manager?

I was at Avalon for the better part of seven years; we booked everything from club dates to U2 at the coliseum and everything in between. I was fortunate there to have a couple mentors there who schooled me on the ways of the real music business. That’s important, because there’s a romantic notion of the music business where birds are chirping and butterflies are flying around, and then there’s the real music business, which is a vicious animal.

At any rate, as a promoter, I saw lots of bands, traveled to England quite a bit, and saw a lot of managers. There were some that were terrific; the Doc McGees, the Ray Daniels, Ed Leftler, Paul McGuiness’ guys. I could see they were the center of attention for people, I took note of that. After seven years I decided to quit my job to venture out to be a manager. I did that for about four years, and managed a bunch of up and coming acts, and learned a very important lesson in management: you’re either somewhere or nowhere. Those are the two true states of being; any picture that suggested that there was a middle ground was really only a snapshot of you going up to somewhere or coming back down to nowhere. And I’ve been at it thirty five years and that probably still accurately reflects the state of the music business.

I transitioned to being a manager and in the course of that time, worked with a couple of labels. By no particular design, I had a bunch of acts on Sony Music, and I met a gentleman named Richard Griffith, who at the time was the President of Epic Records and now manages One Direction and Leona Lewis and others. We became friendly over golf – I’m a big time golfer – and one day we were playing at an industry tournament, and were waiting for someone to clear the green, and he goes “Steve, have you ever considered working at a record label?” and I go “not really, Richard.” He goes “I’d like you to be the general manager of Epic Records because I reckon it would be far cheaper to hire you than have you sucking money out of our product managers that will.” And I go “is that an offer, Richard? Or are we just shooting the shit?” And it was an offer, so I said “I’m in!”

I did that for about four years. He didn’t really hire me to be a record executive; Richard had a real method to his madness. He hired four senior vice presidents when he was there, and everyone was a former manager; Steve Barnett, then-president of Columbia now the president of Capital Records, David Massey who managed Wang Chung and is now President of Mercury Records, a gentleman named Ged Doherty who ran Sony UK for years, and myself, and I’m the only one who didn’t stick around in the label business because I met a band called Incubus there. While I had sworn I would never manage another band once I went to Sony Music and I was making great money as a record executive, I met Incubus and helped them get signed to the label. For all intents and purposes, as anybody who was at Sony at the time would tell you, I was their manager from the get go, even though they technically had another manager. I did all the management on the inside; got them an agent and helped them book tours and so forth.

Along the way, the internet was starting to really show the signs of becoming a game changing phenomenon inside the record business. We started getting involved with all of the inside activities online at Sony, which were mostly protecting franchises and not moving the ball downfield. At any rate, I had been friendly with Mark Geiger, who is now the head of William Morris – we grew up in the business together – and he had this idea to start a company called ArtistDirect, that was one of the first internet startups that had the idea of building channels for artists, where they could promote their music and have a direct connection with their fans and do commerce and all the stuff we take for granted today.

So backing up a step, I decided to leave Epic Records after four years to go and join ArtistDirect. I did that, but as I was leaving the company, I got a call from Mike Einziger, the guitarist for Incubus, going “We understand you’re leaving. Dude, that’s fucked up. What are we gonna do? We want you to be partners with our manager.” I go, “have you talked to him about that?” “Nope! We’ll handle it!” Well, they didn’t handle it. I did. I became partners with their then-manager, left Epic Records to go to ArtistDirect; we wound up getting twenty million dollars of investments from the record labels after they had, at first, sued us for different reasons. [Laughs] Then they of course gave us twenty million dollars. We also raised another eighty five million on the stock markets on NASDAQ because we took the company public.

The day after NASDAQ had intra-day passed 5000, we went public and were the first IPO in that first wave of internet IPOs that went public and we went down the first day. It really was the first step in that collapse of internet 101. So I left ArtistDirect, concurrent with the tanking, and it had become clear to me we had a better story than we had a business; we were burning money faster than a house on fire, and Incubus’ career was really starting to take off. So, once again, I decided to take another leap. I had another offer at a record company as a VP kinda thing again with a good friend of mine, which I really didn’t want to do; I loved my friend but I didn’t love the idea of working at a record company. Whatever the mess of working at a record company was when I left, it was worse now; now the internet was becoming clear, so I decided to leave to manage Incubus. We parted with the other manager and I became the full time manager. That’s been going on since 2000, so we’re running on fourteen years as the full time manager, seventeen-ish as part of the team, and eighteen or nineteen throw in and believe that I was their manager from their signing to Sony.

Is it easier or harder to manage Incubus today than it was fourteen years ago?

It’s interesting. When we were starting off, they were nineteen years old and I was kind of like their well-connected uncle in the business. We had a good relationship and rapport from the get go. From the earliest days, it was fairly easy because everybody was kind of like, “What should we do, Steve?” and so I would say “this, this, or this,” and to be honest, not to toot my own horn, but having such a broad level of experience, having worked on the internet, inside Sony, and having intimate experience as a promoter – I knew where the skeletons were buried in the concert business – and since those were three big parts of an artist’s career, by the time I managed Incubus, I wasn’t practicing. I wasn’t auditioning. I wasn’t reading Don Passman’s book to figure out what to do next; I knew what I needed to do. It was only ever an issue of execution and getting through the minefield without getting blown up. We sued the label to get paid; we did all the standard tricks and we’ve lived to tell the tale.

With a certain level of success, bands can mistake their good fortunes with being geniuses. We had some difficult times, some band member changes; but to answer your question, today: it gets easier in some ways. As the guys get older, some of the things we used to have as points of friction, the bands have come to find wasn’t me picking on them or trying to get them to do something they don’t want to do, they’re starting to realize the things I’ve been suggesting for years are really part and parcel of the business. As you get older, you get more accepting of the world that you live in versus the way you want it to be. And sometimes artists, god love of them, get precious; “Hey, I’m a musician, exempt from reality.” And life ultimately convinces you that that’s bullshit.

Today, it’s a little bit easier. But getting the band motivated, them staying motivated as they move into their own lives; life is always a tricky element. But in general, they are a terrific bunch to work with, the most rational guys I’ve ever worked with, they have a deep sense of humanity; they are the proverbial good guys. We’ve had our moments as you would in any family situation, but the reason it works is because I’d be proud to call any of those guys my son, and I have two great sons. I don’t fling that around lightly. It’s another reason why I’ve never had any desire to manage another band; I’ve already calculated the chances of me finding another group of guys whose talent and ambition and level-headedness would match Incubus’. So I just think, fuck it: I’m gonna manage these guys and I’m gonna do the best job I can managing one band. It’s worked out terrific for all of us.

What’s an average day like for you as the manager when the band is working on new material versus being on tour versus time off?

When the band is not working, I used to play golf all the time. I was a big time golfer, I wanted to be a golf pro, and I never lost my passion for it, but I understood that it was going to be a hobby and not a career. That said, I never lost my desire to play golf and wanting to compete in golf tournaments. I know a lot of folks would say that’s freaking kooky, but it fuels the competitive side of me, you know, and for better or worse, I like to see how I stack up, even if it’s not great sometimes.

What’s your handicap?

Today it’s 3.5 but that’s because I’ve been focusing on Renman Music & Business for a while. I play a lot.

That’s nothing to scoff at.

I play a lot. I don’t even want to tell you how much I golf. I live a few miles from a golf course; from the time I think about it to the time I’m golfing is never very long. I’ll place a few phone calls when I’m done with you and I’ll be playing this afternoon.

At any rate, my average when they’re off-cycle is a phone call here and a phone call there, but not a lot. Bands give bursts of activity; there’s nothing or there’s something, as I keep coming back to. It doesn’t take a lot to open up the mailbox to see how many checks came in from ASCAP or BMI. Incubus are out of contract from Sony; they did their six record deal and even when we had the big deal with Sony, they’d have to start recording to trigger an advance and they’d have to finish to trigger the other one. Now that they’re out of contract; when they do start writing again, it’ll be different. They’ll have to fund it themselves at the outset, unless we want to go out and start talking to recording companies. Today, the record deal Incubus got ten years ago, you couldn’t get with a machine gun to somebody’s head. So it’ll be a different animal. All those things I take on board.

When they actually start recording, unlike some managers, I’ll go in the studio with Brendan O’Brien every week or two and he’d invite me over. We’d play golf in the morning and he’d go to the studio and at 6:00 I’d come over to see how everything’s going. I’ll ask him to play it for me once – maybe twice – and then I’ll leave. Because I don’t want to get married to anything I hear. I want it to be fresh when I hear it. And I’m not a producer, I’m not a musician; strange as it might seem, I feel almost awkward and uncomfortable in the studio because I really have nothing to add to that process. And so I’ve learned that if you have nothing to add, then leave.

And by the way, the same thing would happen if Incubus wants to head into my office. I’d go, “you know what? Actually, I don’t want you here. It’ll distract me from doing what I’m trying to do and I don’t need you editorializing on how I might get where we need to be. And have you go ‘Well I don’t like the way you handle that.’ It’s too much for you guys to process.” You know?

“You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

Exactly! And by the way, one of the reasons we’re still together is because by and large, that’s our credo to each other and we pretty much follow it. Not that I don’t pay attention and I’m not interested in the recording, that’s just not what I need to do. Brendan O’Brien or the producer and the band need to do it.

So what motivated you to start Renman Music & Business?

For years, for whatever reason, I’ve been the guy that people would say, “Hey Ren, can I come over and talk to you about something? I want to run an idea by you,” or “my wife has a friend who wants to be in the music business, could he sit down and talk to you?” or my caddy wants to be a musician. For years, that’s been going on. And I mentioned I had several mentors early on in my career that took an interest in me, that saw something in this young, cocky fucking kid from SC, and helped steer me around what was then the real music business. It had a huge impact on me. And so I thought ‘When I got an opportunity to do for some other people what these people did for me, I’ll gladly do it.’ Not just out of a sense of duty but because I love talking about the music business, I love talking about golf, you know.

So I did that informally. And in the last four or five years as the internet has exploded, I thought ‘you know, I’d love to find a way to start a business on the web and do it on my own terms.’ So that was the thought that was banging around in my head for years, and I don’t know why this cycle I decided to do it. I think about it a lot now, because it wound up to be a lot more work than managing Incubus, frankly. So I just decided to do it. Have you been to the website at all?

Oh yeah. I follow your podcast pretty strictly, not always a live listener, but I’m near the end of listening to all of the podcasts.

Okay, so you’ve seen some of our clips. The idea of dream it: do it. That’s one of our central things; I don’t want to call it a guiding principle or risk sounding like Tony Robbins, but it’s something I actually believe in. It’s something I’ve actually observed in my life, I’ll sit around and think about it and think about it and then one day go “Fuck it! Just do this, man! It’s either gonna work or it’s not, and if it’s a horrible idea, at least you’ll scratch the itch and get over it.”

And a lot of people get stuck right there. They never get to the point of “Fuck it, just do it.” They worry so much about it not happening that they decide not to do it and take away the possibility that it could have happened. So for whatever reason, maybe it’s the entrepreneurial streak in me, I’ve always had this thing where… I quit great jobs to do something else and people go “What is he? Out of his fucking mind?” and then two or three years later go “Shit! Fucking Rennie, motherfucker! Rennie? Damn!” I don’t know if I’m smart or dumb, but it’s something I believe. Just do it! If it doesn’t happen and it doesn’t kill you or bankrupt you, big deal. You know?

So that’s how it all started, and it started modestly. I was going to spend ten grand with these two young director kids that my wife had found for me, she had heard me talk about it forever. So I met them, and got along well with them, two twenty six year old kids and a grizzly old veteran. We just clicked; sometimes I click with young people because it reminds me of myself in some strange way, years ago.

So anyways, we did this. Started with twenty four videos, we talk about the big picture; “dream it, do it.” “Fuck the gatekeepers,” all these things.

I love the ‘fuck the gatekeepers’ thing.

It’s my mantra! It’s what you have to be if you’re a manager because everyone’s telling you “no!” And a rational person would go “I’m gonna take their advice and go ‘no!’” And it’s not that I’m crazy, but I have an attitude that: if you’re gonna do this, just accept that everyone’s gonna try to piss on your parade, and if that bums you out and makes you want to cry, get out! But if you’re gonna try to do something great, trust me, there’s competition, there’s people going to be telling you why it can’t happen, and you need to be able to work through that and my way of working through that is fuck the gatekeepers! I don’t give a shit about your sad story! I’m doing this, man.

And more often than not, against all odds, the big things have worked out. I don’t think it’s because I’m the smartest guy, I think it’s maybe because I’m such a stubborn… guy… and I say I’m gonna figure this out if it freaking kills me. So that’s how we got started, and we started the web show. And that was all the fun at the beginning. I thought, “You know what? This is cool, me talking in twenty four videos.” My film making buddy had fun making those videos. But I thought, “You know what? I want to do a live show!”

“You can’t just do it live, we can tape and we can edit-” “No! I don’t have the patience for this. We’re just gonna do it live.” “Well, what if it doesn’t work?” “If it doesn’t work, who cares? Let’s just do this!” So we did it, and then another, and then another and another and another. Along the way, I think the manager in me that appreciates presentation and that a powerful idea in a nice suit and shining makeup looks good is even better. So we started spending money on equipment and lights. Long story short, eighty seven shows in, I look at our guest list of people, thinking about how difficult it was for me to actually meet people on some guy’s whacky webcast and talk to the manager of System of a Down or the manager of Linkin Park or the manager of Incubus or Troy Carter or get on the phone with a real A&R person and ask him what they think… God, in my days, that was impossible. So I look at that list and go man, that’s some powerful advice from really smart people, and along the way I’ve met a lot of great young people that I hadn’t met, a lot of young bands that I didn’t know about that were on a mission to do something great, and what I find is whether they’re a grizzly old veteran or a young buck on the hunt, there’s certain elements present in all of them. The fuck the gatekeeper mentality is present in all of them.

Some kid who quit his job at Morgan Stanley to start a music website. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re my kind of guy! You went to Harvard and you quit your job to be in the music business. Dude!” Love him! His parents are probably going crazy. But fuck ‘em. They’ll love you anyway. It’s been energizing for me in the strangest, weirdest way, that a fifty eight year old guy who can hardly ride off in the sunset is working harder than ever for free because I’m charged up and strangely attracted to people on a mission.

I was in San Francisco doing an online workshop, doing online workshops with experts with people around the world, very similar to what we’re doing. Eight hours, taking credits and questions from kids in the audience and I thought, ‘Why do I love this so much? You’re not making a fucking dime, Steve. You thought golf was as an expensive hobby, this is off the charts!’ So that’s what lead to the Indiegogo campaign. I thought OK, I’ve invested seventy grand in equipment; that was my decision. I’ve invested fifty thousand dollars in a website where I may have been better off keeping my Youtube channel. Making mistakes and paying for it – my bad, my decision. But to keep my online web show going, there’s some costs associated with it in terms of people.

We’ve been working around with interns and I can’t keep asking them to work for free. They’re getting out of college, and they’re people I’ve met through the web show and they now need to get paid. I love the idea of mentoring and there’s probably ways of doing it cheaper. Steve Rennie doesn’t need to necessarily make money off this, but it costs fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars every time we do a webcast on the editor and the video, the director and the camera guy. There’s some hard costs of people just showing up that are ongoing. So that’s what I was looking to do with this Indiegogo campaign. For the people who get value out of what we’re doing, the people that are learning, for the people whose Dad spent fifty grand to send them to Full Sail or Musician’s Institute or Berklee Online School of Music – not to knock those places, right? – but kids are getting out of those music business schools up to their eyeballs in debt, and I know what I’m about to say is true because I’ve heard from the kids and the students that were part of those programs. They watch our show, and listen to the people that were a part of it and they go “Oh my god. I’ve learned more watching this guy’s shit for free then I learned in school.” And that’s not me – that’s what they say to me. They go “you’re teaching me the real music business.” And yeah; you can’t teach the music business in a book unless you were going to take the same approach I’m doing.

Which is, talk to the doers, ask them about the decisions they made, and try to figure out what part of their story might apply to you if you find yourself in a similar situation. That’s not book stuff, that’s vocal. That’s talking to people and picking the brains of the grizzly old veterans and the smart new people that are coming at it with a new approach but with the same underlying core ideas; fuck the gatekeeper, make it happen. Understand there is no “I did this this and this, I get to be rockstar-“ “No! You could do all of those things and not be a rockstar! How do you feel about that?” “Well, that’s fucked up.” “Well then go be a lawyer.” “Well, I have to be-“ “Well then, no whining. I know it’s tough. I used to be handsome and good looking, I had hair; I don’t anymore. I went to bed thinking about all this shit. So I don’t want to hear you whine.” And instead of leaving, they pull up a chair and go “dude, I wanna listen to this guy.”

And that in a nutshell is why I’m trying to raise some money. I think there are people out that are interested, and I know it’s true – we’ve raised about eleven thousand bucks right now. But, I’m preaching to my people that are already there, and I want my message to get out wider to people. If you’re interested in it, I’m willing to work for free, but I can’t ask these kids to do it anymore. I’m not gonna drop the level of quality and do some webcast off my webcam on my Mac. I could, but call me a prima donna: you either do it right or you don’t do it. Lights on, lights off with me. You’re there or you’re nowhere. I believe it.

If you’re in, I’m in. If you’re not, I’m gonna still find ways to mentor, but I happen to think our show is a fun way to do it because we mix story telling with the sharing and mentoring and I hope it comes off in a fun and reverent way. We sit people on the couch the way my mentors said “You can come into this meeting, Steve. But no one cares how smart you are. You’re not even in the same league as these fuckers. But just sit on the couch and soak it up.”

[Laughs] You’re so hard on yourself.

But that’s how it was! They weren’t quite that rough, but that’s what it was. And I learned so much and was so thankful that they thought enough of me to bring me into the room with A-game players. That information was shocking and informative but it taught me the difference between the fairy tale I had in my mind and the business we’re working in, and I’m convinced that having that sense of reality that made me successful, that made me a great manager with Incubus. When the guys go “Steve, that doesn’t make sense,” I go “we’re not talking about what makes sense! I need you to do this, Brandon. I need you to do this, Mikey. That’s what I need you to do. And I need you to not think about it- that’s my job.”

They’ll tell you, I can be a rough ride, cause when you’re in the heat of battle, you don’t ask people nicely to get over there and shoot somebody. There’s no time to write love letters when the bullets are flying. You gotta get after it or somebody’s gonna get after you. I learned that the hard way. So with young people, I just go ‘oh please. I’m not your blue blanky.’ It could be 90 degrees and I’m not gonna come out with a water bottle, I’m not your mom; you don’t like it, you don’t have to play.

Do you have any more goals for Renman MB, or are you just trying to continue Season 4 at the same level of high quality?

I would like to do that again because it’s fun and I want to do one more season. But every show I did, except for the last few where I was paying but I was so far in that I couldn’t stop… I want to do more, but as I get further into it, there’s a number of different oppurtunities that present themselves. But to do another thirty episodes would be fun because there’s so many more people that would just be a great conversation, entertaining, conversational. I could think of hundreds of them. Interesting people with interesting stories, all of which, if shared, could provide inspiration for the next generation of musicians and managers and so forth. If I could do that again, that would be great.

Beyond that, it would just be spinoffs of sharing information. The technology that allows me to do a TV show in my office- this is powerful, game changing stuff. It’s exciting and fun. For better or worse, I’ve always chased exciting, and fun, and slightly fucked up. [Laughs] A comment on my personality.

I’ve appeared on three or four times to ask questions.

Via phone?

Yep. Three or four times.

Well, thank you!

As you always say: if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

Always good advice. Never more important than today.

I feel like a lot of people I know, it almost feels like they have to pretend they know something when they should just be asking if they don’t know.

Oh God. It’s funny, if you’ve watched our show, you’ve heard me sing the praises of a kid who asks questions. It shows maturity that you typically get as you age. The world always wins in the end, so if you’re bullshitting and acting like you know the answer… youths typically act like they know because their insecurity won’t allow them to admit that they don’t know. As you get older, you’re reminded every day that you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. It gets very easy to say it.

When people ask me and I don’t go “You know what? …I don’t fucking know.” Right?

What advice would you give to a band that’s built a following in their city but is trying to break out on a national or major label level?

Keep doing all the things that you got big in your market. If you’re selling tickets, let people know about it. You’ve got to be relentless, because the first few you get are going to be nos. Make your case to those labels, keep in contact. Try to identify somebody in the building; it doesn’t have to be the boss, in many cases, it is better to not be the boss. But you’ve got to find a way to crack the inner sanctum. Some A&R guy on the hunt has got a Twitter account. Some guy inside the record company actually answers his e-mails and you get the word to him. I think if you’re doing business in your marketplace, real business, there are lawyers that you can hire that will make your case for you. They don’t take on everybody. Those are the kinds of things you would do to get the word out.

What advice would you give to someone who is just starting out in the music industry and doesn’t even know what they want to do?

First thing is, figure out what your target is. It changes all the time, but figure out what your target is. What you want to do. “I want to be an A&R guy. I want to be in a band. I want to be like that Rennie guy, I want to be a manager.” Having an end goal lets you fine tune it. Once you’ve done that, do what your teacher told you to do that you didn’t do in high school; I’m talking to myself in a sense, but, do your homework. Don’t expect somebody to just go “What do you think about this?” I hate that. I hate it when people ask me questions they could find out on their own. It’s better to sit there and dial in the first twenty questions, the nuanced, money questions. “You said this, this, and this, and I’m trying to understand how you or Incubus did this in a specific. What as the decision making process?” Those are the things that help clarify answers.

A lot of the answers are out there on the web, but people struggle to get their heads around that there is no tried and true answer. It means you’ve got to come up with some of this shit on your own so your story could be the one I tell someday. I was telling the story of Neil Jacobson who was deeply involved with Robin Thicke, that whole “Blurred Lines,” thing, intimately involved with Mikey from Incubus, met on the golf course playing with me. Neil went to Berklee School of Music, graduated, couldn’t get a fucking job. Worked at his Dad’s carpeting business, selling freaking carpet. And he just would not accept no for an answer and through a bunch of quirky networking things has now found his way as one of the biggest A&R guys in the business. “Carpeting? Is that the way to A&R?” It was for Neil Jacobson!

The point is, I could give a thousand of those stories. Dalton Simms, manager of fun., used to be a mutual funds salesman. Here’s one: you’re a failed golf pro, go back to college with your tail between your legs going “What am I gonna do with my life?” and end up a big time manager. “Is that how you do it?” I don’t know, worked for me. “Would you recommend that?” I’m not gonna recommend any path; I’m going to recommend getting your fucking head in the right place, understand what you’re getting into, accept the risk, accept that you can spend all the time and energy for it to not work out, and then do it.

Like Nike. At the end of the day, Just do it.

It’s true. The simplest ideas are the ones that people reject, because they want it to be tricky. What really separates the winners from the losers in every area of life in my opinion is the winners have an undeniable will to make something happen, and that is what shepherds them through all the ugly. At some freaking level, all those people have processed the prospect of failure and dealt with failure and they just see things differently. It doesn’t matter if you’re selling carpet or records.

To go to the Indiego campaign, click here.

To go to Renman MB, click here.

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Dan Bogosian

I finished school with a music theory degree. Before I finished school, I was a janitor. You really should apologize to all the janitors you've ever had. You hurt them. Seriously. You did.

But, now that we've cleared that up and you called your high school janitor, know that I quit being a janitor to pursue writing about music. So here I am, and here you are, and hey how are you?

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