Spend enough time around the music industry, and you’ll eventually meet someone who insists they have all the answers.

David Chatfield isn’t one of them.

In fact, after more than four decades running record labels, developing artists, negotiating contracts, producing records, and watching the industry reinvent itself countless times, he’s still learning.

That’s probably why he’s still here.

As founder and CEO of Harmony Records, Chatfield has witnessed nearly every major shift the business has thrown at artists, from the dominance of vinyl to CDs, MTV, Napster, streaming, social media, and now artificial intelligence.

Most people who’ve survived that many changes become nostalgic.

Chatfield became adaptable.

And perhaps more importantly, he never lost sight of one simple belief:

The song still matters more than the technology delivering it.

Before Harmony Records, There Was Homework

When people talk about starting a record label, they often imagine passion, ambition, and a little luck.

David started with something less glamorous.

Homework.

Long before Harmony Records officially opened its doors, he immersed himself in every corner of the business.

Legal studies.

Artist management.

Radio programming.

Promotion.

Industry seminars.

Mentorships.

He studied under respected music attorney Don Passman, attended management classes taught by executives connected to The Jacksons, and learned promotion from some of the industry’s most experienced professionals.

Then he discovered something every successful music executive eventually learns.

Education prepares you.

Experience humbles you.

“No class,” he admitted, “could prepare you for what actually happens in the music business.”

That might be the most honest statement anyone has made about this industry.

Success Has Always Belonged to the Prepared

One of the things that stood out during our conversation was how methodical Chatfield’s early career really was.

He didn’t wait for the perfect opportunity.

He created one.

Every lesson he learned became an action item.

Find an artist.

Sign a band.

Book live shows.

Raise funding.

Record music.

Release records.

Repeat.

That disciplined approach eventually helped build nationally distributed independent labels, land artists on MTV, and produce Billboard success long before independent labels were expected to compete with the majors.

Listening to him describe those early years, it became clear that preparation wasn’t simply part of his strategy.

It was the strategy.

Technology Changes. Great Records Don’t.

The most fascinating part of our conversation wasn’t hearing about the past.

It was hearing how little his philosophy has actually changed.

Yes, recording budgets have shrunk dramatically.

A project that once required well over $100,000 can now be produced for a fraction of that.

Studios have changed.

Distribution has changed.

Marketing has changed.

But Chatfield believes the fundamentals remain remarkably familiar.

Find the right song.

Develop the artist.

Build a team.

Tell a compelling story.

Everything else is simply delivery.

That’s an important reminder in an era where many artists spend more time worrying about algorithms than arrangements.

The Streaming Revolution Came at a Cost

Ask almost anyone in today’s music business about streaming, and you’ll get a complicated answer.

Chatfield’s perspective carries extra weight because he watched it happen from the inside.

He attended international conferences where industry leaders quietly acknowledged that streaming would fundamentally reshape music consumption long before most artists realized what was coming.

He watched executives leave established companies for unknown startups like Spotify.

He watched record labels shift focus.

He watched physical media disappear.

And while he appreciates the accessibility streaming created, he also believes something important was lost.

The experience.

Albums became playlists.

Stories became singles.

Artists became background noise.

Instead of living with a record, listeners began skipping through one song after another.

For someone who grew up believing music should become “the soundtrack of your life,” that’s a difficult tradeoff to accept.

Why Physical Music Still Matters

One of Chatfield’s most intriguing ideas centers around something many people have already written off.

Physical media.

Not because he believes vinyl or CDs are inherently better sounding.

Because they’re more engaging.

He described elaborate booklets filled with handwritten lyrics, studio photographs, liner notes, and behind-the-scenes stories.

Not collectibles for collectors’ sake.

Conversation pieces.

Something listeners can hold.

Read.

Experience.

His vision isn’t simply about selling records.

It’s about slowing people down long enough to actually connect with the music.

That’s a refreshing concept in a world where songs often disappear before the chorus is over.

Development Isn’t Dead. It’s Just Different.

Record labels once spent years developing artists.

Today’s industry rarely has that luxury.

Chatfield understands that reality, but he hasn’t abandoned artist development.

He’s simply compressed the timeline.

Instead of waiting years to prepare an artist, his team focuses on intensive songwriting, arrangement, rehearsal, recording, and strategic releases.

Singles.

Streaming.

Touring.

Repeat.

What struck me wasn’t the process itself.

It was the emphasis on teaching.

Hooks.

Song structure.

Performance.

Finding your own artistic identity.

Development hasn’t disappeared.

It’s simply moved from corporate boardrooms to independent labels willing to invest the time.

Great Managers Still Solve Problems

Throughout our conversation, I found myself returning to one recurring theme.

Connection.

Managers connect artists with producers.

Producers connect songs with audiences.

Labels connect music with listeners.

Everything begins, and ends, with relationships.

That philosophy extends to Chatfield’s own leadership style.

Rather than trying to become the smartest person in every room, he intentionally surrounds himself with experienced professionals.

Former executives.

Veteran producers.

Radio specialists.

Writers.

Publicists.

Artists.

Every successful project becomes a collaboration.

Not a one-man operation.

That’s another lesson today’s independent artists sometimes overlook.

You don’t build a career by doing everything yourself.

You build it by knowing when to invite the right people into the process.

Legacy Artists Deserve New Audiences

Perhaps the most compelling part of our discussion focused on artists whose biggest hits happened decades ago.

Chatfield isn’t interested in preserving nostalgia.

He’s interested in creating relevance.

Instead of allowing classic recordings to quietly fade into history, he revisits them.

Remasters them.

Reimagines them.

Introduces them to listeners who never experienced them the first time around.

The goal isn’t simply preserving history.

It’s extending it.

That’s a subtle but significant difference.

A legacy artist doesn’t need another tribute.

They need another audience.

The Song Is Still King

Toward the end of our conversation, I asked what advice he’d give a brand-new artist.

His answer wasn’t about TikTok.

Or Instagram.

Or playlists.

It wasn’t even about record labels.

It was about writing.

Write.

Write more.

Write again.

Because everything begins with the song.

Technology will continue changing.

Platforms will come and go.

Business models will evolve.

But a truly great song has a way of surviving every technological revolution thrown at it.

History has already proven that.

Optimism Is Its Own Competitive Advantage

One of the qualities I appreciated most about David Chatfield wasn’t his résumé.

It was his attitude.

After four decades in one of the most unpredictable industries imaginable, he’s still convinced the next great artist is out there.

Still convinced physical music has a future.

Still convinced authentic musicianship will outlast shortcuts.

Still convinced people want real connections.

That’s optimism.

Not naïveté.

There’s a difference.

Optimism ignores obstacles.

Experience acknowledges them, and keeps moving anyway.

By the end of our conversation, I wasn’t thinking about Billboard covers, platinum records, or MTV milestones.

I kept thinking about his closing observation.

Music is the soundtrack to people’s lives.

The technology delivering it may change.

The packaging may change.

Even the business will continue reinventing itself.

But as long as great songs continue finding great listeners, there will always be room for people willing to play the long game.

David Chatfield has been doing exactly that for more than forty years.

And somehow, he still sounds like he’s just getting started.

Ask someone to describe Tropidelic, and you’ll probably hear the usual buzzwords.

Reggae rock.

Hip-hop.

Funk.

Beach vibes.

Good times.

They’re all accurate… but they don’t tell you why people keep coming back.

After sitting down with drummer Rex Larkman, it became clear that Tropidelic isn’t just another band blending genres. They’re building something that’s become increasingly rare in today’s music scene: a community that extends far beyond the stage.

That community cleans highways together.

Travels across state lines just to spend a few hours picking up trash.

Shows up year after year because the band has created something bigger than a concert.

In a music industry obsessed with streaming numbers and social media algorithms, Tropidelic somehow found a different path.

And that’s a story worth telling.

A Highway Named Tropidelic

Every band has merchandise.

Some have signature beers.

A lucky few get their own festival.

Tropidelic?

They adopted a highway.

What started as a joke quickly turned into something much more meaningful.

Several times each year, the band gathers with fans to clean a stretch of Interstate 77 outside Cleveland.

No VIP passes.

No backstage laminate.

Just musicians and fans spending a morning making their city a little better.

That’s about as “Tropidelic” as it gets.

Larkman laughed while telling stories about the odd things they’ve discovered along the roadside, everything from discarded X-rays to random pieces of school equipment, but underneath the humor is something that says a lot about the band’s culture.

Most artists ask fans to support them.

Tropidelic invites fans to work alongside them.

That’s a different kind of relationship.

The Sound of Cleveland… Without Sounding Like Cleveland

Cleveland has produced plenty of legendary music.

Rock.

Metal.

Hip-hop.

Punk.

Hardcore.

Tropidelic doesn’t neatly fit into any of those boxes.

Larkman openly admits they’re something of an outlier.

Yet the city still shapes everything they do.

The beaches along Lake Erie, the gray winters, the working-class mentality, and Cleveland’s fiercely loyal music community all find their way into the band’s DNA.

He jokingly calls Lake Erie “the Cleveland Ocean,” but there’s truth behind the joke.

Their songs may sound like they belong on a beach hundreds of miles away, but they’re unmistakably products of Northeast Ohio.

Sometimes the most tropical music comes from the coldest places.

Live Music Isn’t About Perfection

One of the most fascinating parts of our conversation centered on something most audiences never think about.

Tracks.

Clicks.

In-ear monitors.

Synchronization.

For today’s touring bands, live performance isn’t just six musicians plugging into amplifiers anymore.

Modern productions require additional keyboard layers, ambient textures, production elements, and synchronized lighting.

The challenge is knowing where technology should help, and where it shouldn’t.

Larkman is refreshingly honest about that balance.

Yes, Tropidelic uses backing tracks.

No, they’re not replacing the performance.

The vocals remain live.

The energy remains live.

The musicianship remains live.

The technology simply allows six musicians to recreate an album that may have dozens of recorded layers.

That’s an important distinction, and one too often misunderstood by concertgoers.

Perhaps the most revealing moment came when Larkman admitted that if something ever goes wrong with the tracks, he’d rather shut everything off than fake it.

The band knows the songs.

The show goes on.

That’s confidence you can’t program into a laptop.

Playing for the Song

Like many drummers, Larkman’s influences range from Neil Peart and Phil Collins to Joey Jordison, Dave Matthews Band’s Carter Beauford, Green Day’s Tré Cool, and the late Rev from Avenged Sevenfold.

Given that list, you’d expect a whirlwind of flashy fills.

Instead, his philosophy echoes something shared by many great session musicians.

Play for the song.

In the studio, restraint wins.

Live?

That’s when the metal drummer comes out.

He laughs about it, but you can hear the excitement in his voice.

The audience feeds the performance.

The heavier playing.

The added energy.

The freedom to let loose.

That’s one of those subtle truths about live music that recordings can never fully capture.

Songs evolve the moment they’re performed in front of people.

Built for the Road

Warped Tour.

Red Rocks.

The Caverns.

House of Blues.

Florida beach festivals.

Legend Valley.

If you ask musicians about memorable venues, you’ll usually get a list.

Ask Rex Larkman, and you’ll get stories.

Like hauling merchandise a mile across Warped Tour grounds in the Florida heat before the gates even opened.

Or watching torrential rain flood festival grounds moments before showtime.

Or standing backstage at Red Rocks, staring into what he described as a “tsunami of people.”

Then there’s The Caverns in Tennessee.

While Red Rocks might be one of America’s most iconic outdoor venues, Larkman jokingly calls The Caverns “the basement of Red Rocks.”

It’s an apt description.

One venue opens to endless sky.

The other disappears beneath the earth.

Both leave unforgettable impressions.

The common thread isn’t the scenery.

It’s the audience.

Whether the crowd is packed into a cave or spread across a Colorado mountainside, Tropidelic approaches every show the same way:

Give people a reason to remember the night.

The Other Half of Being in a Band

Larkman wears more hats than most fans realize.

He’s the drummer.

He’s heavily involved in running the band’s backing tracks.

He shoots video.

Directs music videos.

Edits social media content.

Produces promotional reels.

Studies camera angles.

Plans drone shots.

Scouts filming locations.

It’s a reminder that today’s musicians spend almost as much time creating content as they do creating music.

His description of filming the band’s “Out There” video on a farm in West Virginia perfectly captures that mindset.

The location wasn’t chosen because it was convenient.

It was chosen because it told the story the song deserved.

That’s becoming increasingly important in modern music.

Songs don’t just need to sound good anymore.

They need to look good, too.

Success Is a Team Sport

One answer stood above the rest.

When asked to recognize an unsung hero, Larkman didn’t name a famous producer or influential musician.

He named the crew.

Tour manager.

Front-of-house engineers.

Merchandise staff.

Bus driver.

Manager.

The people audiences rarely see.

It’s easy to forget that a successful tour is essentially a traveling small business.

Someone has to solve bus problems at three in the morning.

Someone has to sell T-shirts.

Someone has to load equipment.

Someone has to make sure everyone gets to the next city.

Bands may stand in the spotlight.

Entire teams keep that spotlight turned on.

Larkman understands that better than most.

More Than a Summer Soundtrack

Tropidelic often gets labeled as “feel-good music.”

There’s certainly plenty of that.

But after talking with Rex Larkman, it feels like an incomplete description.

The positivity isn’t manufactured.

It starts with how the band treats its fans.

Its crew.

Its hometown.

Even its adopted highway.

That’s difficult to fake.

And maybe that’s why Tropidelic continues to grow while so many bands struggle to build lasting communities.

People don’t just come back for the songs.

They come back because, for a couple of hours, they feel like they’re part of something.

In the end, that might be the band’s greatest achievement.

Not writing the perfect summer anthem.

Creating a place where everyone feels welcome when the lights come up and the music starts.

Some collaborations begin in a writing room.

Others begin backstage after a show.

Kate Stanton’s latest creative partnership started nearly 4,000 miles away.

One songwriter in Ohio.

One producer in Germany.

No shared spoken language.

No recording studio together.

No late-night writing sessions over coffee.

Just email.

Google Translate.

And music.

It’s proof that while technology has changed how songs are made, creativity still begins the same way it always has, with two people excited about building something neither could create alone.

When Music Becomes the Common Language

Throughout our conversation, Kate repeatedly described music as the language she and her collaborator, Tomas, truly share.

They communicate primarily through email.

When words become difficult, melodies take over.

If Kate hears a bass line in her head, she’ll sing it.

If she imagines a drum pattern, she’ll imitate it, whether it sounds polished or not.

MIDI files cross the Atlantic.

Wave files return.

Dropbox folders replace rehearsal spaces.

Ideas bounce back and forth until they eventually become songs.

It’s a fascinating reminder that creativity rarely waits for perfect circumstances.

The collaboration works not because they speak the same language, but because they listen for the same emotions.

Great Partnerships Are Built on Trust

One thing became obvious very quickly.

Kate wasn’t simply talking about finding another producer.

She was talking about finding someone she trusts.

That matters.

For independent artists, songs are deeply personal.

Handing unfinished ideas to another person requires confidence that they’ll understand the vision—and protect it.

Kate believes she’s found that relationship with Tomas.

Over the past year they’ve developed a workflow built on honesty, professionalism, and mutual respect.

Neither is afraid to challenge the other.

Neither settles for “good enough.”

If something doesn’t meet their standards, it stays in the demo folder.

Sometimes forever.

That’s an increasingly rare level of patience in a world that often rewards speed over craftsmanship.

Atmosphere Can Be an Instrument

Kate’s music doesn’t fit neatly inside traditional genre labels.

She describes it as atmospheric.

I found that description fitting.

Rather than building songs around flashy instrumental performances, she focuses on creating emotional landscapes.

The synthesizers.

Layered vocal harmonies.

Ambient textures.

Carefully programmed percussion.

Every element serves the mood rather than demanding attention for itself.

Listening to her explain the process reminded me less of assembling a band and more of painting.

Each new layer adds another brushstroke.

Eventually, the picture begins revealing itself.

Songwriting Starts Long Before the Piano

Many writers begin with melodies.

Kate often begins with journaling.

Daily thoughts become lyrical ideas.

Those ideas eventually find chord progressions.

Chord progressions evolve into melodies.

Only then do the countless revisions begin.

It’s a disciplined process built around observation rather than inspiration alone.

Perhaps that’s why her songs feel reflective.

They’re rarely written in the heat of a moment.

They’re shaped after the emotions have had time to settle.

That patience gives the music room to breathe.

Eight Songs. One Story.

The centerpiece of Kate’s current work explores one deceptively simple question.

What if love isn’t just one emotion?

Drawing inspiration from ancient Greek philosophy, she’s writing a collection based on eight distinct forms of love.

Romantic love.

Friendship.

Self-love.

Devotion.

Obsession.

Compassion.

Each song examines a different perspective.

Individually, they’re compelling.

Together, they become something larger.

A concept album.

That phrase alone made me smile.

There was a time when albums weren’t simply collections of singles.

They were journeys.

You started with track one because it mattered where the story began.

Kate still believes in that philosophy.

Frankly, so do I.

Technology Should Serve the Song

As someone who’s spent years in recording studios, I appreciated hearing Kate describe the production process.

There’s no ego involved.

Sometimes she sends nearly completed arrangements.

Other times she simply sends piano chords and vocal melodies.

Tomas builds everything else.

Percussion.

Bass.

Synth textures.

Atmospheric elements.

The goal isn’t deciding who contributed more.

The goal is making the song stronger.

That’s exactly how collaboration should work.

Too often, producers try to leave fingerprints on every track.

The best ones simply help artists sound more like themselves.

Finding Inspiration Beyond Personal Experience

One of the more interesting moments during our conversation centered around songwriting itself.

Kate admitted something many writers eventually discover.

You can’t personally experience everything worth writing about.

So she borrows inspiration from literature.

Philosophy.

History.

Fantasy.

The loyalty between Samwise Gamgee and Frodo inspired one song about friendship.

Ancient Greek concepts shaped an entire collection.

Rather than limiting herself to autobiography, she allows stories to become emotional lenses.

It’s a refreshing approach.

Good songwriting has never required living every story firsthand.

It requires understanding what those stories feel like.

Bringing Studio Songs to the Stage

Despite spending much of the past few years focused on recording, Kate hasn’t abandoned live performance.

She’s simply reimagining it.

Rather than recreating every production element onstage, she envisions intimate piano performances.

Historic churches.

Art galleries.

Quiet listening rooms.

Spaces where audiences experience the songs without distraction.

There’s something appealing about that vision.

Not every song needs a wall of amplifiers.

Sometimes one piano says everything.

Albums Still Matter

Toward the end of our conversation, we found ourselves reminiscing about something many music fans still miss.

Albums.

Liner notes.

Photography.

Lyrics.

Artwork.

Holding a physical CD while listening from beginning to end.

Kate believes those experiences still have value.

I agree.

Streaming has made music infinitely more accessible.

But convenience sometimes comes at the expense of connection.

Albums invite listeners to slow down.

To experience music rather than simply consume it.

That’s a distinction worth preserving.

Quiet Confidence

One thing I admire about Kate Stanton is that she never seems interested in chasing trends.

She’s not writing songs to satisfy algorithms.

She’s building projects that satisfy her curiosity.

Some artists chase viral moments.

Kate appears more interested in creating meaningful ones.

Those aren’t always the same thing.

After spending another hour talking with her, I walked away with the same impression I had the first time we met.

She’s still experimenting.

Still learning.

Still exploring.

But unlike many artists searching for their voice, she no longer sounds like she’s trying to become someone else.

She’s becoming more herself with every project.

And sometimes, that’s the most compelling journey an artist can take.