Steve hails from a sunny hilltop in West LA (Mount Olive) that stands nestled between a decrepit Hollywood Sign and the Pacific Ocean, the two locked in their never-ending staring contest. He eventually skips town on a train to Ohio where he learns how to play guitar from an Italian virtuoso whose own teacher was a midwestern legend– rumored to be the Art Tatum of guitar, though no recordings exist to prove it. Blinded by the beauty of late-60’s jazz and Romantic era European classical, Steve quits music and starts again in Brooklyn, New York, this time as a songwriter, returning nostalgically to what got him into music in the first place (Dave Longstreth, Daniel Rossen, Karen O, Avey Tare, Isaac Brock, Feist, come to mind). A parade of train delays, fleeting DIY venues, thankless cafe jobs, and criminally small bedrooms shapes him. From there, he will learn to pickle, solve a Rubik’s cube, nap, transcribe Mahler, fantasize about throwing his phone in the East River, and nap again.
