Album Notes

The first nickname of my life still haunts me, though several decades—and many songs—later, I’m realizing it might be rather accurate.

To call a four-year-old a wimmerpot is pretty unprecedented. In fact, my grandmother made up the word. Roughly translated from German, her moniker for me was something along the lines of “stewing teapot,” a reference to the constant humming I did while playing with my legos or train sets. At four years old, music was already brewing inside my head, escaping in bouts of sonorous steam while I fiddled with my toys.

Some people are impressed that my young musical genious warranted such a special invention—but I think Gramma Omi mostly just wanted peace and quiet. What she didn’t know was that the tuneful murmurs she heard were just a prelude to a lifetime of musical creation. Though technically my musical brain got branded a “teapot,” it’s probably more like a bubbling-over cauldron of sound that constantly teases me with new hooks and melodies.

Music is part of my lens to the world. Experiences are flavored by the sounds I hear at all hours of the day and I’m never able to truly disconnect from the rhythms and choruses that pop into my head. Music invades my life and I follow it in the hopes that my message of hope may enter others’.

Several years ago I realized that the story doesn’t end here. In fact, the naïve little wimmerpot who heard exotic tunes racing through his head soon grew up into a talented musician with no clear path. It was then that I realized that even as melodies appear in flashes in my head, a spiritual voice also opens from within my heart. It is my Christian faith that infuses my music with meaning. My vocation is to be a musician; my calling is to spread the Word.

I’ve been composing since I first earned my wimmerpot status and in the years since I have done what I can to give other people a sense of what I hear: I have mastered a collection of instruments and recording equipment, have commandeered large and small singing groups, and have toured and performed across the Americas. But mostly I listen. To the sounds around me—and the message in my heart. And I try to record my creations so that others may listen to their hearts, as well.

I suppose being a wimmerpot isn’t the worst thing for an artist to call himself. I percolate music. And I think you’ll like the brew.