​Well, Wilson Records started out like most good things: with no real plan, just a lot of tinkering. I’d built myself a little studio piece by piece, slapping together gear I didn’t even know how to use. Then Walker Robinson came along—he’s still my right-hand man to this day—and got things humming. He taught me the ropes, and before long, I was locked in that studio day and night, learning and loving the art of making music.

I started writing my own songs, recording them, and fixing up the studio—adding what worked, tossing what didn’t. Pretty soon, the place had a look and sound I was proud of. The music was good enough for the radio, but here’s the kicker: my songs weren’t paying the bills. So I started digging into business ideas, trying to scrape up some cash while still making time for music. Trouble was, nothing stuck.

Then one day, I built this big wooden sign out of some maple I’d glued and sanded down. I cut a circle in it, slapped on a logo a buddy made for me, stained it nice and pretty, and hung it up in the studio. That’s how Wilson Records got its name. Didn’t think much of it at first—just a nice piece of wood hanging on the wall.

One day, a friend asked me to record him. It sounded good, but he took his song, slapped his name on it, and ran off. That got me thinking—why not open this studio to the public? Folks paying for songs meant I could do what I love and make money. I pitched the idea to Walker, and we both realized we’d been hoarding this place for ourselves like a couple of squirrels with too many nuts.

Now we’re running Wilson Records as a full-blown studio, helping folks make music and showing off what we can do. We aren’t just musicians—we’re producers. And let me tell you, everyone loves a good producer in a slick studio. Turns out, making music and making money isn’t such a bad combo after all.