Tracy Sabin

In 1980, the world fell apart. The marriage failed. The new role, single dad, unanticipated and unprepared for. The big dream, making a living as a freelance illustrator, aborted when the money from the sale of the house ran out. Back to corporate staff artist. A cog in the machine. The social awkwardness not helping. How to cope? There was a Casio keyboard. And a TEAC 4-track recorder. Noodling. Revising. Zero stagecraft. But the songs proliferated. Imperfect. Clumsy. Not a performer, a melodist. This was the therapy. Hundreds of tunes over decades, hidden on 21 reels of magnetized, rust-coated ribbons of plastic in cardboard boxes in the bedroom closet. Suno offers a way to turn these songs into finished instrumental arrangements.