From Cassette to Silicon: Watching Technology Pass Me By (and Pull Me Along)

In a previous post, I mentioned how much technology has changed since my very first home studio. Back then, it consisted of two keyboards, an 8-track cassette recorder, and a Yamaha music computer that saved data… to cassette.

That sentence alone feels strange to write in 2026.

Today, sitting in the same house, I have a Mac mini that can produce realistic orchestral scores, sequence more than twenty hardware synths, run two audio interfaces—one of which is a mixer—route audio through outboard gear and print the returns, drive three video monitors, and handle multiple webcams while I teach online lessons in real time.

Sometimes I stop and just stare at it all.

We’ve come a very long way.

Growing Up Before “Always Connected”

I’m a Gen X’er. I grew up before cell phones, when you had to choose between being on the phone or being online. Going online meant waiting—sometimes five minutes—for images or websites to load. If your family had a fax machine, and you accidentally picked up the phone, you knew the sound: that squawking, mechanical screech that someone was sending a document.

Phones were tethered to the wall by cords. If you were lucky, the cord was long enough to reach a chair.

TVs didn’t have remotes. Toys—by today’s standards—were borderline dangerous. Kids disappeared outside until the streetlights came on. Listening to music meant records or cassettes. Later, CDs felt miraculous. Watching a movie meant going to a theatre, catching whatever was on TV, or physically going to a video rental store to rent a VHS tape that absolutely had to be returned on time.

My niece and nephew never knew that world. They never lived without email, smartphones, or instant access to everything.

Computers That Made Noise

My first real computer was a Commodore 64, complete with a 5¼-inch floppy drive—cutting-edge for a home system at the time. After that came a PC, then another PC built specifically for music with help from a friend. Eventually, I bought my first Mac Pro—the old “cheese grater” model—which still lives in my basement and gets fired up occasionally to run older gear and software on a truly ancient version of macOS.

Over the years, I accumulated a collection of clanking mechanical hard drives. In my studio today, I still have a few—but some of them won’t even talk to the Mac mini I bought in 2020.

Then something happened that really stopped me in my tracks.

The SSD Moment

When I decided to run EastWest Hollywood Orchestra Opus Edition, I needed a new SSD. I’d never bought an external SSD before—only internal drives installed in computers. So I went online, found a good price, ordered it… and it arrived the same day.

When I opened the box, I couldn’t believe it.

Two terabytes of storage—smaller than a deck of cards.

No noise. No moving parts. Blazing fast. Rock solid.

I’ve had it for years now, and I’d buy another without hesitation. But every time I think about what that tiny drive can do compared to what I was working with in college, my head spins.

Looking Back While Moving Forward

Today’s technology is extraordinary. And yet, despite all of this progress, there’s a strong pull toward the past.

Look at Roland’s continued success revisiting their Juno and Jupiter lines. Look at Behringer’s clone synths—the Model D, Pro-1, Wasp, 2600—many of which I own. There’s something about that earlier era that still speaks to people. Whether it’s nostalgia, simplicity, or the feeling that something special existed back then, the pull is real.

That said, I wouldn’t trade my Mac mini for my old computers. I wouldn’t throw away my phone or my Chromebook. But I will happily blend modern technology with carefully chosen recreations of what once was.

Somewhere in the Middle

That’s where my studio lives.

I love new technology. I love what’s possible now. But I also love sprinkling in pieces that remind me where all of this came from—even if they’re modern recreations of older ideas.

For me, the balance between past and present isn’t a contradiction. It’s the point.

Happy creating.