Throughout my career, I've had the privilege of working with extraordinary musicians and artists across multiple contexts—from teaching at the National Guitar Workshop, to my first job at Paul McCartney's publishing company, to production work, to studio collaborations. Each experience taught me something valuable about music, professionalism, and growth.

Here are some of those stories.

MPL Communications, Inc.

Paul McCartney: The Presentation That Changed Everything

My first job out of Berklee College of Music was as an audio archivist at MPL Communications, Inc, which is Paul McCartney's music publishing company. My role was to create a comprehensive database cataloging every performance of songs in MPL's vast catalog.

As the archival project neared completion, I realized something: this company, with its incredible catalog and forward-thinking leadership, needed to be on the internet. This was the early 1990s and most people barely understood what a website was, let alone why a music publishing company would need one.

I was convinced. I pitched the idea to the head of promotion and the vice president, and got approval to make it happen.

I designed the entire site using Microsoft Word, not fancy web design software, just Word documents. I printed out every page, assembled them into a physical flip book, and created a working prototype of how the website would function.

What I didn't fully grasp at the time was the significance: MPL Communications would become the first privately owned music publishing company on the web. And Paul McCartney, one of my biggest musical influences, a Beatle who shaped my entire understanding of music, would be at the center of it.

Getting to give back to someone who had given me so much through his music felt like a dream come true.

The Day I Presented to Paul McCartney

When the site was ready, I learned I'd be presenting it to Paul himself.

Paul McCartney. In person. Reviewing my work.

I practiced that presentation for two solid weeks. I memorized every transition, every feature, every detail. I was ready.

The day arrived. Paul came to the office, and his schedule was packed. Just before my presentation, I was told his time had been cut short and that he had to leave soon, so we'd need to rush through it.

"I've been practicing this for two weeks," I said. "Cutting it short won't be a problem."

Paul walked into my workspace, and I immediately realized I'd made a critical error: I didn't have a chair for him. Without hesitation, I offered him my chair and squatted down beside him, navigating through the site on the screen.

As I walked him through the pages, he chatted casually with the vice president. At one point, I looked up at him, really looked, and the reality hit me like a freight train.

That's Paul McCartney. Paul McCartney is sitting in my chair, looking at something I built.

He must have sensed my sudden mental departure, because he immediately made a fist and gave me a quick, playful fake punch, just enough to snap me back to reality. It was such a human, warm gesture. He wasn't a legend in that moment. He was just Paul, keeping me grounded.

As we wrapped up, Paul asked, "Can we release a full album on here?"

I had to be honest. "The technology isn't quite there yet," I admitted. "But one of the best things about working for you is that I can't take 'no' for an answer. If you want to do it, we'll figure it out."

He smiled at that.

Then I threw out an idea that surprised even me: "The next step after this should be creating a personal website for you."

Paul wasn't immediately convinced. He wasn't sure he needed one. But Paul McCartney has always been on the cutting edge of music and technology, and true to form, he eventually gave the green light.

That presentation wasn't just about showing Paul a website. It was about helping bring the music industry into the digital age, one pioneering step at a time. MPL's site was just the beginning. Paul's personal site would follow, and the precedent we set influenced how artists and publishers approached the internet in those early, uncertain years.

Looking back, I'm struck by how gracious Paul was. How he made time, how he engaged genuinely, and how he trusted a young engineer fresh out of Berklee with something so significant. That fake punch, that playful moment of connection, reminded me that legends are still people. And sometimes, if you work hard enough and believe in your ideas, you get to sit beside them and build something new together.

Paul McCartney: "Beautiful Night" and a Lesson in Trust

After successfully launching MPL's website, I became part of the production team. One day, Paul sent over a demo tape from his upcoming album Flaming Pie for us to review. We gathered to listen it was myself, the team of four others, and Paul's lawyer John Eastman. Paul wasn't there as he was in England.

As the song "Beautiful Night" played, I felt myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. The song was brilliant! It's vintage McCartney with Ringo Starr on drums. As it built toward the end, something felt incomplete. The track kicked into a harder rock beat, and there was this energy, this momentum building... but it needed something more. The climax wasn't landing.

I started squirming in my seat.

In my mind, I could hear exactly what was missing: strings and horns. A proper orchestral arrangement to match that building intensity. But I wasn't about to be that presumptuous. This was Paul McCartney. Who was I to suggest changes to a Beatle?

But the feeling wouldn't go away.

Finally, I turned to John Eastman. "Would it be okay if I made a suggestion? Or got a message sent to Paul? I think something's missing from the end of the song."

John, gracious as ever, agreed. He helped me get the message passed through Bill Poricelli, the head of promotion.

A couple of days passed. I'd almost forgotten about itconvinced I'd overstepped and would never hear back and may need to update my resume and look for a new job.

Then Bill came out of his office, looked directly at me, and said:

"Seth! I just got off the phone with Paul. He said he just left the studio with George Martin and they've completed 'Beautiful Night' with horns and strings arrangements."

I was stunned.

Paul McCartney and George Martin! George Martin, the fifth Beatle, the legendary producer, had heard my feedback and acted on it. The final version of "Beautiful Night" features an orchestration arranged by one of the greatest producers in music history.

That moment defined something crucial for me as a newly aspiring producer: trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is. And sometimes, if you're brave enough to speak up, respectfully, thoughtfully, the people you admire most will listen.

Paul and George trusted the music enough to stay open to feedback, even from a young engineer still finding his way. That's the mark of true greatness: never stop listening, never stop refining, never stop serving the song.

National Guitar Workshop

During my time as a teacher and assistant director at the National Guitar Workshop, I performed with visiting artists during their master classes. As the camp's keyboard player, I'd approach these guitarists and ask if they'd like keys in their performance group. Most said yes, and those sessions became some of the most educational experiences of my career.

John Abercrombie: The Gift of Discomfort

John Abercrombie was one of the most gracious musicians I've ever worked with. During our rehearsal, he mentioned that he'd just installed a new MIDI guitar controller and wanted to try it out during our performance. For one particular song, he planned to take some synth solos through his guitar, and when he finished, he'd look at me as a cue for my solo.

I hesitated. "John, I'm really not comfortable soloing on this song," I told him. "I'd rather sit this one out if that's okay."

John was completely gracious and agreed to skip my solo during rehearsals. But when showtime came, something changed. John finished his synth solo, then looked directly at me with that knowing smile. Fear washed over me. I subtly shook my head "no," but John just kept smiling and stopped playing. The solo was mine whether I wanted it or not.

I wasn't prepared. I stumbled through it and wasn't happy with what I played. Afterward, feeling embarrassed, John pulled me aside and said something that would completely shift how I approached music from that day forward:

"The only way you'll get better is to get out of your comfort zone and try."

That moment—that gentle push from a master musician—changed everything. John didn't let me hide. He knew that growth doesn't happen in the safe spaces. Sometimes you need someone who believes in you more than you believe in yourself. John Abercrombie gave me that gift, and I've carried it with me ever since.

Frank Gambale: Chasing Excellence

When Frank Gambale came to the National Guitar Workshop, he had one specific piece he wanted to perform: "Spain" by Chick Corea. If you're a keyboard player, you know what that means—it's the standard. Chick Corea's version set an impossibly high bar, and Frank's expectations were equally high.

"I'm not Chick Corea," I told Frank honestly during our first rehearsal, "but if you give me the dinner break, I'll work through it and get it down."

Frank agreed, and I spent that entire break woodshedding the arrangement. We worked through it together, and when performance time came, I delivered. Frank's attention to detail and unwavering standards pushed me to play at a level I didn't know I could reach in such a short time.

What I learned from Frank wasn't just about technique—it was about what excellence really means. He knew what the piece should sound like, and he inspired everyone around him to rise to that standard. Working with Frank taught me that when you're surrounded by musicians who refuse to settle, you discover capabilities you didn't know you had.

That's what makes Frank such a phenomenal artist. His standards aren't about ego—they're about respecting the music and everyone who performs it.

Rick Emmett: Energy is Contagious

Rick Emmett arrived at the workshop straight from Canada, clearly exhausted from travel. During our performance, I could sense his fatigue, so I leaned into energetic, high-spirited solos hoping to lift the mood. I was having fun, and I wanted that energy to be contagious.

After the show, Rick came up to me. "I really enjoyed what you played," he said. "I should have listened to you more…you would have given me more energy."

That comment stuck with me. Rick was gracious enough to recognize that energy on stage is a shared responsibility. Even when you're tired, even when you're not feeling 100%, you can draw from your bandmates. Music is collaborative, and sometimes the energy you bring can lift everyone else, or the energy others bring can lift you.

Rick taught me that being a great sideman isn't just about playing the right notes. It's about bringing energy, being present, and helping elevate everyone on stage.

Production Work with Bill Scheniman

David Greenberger: The Peeps Performance Art

Working as an assistant producer with Bill Scheniman led me to some unexpected places. When Bill asked me to help with a recording session on Cape Cod, I had no idea who David Greenberger was. It was around Easter, and I remember bringing Peeps to the studio (those marshmallow chicks you see everywhere that time of year).

After a long break, David called me over to a table in the back of the studio. "I want to show you something," he said with a mischievous grin. He'd taken small pieces of paper and carefully cut out the centers to create tiny costumes that fit perfectly over the Peeps' heads.

What followed was one of the most unexpected and hilarious moments of my career. David had hand-drawn speech bubbles—comic-book style dialogue bubbles that pointed to the holes where the Peeps' heads emerged. He proceeded to put on an entire theatrical performance, moving the costumed Peeps around like puppets while the hand-drawn bubbles told the story.

An emcee Peep introduced Abraham Lincoln, who appeared with his speech bubble reading "Four score and seven years ago..." Then a critic Peep emerged, bubble proclaiming it "an incredible simulation."

It was brilliant. It was meticulously crafted performance art using marshmallow Easter candy and hand-drawn dialogue. The care David put into cutting those costumes, drawing those speech bubbles, and choreographing the whole thing showed a level of creative commitment that was both touching and hilarious.

That same session also gave me the rare opportunity to perform wah-wah flute on the 1001 Real Apes album—not something you get to do every day.

David taught me that creativity doesn't always have to be serious. Sometimes the best moments in the studio come from embracing the absurd and finding joy in the unexpected. And yes, Peeps can be instruments of art.

Sonalysts, Inc.

Aerosmith: Four Hours to Impress a Legend

When Aerosmith came to Sonalysts to rehearse for their upcoming world tour, I had no idea I was about to have one of the most intense and rewarding four hours of my career.

The band had a tradition of rehearsing at Sonalysts, and during this visit, their manager mentioned a blues track the band loved. He wanted to use guitar riffs from Aerosmith songs in a video open for the tour. Ralph Belfiglio, our video editor, and I were given the assignment: create something and present it to the band. We had four hours.

Most productions work video-first, then sync the audio. We had to do it backwards. I immediately got to work on the music looping a section of the blues track and layering in iconic Aerosmith guitar riffs and song segments. The pieces had to fit together seamlessly, building energy while honoring the band's signature sound.

I finished my audio track and sent it to Ralph, who worked his magic syncing visuals. We went back and forth, refining and finalizing. Then came the moment of truth: presenting it to the manager.

He liked it. "Let's show the band," he said.

My heart was pounding as we walked into the rehearsal studio. The video played. Steven Tyler watched intently, then spun around on th stage, looked down and said:

"Who did that?"

I raised both hands. (Ralph was standing right next to me.)

Steven looked directly at me and said, "That is f#$%ing brilliant. I guess we know what song to open the show with!"

In that moment, everything we'd worked on, the pressure, the creative risk, the four-hour scramble had paid off. Aerosmith opened their world tour with our video. Their opening song was "Walk This Way" It remains one of the proudest achievements of my career, and a reminder that sometimes the best work happens when the clock is ticking and you just have to trust your instincts.

Closing

These experiences, from MPL Communications to the National Guitar Workshop to production sessions and studio collaborations have shaped how I approach music, collaboration, and creative risk-taking. Each taught me something different: trust your instincts, embrace discomfort, chase excellence, bring energy, stay open to the unexpected, and never stop listening.

I'm grateful for every lesson, every challenge, and every moment these artists shared with me. The beautiful thing about music is that the education never ends. There's always another lesson waiting in the next song, the next performance, the next collaboration.