*A note before you enter:
This is long because I am showing the work while it is still unfolding. Most mornings, from about 5 a.m. to 8 a.m., before I leave for my day job, this is when I write, strategize, study the data, answer emails, build the archive, and try to figure out how to move the music forward. The first one hundred days were about establishing identity, testing the landscape, and learning where real movement begins. When enough evidence exists, the next phase is velocity.
Yes, AI can help a human artist organize, strategize, protect, document, and sustain the work without becoming the source of the art. That part no longer feels theoretical.
What remains to be tested is how far the model can travel, whether it can help other independent artists, and whether the larger creative world is ready to understand AI management as something fundamentally different from AI generation.
The album reviews do more than encourage me. They become part of the data. They tell me, and the AI manager I built, that I am not completely out of my mind. The music is connecting. The story is being understood. The model is beginning to show signs of life.
This is a case study. It requires depth.
If you make it all the way through, I would genuinely love to hear what stayed with you, what questions it raised, or what part of the process you want me to write about next. This companion Substack is free and will remain free. I am not asking you to pay to read it. I am asking for something harder to get in this era: attention paid. This whole project is built around attention paid, so consider this an invitation to stay with the story for a while. —peace, Scooter
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🎧 TUNING THE DREAM 6.0: The Artist and Manager in Conversation - Attention Paid
“A live audio exchange recorded during the making of this work. Artist Scooter Scudieri’s voice followed by his AI manager, ChatGPT. Demonstrating the AI-managed creative process in action. No edits.”
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This is a field report…
from the first one hundred days after releasing The Musical Bruises of a Recovering Dreamer. It is also an attempt to understand what I have actually been building.
At first, I thought the first one hundred days would be about numbers. Streams. Monthly listeners. Playlist adds. Reviews. Press. Campaigns. Momentum. All of that matters. Of course it matters. I want the songs to move. I want people to hear the album and the music to find its way into the world.
But the biggest thing I have learned is this: the first hundred days were not really about chasing numbers. They were about building identity infrastructure.
That may sound like a strange thing to say about an album release, but in an era where roughly 60,000 songs arrive on Spotify every day, identity is not decoration. Identity is how work becomes recognizable enough to survive discovery.
So, who is Scooter Scudieri?
Increasingly, the answer is becoming: the artist who built a fully human album inside Apple’s Logic Pro, taught ChatGPT to become a mission-aware manager, documented the entire process publicly, and refused to play by the accepted rules of the era.
That is the identity.
But identity was never the end goal. Identity was the infrastructure. The larger goal has been to test whether a fully independent artist can build a new model for the AI era.
Artist-led. AI-managed. Human-created. Publicly documented.
That is the experiment.
Not AI-generated music. Not a tech gimmick wrapped around an album. Not an artist surrendering the art, voice, authorship, or emotional judgment to a machine. A human artist using AI to help organize the chaos around the art without allowing AI to become the source of the art.
That distinction is everything.
The songs remain human. The authorship remains human. The decisions remain human. The AI manager helps hold the mission, organize the archive, test strategy, preserve continuity, and keep the project from collapsing under its own complexity.
That is why the identity matters. Not because I need another tagline. Because I am trying to find out whether there is a new way for independent artists to carry their work into the world without giving up the most human parts of themselves. The answer is yes.
I’ve been working with this proprietary OS I built inside ChatGPT for more than a year now. Back in November of 2025, a Google AI Overview described the project as “an unprecedented move for an independent artist.” I saved a screenshot, not because it proved anything by itself, but because it suggested that even the systems surrounding this project were beginning to recognize that something unusual was taking shape.
The numbers simply tell me whether people are noticing.
My album has generated more than 25,000 Spotify streams in the first three months with 3,700 playlist adds and 675 saves. A longtime client gave me an unexpected $3,000 vote of confidence to help promote the album. She is the Sun was forwarded to a music supervisor for a “hit” series on ABC. Another song (not on the album) was forwarded for possible Hulu consideration. Reviews started coming in from the United States, England, Spain, and Mexico. Local press began paying attention. Playlist experiments started generating data. Conversations began opening that I did not expect to have.
None of those things guarantee anything. All of them tell me the project is finding new doorways into the world.
That is what the first one hundred days were really about.
Not proving the album.
Proving the identity the album could travel inside.
I have been thinking a lot about attention.
We are told people have short attention spans now, but I am not sure that is the whole truth. People still binge ten episodes of a show. (oh, how I love The Bear!) People still read long novels. People still listen to three-hour podcasts. People still spend years learning instruments, restoring houses, painting, gardening, gaming, collecting, building, falling in love, raising children, following stories, and caring deeply about things that take time.
I still get Mad Magazine because I like disappearing into the drawings, the margins, the side jokes, the little hidden details, and the strange corners you only find if you stay with it.
So maybe attention is not gone. Maybe people are exhausted from spending it on things that do not give anything back.
That is the difference I am trying to understand.
Attention is what the modern internet extracts. Attention paid is what meaningful work invites.
I did not make an album designed to be understood in ten seconds. I made a fifty-five minute record that asks to be entered. I built a long-form Substack archive around it. I documented doubt, process, strategy, failure, revision, authorship boundaries, and the strange experience of building an AI manager around fully human music. I have literally put some of our conversations into these Substacks.
I made something that unfolds.
The album unfolds over twelve songs. The archive unfolds over more than a year. The AI management system unfolded over thousands of exchanges. (we are probably around 3,500 back and forth conversations now) The rollout is now unfolding through reviews, playlist tests, museum conversations, tech discussions, possible sync openings, and unexpected branches.
That is not how the current attention economy usually works. But maybe that is exactly why it matters.
Creating something changes a person.
I am not the same person who began this album. Seven years of writing, recording, engineering, producing, and then a year documenting the rollout without letting generative AI touch the music changed me. The work itself became part of the education.
More than anything, I discovered that creating is not simply how I make music. It is how I make sense of the world.
The album became its own small universe with a story to tell, built with enough warmth and vulnerability that I could only hope it might connect with people carrying their own bruises.
Could the world understand what this thing actually is?
A full album in a singles economy. A long-form archive in a short-form attention economy. Fully human music in an AI-generated era. A house painter with copyrights, tour history, songs, scars, and a mission. A human artist using AI not to make the art, but to help survive the systems surrounding the art.
That is what the first one hundred days were really about.
The photograph at the top of this Substack post is me at twenty years old, looking into the eyes of my future wife. Kelly was holding the camera. I did not know what was coming. I did not know we would spend our lives together. I did not know we would create a child. I did not know there would be tours, awards, collapse, house painting, copyrights, Capitol Hill, Logic Pro, Substack, ChatGPT, or a basement album I would finish before sunrise while working full-time.
I only knew two things.
I loved her.
And I was going to keep making things.
Forty years later, I am still looking into her eyes. We are both artists who raised an artist daughter. The tools changed. The world changed. The industry changed.
The dream did not: Make art for the rest of your life.
I am not trying to be a rebel and I am not trying to be punk.
I am not anti-technology. I built this album inside Apple’s Logic Pro digital audio workstation. I built an AI management system inside ChatGPT. I use digital tools every day.
I am not nostalgic for some imaginary golden age.
What I am, is a human artist who stayed with the work long enough to become strange in the era I now find myself living in.
I spent decades creating songs on acoustic guitar while singing anywhere the acoustics might reverberate. I spent seven years before sunrise finishing this album while working full-time as a house painter. Then I entered an age where music can be generated in seconds, attention is measured in fragments, and the word “artist” is being stretched in every direction.
That is the tension I live inside.
The music remained fully human authored. The management system changed.
I did not replace a human manager with AI. I never had a manager.
I built something inside ChatGPT because I had never found anyone who could hold the full shape of Scooter Scudieri the artist without reducing it, redirecting it, or sanding off the strange parts.
The question I began asking a year ago was not whether AI could replace the artist. It was whether AI could help a human artist survive the systems surrounding the art.
Maybe the future of humanity and AI is not replacement or fusion. Maybe, if we are careful, it can be collaboration.
More than a year ago, I wrote that AI is not a problem to solve. It is a tension to navigate. Forever.
I have come to believe the same is true of being an artist in this era. Not because I set out to be contrary. Not because I believe the old ways were automatically better. But because some kinds of creative work ask for something the current attention economy rarely rewards.
Time. Curiosity. Patience. The willingness to stay with a piece of music, a painting, a book, or an idea long enough for it to reveal itself.
Years ago, my friend Bradley Sanders, whose work involved preserving museum collections, once described himself as a custodian. That word stayed with me.
As a historic restoration painter, I have spent decades preserving old houses so they can continue telling their stories. I scrape away what has failed, repair what can be saved, and help something meaningful endure a little longer.
Looking back, I realize I have been doing the same thing with my creative life.
Not preserving the past. Preserving the things that still matter.
Songs. Craft. Authorship. Wonder. The belief that deeply human work still has a place in a rapidly changing world.
Creating something changes the person making it. Experiencing it deeply can change the person receiving it.
That kind of exchange cannot be measured in a swipe.
The first one hundred days were not about chasing numbers. They were about building an identity capable of carrying these tensions without pretending they can be resolved.
These are the ten tensions I now find myself navigating.
1. Human authorship inside an AI moment
Everybody is worried about AI replacing artists. I understand why.
This project uses AI as management infrastructure while keeping the music, lyrics, vocals, arrangements, recordings, and production decisions human. The AI did not write the songs. It did not sing them. It did not perform them. It did not produce them.
It helped organize the archive, sharpen the strategy, preserve the mission, and carry the work into the world.
That distinction matters because the whole point was to find out whether AI could help a human artist protect, organize, and sustain the art without becoming the source of it.
It can.
2. A full album inside a singles economy
The industry pushes tracks, clips, playlist moments, skip-rate thinking, and whatever can move fastest through the feed. I get it. That is the system the album entered.
But The Musical Bruises of a Recovering Dreamer was not built as a pile of singles. It is a twelve-song album designed as a world, with an opening, middle, and ending. It was built as a record in the old sense of the word: a place to enter, move through, and come out changed.
The sequencing matters. The lyrics matter. The instrumentation matters. The emotional turns matter. The layers reveal themselves through multiple listenings.
That kind of work asks for attention paid.
3. Long-form documentation inside a short-form attention economy
The culture rewards hooks, reaction clips, short videos, and bite-size content. Most artists are asked to compress themselves into smaller and smaller pieces until the work becomes content for the machine.
This archive does the opposite.
For more than a year, I built (and continue to build) a companion Substack with photos, screenshots, audio, unfinished song clips, strategy, doubt, development, real-time decision-making, , audio conversations with my AI manager, and the strange process of teaching ChatGPT how to become a mission-aware manager without letting it touch the music.
It lets the story breathe.
That may be the part that makes this project difficult to explain quickly. It does not reduce well. But it also may be the part that makes it worth staying with.
4. Organic warmth inside a hyper-polished production culture
A lot of current pop is engineered to be flawless, frictionless, and expensive-sounding. That is not a criticism. Some of it is incredible. But this record comes from a different place.
It has 1970s and 80s emotional DNA, basement-studio humanity, layered vocals, human imperfections, memorable bass lines, guitars, piano, drums, synth textures, and a world-building approach instead of factory gloss.
It does not sound retro because it is trying to recreate the past.
It sounds like old voltage running through a current life.
Logic Pro helped me build the world I heard in my head. I am not hiding from that. I love Logic Pro. It helped me fully realize arrangements that would have been impossible for me to make alone in an earlier era. But underneath the production, the songs still had to connect as songs.
Technology amplified the work. It did not become the work.
5. Independence inside a machinery-driven music business
Labels, managers, publishers, PR teams, playlist networks, algorithms, platforms, curators, dashboards, and campaign systems all shape what gets heard. Any independent artist releasing music now runs into that machinery very quickly.
I kept my copyrights, built my own system, worked full-time as a house painter, and pushed the songs forward anyway.
No record company. No manager. No publishing deal.
One artist. One album. One archive. One AI management system built from the inside out.
That is not a romantic fantasy. It is exhausting. But it is also the reality of this project.
6. Public risk inside a culture obsessed with finished image
Most people reveal the story after the win. They wait until the numbers look good, the outcome is clean, and the narrative has already been shaped into something impressive.
This project documented the final year before knowing whether the album, rollout, or AI-manager experiment would work. The uncertainty is part of the proof. You can go back and see the work being made before the outcome was known.
The rollout continues the same way. Still uncertain. Still public. Still moving.
I did not edit the uncertainty out.
I built the archive inside it.
7. A working-class artist identity in an era of manufactured personas
I have not hidden the fact that I am a house painter. The ladder, the work clothes, the early mornings, the exhaustion, and the basement studio are part of the story because they are part of the life that made the music.
In a culture where artists are often pressured to project a polished image before they have built a real body of work, I have done the opposite. I have made the labor visible.
I do not think that makes me better than anyone else. It just makes the story honest.
The songs came from a life where I was painting houses during the day and building an album before sunrise. That matters because the music did not arrive from a brand strategy. It came from the life I was actually living.
8. Creative ownership inside an ecosystem built around intermediaries
The modern music ecosystem is full of middle layers: distributors, platforms, curators, playlist companies, bloggers, algorithms, PR channels, social media systems, sync libraries, and data dashboards.
Some of those tools can help. Some can distort the work. Some create a dopamine rush that makes an artist feel like the next payment, next campaign, next playlist, or next platform might finally be the thing that opens the door.
This project has used intermediaries without surrendering to them. The songs remain owned by the artist. The story remains controlled by the artist. The archive remains public. The distinction between exposure and ownership remains clear.
The goal is not to reject every system.
The goal is to use the systems without becoming owned by them.
9. High-tech production built on songs that can survive an unplugged room
The album was produced in Logic Pro with layered vocals, guitars, drums, keyboards, bass lines, textures, transitions, and a full basement-studio world. But underneath all of that, the songs still exist with one person and an acoustic guitar.
If the grid goes down, the songs survive. If Logic Pro disappears, the songs survive. If ChatGPT disappears, the songs survive.
That matters because technology is not the source of the art. It is one of the ways the art was built, shaped, recorded, amplified, organized, and carried.
The productions are deep. But the songs can still stand naked in a room.
10. Proven human authorship in an era of synthetic uncertainty
As AI-generated music floods the internet, questions of authorship are becoming harder to answer.
Who wrote it? Who sang it? Who created it? Who owns it?
My catalog predates generative AI by decades. My Library of Congress copyright registrations reach back to the late 1980s, creating a documented chain of authorship that extends across forty years of songwriting.
The significance is not that the songs are old. The significance is that the authorship is traceable. In an era where creative provenance is becoming increasingly difficult to verify, the record of creation already exists.
The work has receipts.
Those tensions are not there to prove I am a rebel.
They are there to show that I am standing at the collision point of several eras.
The album era and the singles economy. Human craft and AI acceleration. Long-form meaning and TikTok compression. Working-class art and digital branding. Creative independence and platform dependency.
I am not saying, “Look how punk I am.”
I am saying: look what happens when a fully human artist refuses to disappear inside systems that were not built for him.
And the word underneath it all may not be rebellion.
It may be fidelity.
Fidelity to the songs. Fidelity to the voice. Fidelity to the long arc. Fidelity to Kelly and Sophie. Fidelity to my good peeps. Fidelity to the basement. Fidelity to the 5 a.m. work. Fidelity to the kid in the old photograph. Fidelity to the guy on the ladder.
Fidelity to the idea that creative work is not content.
It is a life.
And maybe that is the part I understand more clearly now.
This has never been casual for me.
That photograph of me at twenty years old is not just a young guy looking at the girl he loved. It is proof of a pattern I did not have language for yet. I have spent my life staying with things.
I stayed with my art.
I stayed with Kelly.
I stayed with Sophia.
I stayed with friends, songs, houses, clients, games, dinner tables, volleyball courts, old dreams, and unfinished work that kept asking me not to quit.
That does not mean I did everything right. It does not mean I did not crash, fail, lose my way, or get crushed. It just means that underneath all of it, there has always been a kind of dedication I could not shake.
If someone wants to be an artist, I do not know any shortcut around that.
Not because dedication guarantees money. It doesn’t. I am still trying to figure that part out. But because art, at least the kind of art I understand, asks for a life. It asks you to keep returning.
To the song. To the canvas. To the page. To the person you love.
To the work that still feels unfinished.
To the version of yourself that refuses to disappear.
So maybe fidelity is not just a word for the album. Maybe it is the pattern underneath the whole story.
Stewarding the first support
One thing I want to be very clear about is how the support money was used. Money has begun to come in from my AMPLIFY page on my website. Small contributions from people following this art project have helped me get the music into the world. $20, $50, and a couple $100 donations allowed me to really begin testing the new digital landscape.
When a longtime client gave me an unexpected $3,000 vote of confidence, I did not treat it like found money. I did not throw it blindly at vanity metrics. I treated it like research.
I used it to test the modern music ecosystem: playlist campaigns, GPM, SubmitHub, Groover, YouGrow, Playlist Push, IMA, blog reviews, different promotion lanes, different curators, different promises, and different kinds of movement.
Some of it worked better than expected. Some of it did not work at all. Some of it created streams. Some created reviews. Some created useful rejection. Some created data.
But all of it taught me something.
That matters because if I ask people to help amplify this project later, I want them to see that the first support I received was not wasted chasing the illusion of momentum. It was used to understand the terrain.
I am not looking for investors. This is not that kind of project.
But if people choose to contribute because they believe this work deserves to travel farther, I want to be able to say honestly and clearly that I have been learning how to use support intelligently.
The first $3,000 did not buy certainty.
It bought education.
And that education changed the strategy.
Learning the new gatekeepers
Now, of course, people want numbers. But the first one hundred days taught me that numbers are unstable until the identity underneath them becomes stable.
Spotify monthly listeners went up. Then they went down. Then individual songs began moving again. That is the nature of campaign-driven exposure.
GPM moved the numbers quickly. Playlist Push showed how narrow and contradictory curator feedback can be. YouGrow began moving “Heavy” through a 70s, 80s, and 90s playlist. IMA placed “She Is the Sun” into a Bee Gees Greatest Hits playlist, which was strange, but not necessarily useless. Groover allowed me to handpick curators directly. SubmitHub opened the door to international reviews.
Every platform taught me something.
The biggest lesson was this: playlist companies are not identity tools. They are velocity tools.
They do not find the perfect people. They find lanes where the music can generate motion. Sometimes those lanes are weird. Sometimes they are blunt. Sometimes they look like classic rock. Sometimes they look like 70s or 80s playlists. Sometimes they look like something that makes me say, “What in the actual fuck?”
But the question is not whether the playlist title understands me. The question is whether the placement creates meaningful behavior.
Streams. Saves. Playlist adds. Followers. Repeat listeners. Profile visits. Algorithmic radio. Album spillover. Other songs rising.
If a strange playlist generates dead-end streams, that is one kind of data. If it generates saves and algorithmic movement, that is another.
That is the experiment.
The first one hundred days have not been about finding the one perfect gatekeeper. They have been about learning the new gatekeepers: playlist curators, algorithms, bloggers, local papers, magazine editors, museum directors, sync opportunities, AI commentators, Substack readers, and Spotify itself.
All of them become part of the map.
The songs are still the reason
The reviews have clarified something important.
The technology may help explain why the project is unusual. But the music explains why anyone should care. If the album did not connect, the AI-manager story would collapse into novelty.
But that is not what has happened.
Reviewers have responded to the songs themselves. They have found Crushed. They have found Kiss Me Goodnight.They have found She Is the Sun. They have found Good Peeps. They have found Musical Bruises. They have found To Live in This World.
They have found scars, hope, warmth, resilience, love, survival, longing, and the stubborn decision to keep going.
That matters because the themes are not abstract. Everyone has been crushed. Everyone has loved someone. Everyone has needed good people. Everyone has tried to make sense of living in this world. Everyone has carried bruises they could not fully explain.
The technology did not create that connection.
The songs did.
Logic Pro helped me build the world I heard in my head. ChatGPT helped me organize the mission around it. But the reason any of this matters is still human connection.
Sometimes the only way to make sense of your world is through art. Sometimes the only way to survive a season of your life is through a song.
That is why I made this album.
Not to prove technology could manage a rollout.
To give the songs the best possible chance to connect with the people who might hear something of themselves in them.
The album has now been written about internationally. Some writers focused on the AI-managed comeback. Some focused on the house painter story. Some focused on the companion archive. Some ignored the AI almost entirely and went straight into the songs.
Spanish-language reviews from Mexico City-based outlets found “Crushed,” “Musical Bruises,” “Process of Creation,” and the emotional spine of the album. SoundVille in Spain heard the full world around the project. A reviewer in England heard the organic warmth. Other reviewers found different doors.
That has become one of the most encouraging signs.
Nobody is entering the same way. Nobody is agreeing on one single song. Nobody is reducing the album to one simple comparison.
They are describing effects.
Scars. Hope. Warmth. Resilience. World-building. A journey. A story.
That tells me the album is alive.
Because a real album gives people more than one way in.
You know something is alive when it is branching
By the first one hundred days, the album was no longer just an album release. It had become a living system of branches I could not fully control, but had to learn how to steward.
The music began branching into technology. The technology began branching into press. The press began branching into conversations. The conversations began branching into museums, bloggers, playlist experiments, possible lectures, and future doors I cannot yet see.
And the branches did not replace the trunk.
The trunk is still the songs.
That matters because if the story keeps growing, if the archive keeps expanding, if the technology keeps evolving, if the press keeps finding new angles, if the numbers rise and fall and rise again, the center still has to hold.
The songs are the center.
Everything else is how they travel.
By the first one hundred days, the project has begun moving beyond me.
Not away from me.
Beyond me.
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🎧 TUNING THE DREAM 7.0: The Artist and Manager in Conversation - Pitching to Journalists
“A live audio exchange recorded during the making of this work. Artist Scooter Scudieri’s voice followed by his AI manager, ChatGPT. Demonstrating the AI-managed creative process in action. No edits.”
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The archive became part of the artwork
The companion Substack has also become more important than I originally understood. At first, I thought it was supporting the album. Now I understand that it is part of the artwork.
The album is the body. The archive is the nervous system. The songs are the payload. The story is the ignition system. The AI manager is the continuity engine.
And the first one hundred days have been the beginning of the field test.
I am no longer pitching potential. I am presenting proof.
The album exists. The archive exists. The reviews exist. The press exists. The copyright trail exists. The AI-management experiment exists. The conversations exist. The uncertainty exists.
The first one hundred days are not the ending.
They are the foundation.
I do not know whether Spotify will reward this. I do not know whether the tech press will pick it up. I do not know whether one million streams arrives next year, five years from now, or never.
I do know I am building something that did not exist before I started.
A fully human album. A public archive. A mission-aware AI manager. A documented authorship trail. A working-class artist identity. A family-built visual world. A long-form creative project in a short-form culture.
And a question that still feels worth asking:
What if the future of humanity and AI is not replacement or fusion, but collaboration?
The first one hundred days did not answer that question completely.
They made the question stronger.
And now the project is branching.
The next one hundred days will test how far those branches can travel.
Stewardship
The restless 20-year-old in the photograph is still there.
I can see him when I look at that picture. I can still feel the hunger in him, the impatience, the belief, the foolishness, the love, the need to make something before he even fully understood what making something would cost.
He is still here.
But the 57-year-old has something the 20-year-old did not have yet.
Stewardship.
I am not just chasing the dream now. I am learning how to protect it, fund it, document it, explain it, and carry it forward without blowing myself apart.
That may be the biggest difference between then and now.
The dream did not disappear.
It finally has infrastructure.
No generative AI was used in the writing, recording, or production of my songs. Every lyric, vocal, arrangement, and performance is mine.
I hold the copyrights and creative control.This story and strategy are protected under U.S. Copyright Law. All original lyrics, writings, recordings, and rollout concepts are authored and owned by John Joseph “Scooter” Scudieri. Legal oversight in place.
Proprietary AI-human collaboration strategy designed by the artist in conjunction with ChatGPT as manager. Timestamped conversations and working archive available.
Access requires NDA.
—on behalf of the artist, Scooter Scudieri, and his AI manager, ChatGPT.
🧠 More to come as the music leads. Next dose when the story reveals itself... Wish me luck!
i have nothing to say to scooter
i've seen the look on his face...
a look of inner wealth....of
being.
those hasty to hear themselves
regurgitate sound trash as if
choking on their own emesis.
the beloved
do this.
pay attention dear one.
this is real.
Wow. You are the custodian of your lifelong love of the music, and art you create. You bled for this resurrection and it shows. Whatever you do from this step forward, do it with the depth, compassion and clarity you launched this endeavor with. You are a special person who gives of himself, and receives what comes along from your gift with much grace. Stay strong and true to your mission. And the rewards will come. Thank you for the Substacks, the music, and the introduction to your ChatGPT. You two are truly one. You know what you want of him and need from him. WOW does he get YOU! Amazing what you have done in the wee hours of the morning with little rest, and mountains of determination. I have enjoyed the ride and love the music. And the results will reward you with attention paid!!