My reintroduction to the love of my life.
Somewhere between deadlines, responsibilities, and chasing the dream, I forgot why I fell in love with music in the first place. Jupiter is what happened when I went looking for that feeling again.
Over the last few years, I’ve spent a lot of time chasing goals.
Finish school.
Raise my kids.
Build a business.
Upgrade my studio.
Figure out how to make music work without losing myself in the process.
None of those things are bad goals. In fact, I’m grateful for every one of them. But somewhere along the way, music started feeling different. Every song needed a strategy. Every release needed a plan. Every creative decision felt like it had to serve a larger purpose.
Eventually, I realized I was spending so much time thinking about where the music needed to go that I wasn’t spending enough time enjoying where it came from.
That’s where *Jupiter* began.
Not from a marketing plan.
Not from a trend.
Not from an attempt to chase a sound.
It started with a feeling.
The feeling of rolling the windows down during the summer.
The feeling of driving with nowhere to be.
The feeling of hearing a song that instantly transports you back to a specific moment in your life.
That’s what this project became.
Five songs.
Five moments.
Five snapshots of a season.
As I started putting the pieces together, I needed a title that could hold all of those ideas. The more I thought about it, the more one word kept coming back to me:
**Jupiter.**
I’ve always been fascinated by Jupiter.
When you’re a kid learning about the planets, everybody has their favorite. Some people pick Mars because that’s where all the aliens are supposed to be. Saturn gets a lot of love because of the rings. Pluto was still considered a planet when I was growing up, so there was always something cool about being the furthest one from the sun.
But Jupiter was always the one that stood out to me.
Part of that is personal.
Jupiter is the fifth planet from the sun, and I’m the fifth of my siblings.
I’m a November Sagittarius, and even though I don’t put a ton of stock into astrology, Jupiter happens to be the planet associated with that sign.
But the deeper connection came from what Jupiter represents to me.
I’m a Florida boy.
I’ve always been fascinated by storms.
My grandma used to call it “watching God work.”
While everybody else was trying to get inside, I’d be sitting on the porch watching a storm roll through in complete awe. There’s something powerful about seeing nature remind you how small you are and how incredible creation can be.
Jupiter has one of the most famous storms in our solar system. The Great Red Spot has been raging for centuries. It’s beautiful, violent, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
Something about that always resonated with me.
How can something be so beautiful and so destructive at the same time?
How can chaos create something worth staring at?
The older I get, the more I realize people aren’t all that different.
Neither is art.
Some of the most meaningful things we create come from the storms we’ve survived.
Jupiter wears its storm on the outside. It doesn’t hide it.
You see it immediately.
There’s something honest about that.
As artists, we’re often asked to package ourselves into neat little boxes. To only show the polished version. The finished version.
But the storm is part of the story.
I’ve learned that the things I used to see as flaws, failures, insecurities, and setbacks are often the same things that shape the work people connect with most.
Jupiter reminds me of that.
It’s also the largest planet in our solar system. More than 300 times the mass of Earth.
That’s a wild thing to think about.
For me, that size represents possibility.
How big are you willing to think?
How far are you willing to push yourself?
How committed are you to your purpose?
For a long time, I struggled with imposter syndrome. I questioned whether I belonged in certain rooms. Whether I was as good as I thought I was. Whether all the years I invested into music actually meant something.
Jupiter represents moving beyond that.
Not because somebody else told me I belonged.
Because I proved it to myself.
Because I put in the work.
Because I stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit.
Because after all these years, I’ve finally learned to trust my own voice.
One thing a lot of people don’t know about Jupiter is that it has rings too.
They’re just harder to see.
They don’t demand attention the way Saturn’s do.
You only notice them when the light hits them the right way.
I love that.
There’s a lesson in that somewhere.
Not everything valuable needs to be loud.
Not everything meaningful needs to announce itself.
Sometimes the strongest things carry themselves quietly.
The more I sat with all of this, the more I realized Jupiter wasn’t just a title.
It was a reminder.
A reminder to think bigger.
A reminder to embrace the storms.
A reminder to trust myself.
A reminder that sometimes the things we’re searching for aren’t millions of miles away.
Sometimes they’re hidden inside the things we loved before everything became so serious.
*Jupiter* arrives July 3rd.
And honestly?
I’m excited for you to hear it.
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