Alva’s Own Chris Moon: The Man Who Created Prince and Never Stopped

By: Katrina Salokar | East Lee County News

Chris Moon doesn’t call himself a genius, but his story reads like one long creative explosion. He discovered Prince — yes, *that* Prince — and developed him as a major act and created the entire package that launched the artist’s career. But that was only the beginning. In this interview, Moon talks about artistic instincts, wild experiments, AI, frequency healing, and why failure is the best teacher. What follows is a story of someone who believed in himself enough to try everything, and got just enough right to change music history.

Q: Let’s go back to the beginning. How did you come in contact with Prince Rogers Nelson? What was it about Prince that grabbed your attention?

Moon: I owned a recording studio in Minneapolis, and I was growing increasingly frustrated with the challenges of working with bands. Honestly? He was the shortest musician I could find. *[laughs]* But seriously — people expect me to say it was his musical genius. But I was already surrounded by great musicians. What made Prince stand out was that he played every instrument himself — guitar, drums, keyboards, you name it. And at the time, I had been thinking: maybe I only need to work with one person who can do it all and show up on time. That’s what drew me in.

Q: And that’s when you gave him the keys to the studio?

Moon: Yep. I hadn’t said two words to him before that. He stayed behind when the rest of his bandmates went on break. He was jumping from musical instrument to instrument, and I just walked up, handed over the keys, and said, “Wanna write some songs? I’ll build a package around you and try to make you famous.” He just kind of shrugged. Prince was never a man of many words.

Q: He was what, sixteen at the time?

Moon: Yeah. And unless you’d seen him with those instruments, you wouldn’t have noticed him. He didn’t stand out in the room — Morris Day and Andre Cymone were bigger personalities. Prince didn’t even make it under the radar. He was shy, withdrawn, barely spoke. No ego to speak of. Hard to imagine now, right?

Studio Alchemy: The Year That Created Prince

Long before the platinum albums and sold-out tours, Prince was a 5-foot-1 teenager from North Minneapolis with raw talent and no track record. Chris Moon saw something extraordinary—and together, they dove into a fearless, year-long experiment that would transform music history. In the studio, they didn’t just craft songs—they created an identity, building the foundation for one of the most iconic brands in pop culture. From the artist’s name and lyrical style to the concept of implied sexuality and the color purple, this was more than music—it was pure alchemy.

Q: So what happened in that studio for a whole year?

Moon: He walked in one guy and walked out another. I’m not saying I made him, but there was definitely a caterpillar-to-butterfly thing going on. He could barely sing above a whisper at first—it didn’t even move the needles. I laid next to him in the dark, humming melodies until he found his voice. We sat on stools, face to face, falsetto to falsetto, writing songs no one else ever heard. Just him and me, in the dark, building a world from scratch.

Q: You’ve said the studio was a playground. What kind of experiments were you running?

Moon: One day, I walked in holding a vacuum cleaner. Prince was baffled. I told him, ‘This is for you.’ He thought I wanted him to clean. Nope. I pulled off the hose, started swinging it around my head to create this swirling sound—like a Leslie speaker from a Hammond organ. We were going to do vocals that sounded like that. That’s what it was like—completely off-the-wall, no rules, just curiosity.

Q: So it was really about removing judgment?

Moon: Exactly. I told him from day one—we’re going to do things nobody else does. And we don’t judge anything. If it’s dumb or crazy, we try it anyway. I even had him record and mix blindfolded—normally you’d watch for distortion, but I wanted him to trust his ears, not the gear.

Q: What was your creative relationship like?

Moon: We were two very different minds. His talent was musical genius. Mine was concepts, soundscapes, branding. I couldn’t do what he did—but I could create a space where he could do it without fear. No audience, no critics, just full freedom. We were building something that had never been done.

Q: You also helped build his brand, right?

Moon: Absolutely. The name “Prince” wasn’t even his idea. He didn’t want to use it because girls in school would call him Princess.— he wanted to go by “Mr. Nelson.” And I just couldn’t get behind it. We had a three-month knockdown, drag-out over that one. I told him, “Look, I’m putting in the time. I’m covering the costs. And when this is done, I can’t walk out and say, ‘You’ve got to hear Mr. Nelson.’ I just can’t do it.”

Eventually I gave him the ultimatum: either we go with Prince or we fold it up. He asked if I was serious. I said I was. He finally said, ‘Fine. We’ll go with Prince.’

Q: And then came the idea for a color — how did that happen?

Moon: I was working at an ad agency, doing campaigns for big names like Pillsbury and General Mills. One day I saw 15 people in a room debating which shade of yellow to use on a cereal box. They were spending hundreds of dollars on that one decision. And it hit me — color matters.

So I went back to the studio and said, ‘We need a color. I’ve never seen a recording artist who had one. Let’s create one so that when people see it, they think of you.’ I said, ‘We’ve got two real options: royal blue or purple.’ Royal blue felt ordinary. Purple was different. Unusual. He agreed — purple it was. And years later, cities around the world lit up purple in his honor. No one had ever done that for an artist before.

Q: How did you decide on the themes behind his first songs?

Moon: Look, we were trying to turn a 5’1” guy with no track record into a pop star. We needed an edge. I’d seen how suggestive sexuality was used in advertising — it’s a strong current for young people. I didn’t want it to be vulgar, but it had to be bold enough to get the point across.

So I wrote lyrics that were double entendres — implied sexuality. That’s how ‘Soft and Wet’ was born. It had enough cover that if someone asked… Well, two years later my proper British mother heard it on the radio. She came up to me and said, ‘I love your song, but I just have one question…’ And I knew what was coming. She asked, ‘What is Soft and Wet?’ I looked her straight in the eye and said, ‘Mother, it’s about a kiss.’

Q: And all this tied back into the artist package you created?

Moon: Exactly. Everything had to connect — the name, the lyrics, the image, the sound. I wrote three of the four songs on the demo tape. That tape got him the largest contract Warner Bros had ever offered a new artist. It was all part of a bigger picture — we weren’t just making music, we were crafting an identity.

Forging the Minneapolis Sound: Chris Moon on Creating a New Genre

In a small studio in Minneapolis, long before the world knew his name, Prince and producer Chris Moon were crafting more than just music. They were unknowingly giving birth to a new genre. In this segment, Moon reflects on how their creative experiments sparked what would become known as the Minneapolis sound — a fusion of funk, synth, and fearless innovation.

Q: You’ve said what happened in the studio with Prince led to the creation of a whole new genre. Can you talk about that?

Moon: Yeah — what happened in that studio wasn’t just about making songs. It was the creation of something entirely new. Prince and I — just the two of us — we developed a sound that ended up changing the music industry. What later became known as the *Minneapolis sound* really started right there.

You’ve got to remember, Minneapolis was known for Bob Dylan. That folk tradition. So going from Dylan to Prince? That’s a massive leap. A total transition. And we didn’t just ride a wave — we built it.

Q: What made the Minneapolis sound different? What were you doing that no one else was?

Moon: We were experimenting in ways no one else was. We were using Oberheim synthesizers, which at the time hadn’t really shown up much in pop or funk music. We mixed that with this very funky, syncopated beat — tight, unpredictable, and different from what you’d hear on the radio.

That blend — gritty funk and futuristic synths — just wasn’t being done yet. And it wasn’t polished. We were experimenting, pushing boundaries. Some of it worked. Some of it didn’t. But it all moved us forward.

Q: So the sound evolved naturally in that space?

Moon: It really did. I mean, we were just writing. We’d tracked three or four songs — had the bass, guitar, keyboards, drums laid down — and this was early. I made mistakes. I still do — ask my wife. But that’s part of the process.

There were no rules. That studio became a sandbox, a lab. And Prince was the perfect collaborator because he didn’t just accept that — he thrived in it. The sound we made — that was the Minneapolis sound. It didn’t exist before us.

Q: After all that success, did you think, ‘Let me do it again’?

Moon: Someone told me I just got lucky. That lit a fire. I opened my studio for 24-hour walk-in auditions. Grandmas, babies, it didn’t matter who. Then this big guy walks in — Alexander O’Neal. I worked with him for a year. Handed him off to Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Janet Jackson’s producers. He went double platinum. So no, it wasn’t luck.

A Nod from Prince: Chris Moon on ‘Under the Cherry Moon’

Long after their early studio experiments, Chris Moon received an unexpected call from Prince that hinted at a subtle, personal tribute. What followed was a surprising revelation involving a movie, a pen name, and a romantic rivalry — all woven into Prince’s iconic post-Purple Rain work.

Q: Did you ever hear from Prince again after he made it big?

Moon: Yeah, I did. A few years after *Purple Rain*, he calls me out of the blue. He says, ‘Hey, just wanted to let you know — I made a movie about you.’ I said, ‘You must’ve been bored.’ But he was serious. The movie was *Under the Cherry Moon*. He plays a character named Christopher — that’s me. The opening credits even say: ‘This movie’s about Christopher. Christopher cares about two things — girls and money.’

He left out music, of course. But that was Prince — playful, mysterious. He was always good at leaving things open to interpretation.

Q: And the name Christopher Tracy — where did that come from?

Moon: That’s where it gets funny. Back when I was producing Prince, my girlfriend at the time was named Tracy. And Prince didn’t love that — he was always kind of annoyed when I’d go out with her. He’d say, ‘Don’t go out with Tracy.’ So there we were, Christopher and Tracy, sitting in a tree. Then later, when he wrote ‘Manic Monday’ for The Bangles, he used a pen name: Christopher.

I always thought that was his little nod to me — his thank you, maybe. He never paid for the studio time, and I never sent a bill. But in his own way, I think that was it. A movie, a song credit, and a subtle wink. Nobody really knows that story. But for me, it was kind of heartwarming.

Q: Did Prince ever ask for any favors after that?

Moon: Just one time, he calls and says, “I want you to do for my dad what you did for me.” So his dad shows up with an accordion. I had to tell him, “Look, you’re talented, but I don’t know any famous accordion players. I’m not your guy.”

Chris Moon on Reinventing Himself in Tech and Global Marketing

After his early success launching Prince’s career, Chris Moon didn’t settle down — he reinvented himself entirely. In this segment, Moon shares how he unexpectedly broke into the tech world and built a global marketing software empire, serving clients like IBM, Apple, Intel, and the Olympics — all without formal training in programming.

Q: What did you do after working with Prince?

Moon: I thought I did a good job — I got the job done, accomplished what I wanted to. But I wanted to see if there was anything else in me, any other talent worth exploring. So I switched gears and started a computer marketing and programming company.

I ended up doing marketing for IBM, Intel, Apple, the Olympics, the Super Bowl, Wells Fargo — the world’s biggest companies. And I wasn’t just consulting. I was writing the software myself — building programs they would use to market themselves globally.

Q: How did you land clients like IBM and Apple?

Moon: I sold IBM on letting me build their software marketing tool when they launched a new operating system. I wrote the entire program myself, put my own phone number on it for tech support, and they sent it out — millions of copies — all over the world.

The trick was, I was the only guy in the world who figured out how to make a multilingual program — ten languages — fit on a single floppy disk. Nobody else could do it. I had never taken a computer class in my life. Still haven’t. But somehow I figured it out.

Q: And Apple hired you too?

Moon: Yeah, Apple came to me and said, ‘We don’t know how you’re doing it, but it’s amazing — and we’ll hire you.’ So I went from being broke in the music world to doing high-level marketing software for Fortune 500 companies. And honestly, that was part of the appeal — working with people who could actually pay me.

I did that for years, worked with most of the largest companies in the world. Eventually, I thought, okay — done that. What’s next?

Chris Moon: From PBS to Lions in Africa to Jungle Missions and the Search for America’s Lost Heroes

After blazing trails in both music and marketing, Chris Moon turned to filmmaking. In true Moon fashion, he pursued it without credentials, armed only with a bold idea — and a shark cage. This is the story behind his PBS documentary, *Father of the Lions*.

Q: So how did you get into filmmaking after working in tech and music?

Moon: Well, I remembered I still had something on my bucket list: make a film. So I walked into PBS and said, ‘I want to make a film for you.’ They said, ‘Have you ever made a film before?’ I said, ‘No.’ They said, ‘We’re not going to hire you to make a film if you’ve never made one.’ I said, ‘Yes, you will.’

Q: What made you think they’d go for it?

Moon: I told them I had an idea unlike anything they’d ever heard before. I said, ‘I’m going to Africa, with a shark cage. I’m going to put that cage in the middle of the jungle, hang meat on it, and film wild lions up close from inside.’ PBS said, ‘That’s the dumbest thing we’ve ever heard.’ I said, ‘Told you you’d like it.’ They did — and they greenlit it.

Q: You actually went to Africa with a shark cage?

Moon: Yep. The film’s called *Father of the Lions*. I flew to Kenya with the shark cage in tow, not even knowing how to work the camera. I stayed with George Adamson — the man made famous by the *Born Free* films. He looked at me and said, ‘Why the shark cage?’ I told him what I planned to do. He said, ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’ I said, ‘That’s what PBS said too.’

Q: And the lions?

Moon: George had a camel leg hanging on a tree. He handed it to me and said, ‘Come with me.’ We drove 20 miles into the bush, pulled up to a riverbed. He pulled out a bullhorn and called out, and from 500 yards away, six wild lions came running. I was standing there in sandals, shorts — no gun, no protection. I turned to him and asked, ‘Is this safe?’ He says, ‘Only if you don’t get scared. If you get scared, they’ll smell your fear. You’ll end up dead — or in the hospital, like the last film crew.’

Q: What happened next?

Moon: I hand-fed the lions. Got it all on film. That was part of the documentary. It aired on PBS and has played for decades. After that… I found my wife. I’d already found the wildest cats I could. She came next. Good training, Africa. She does have claws too.

Q: What inspired your work in Papua New Guinea?

Moon: Well, my father and I decided one week—because it was kind of a slow week—to start a nonprofit organization. The idea? We’d go to the middle of the jungles of Papua New Guinea and live among tribes of headhunters. Why? To find lost American MIAs from World War II—pilots who had crashed in the jungle. Most people don’t realize it, but Papua New Guinea was the front line, the beachhead for America fighting Japan. It was as close as we could get.

Q: That sounds incredibly dangerous. What were the conditions like?

Moon: Extremely inhospitable. Horrible weather, massive mountain ranges, and about a thousand different dialects spoken. Planes were crashing constantly during the war, and so many pilots were never found. Wherever we went, they had never seen white people before. We would go out into the jungle with these headhunters—they’d guide us to the crash sites.

Q: What did you do when you found these crash sites?

Moon: We’d get GPS coordinates and identify the planes. Then we’d transmit those to the U.S. military. They had a forensic unit that would go in and recover the bodies. We did that for years. We never charged the families anything. It was our way of honoring those who never made it home.

Q: What drove you to take this on?

Moon: I was never in the military myself. I was around during the Vietnam era but never went to war. And even though I’m a British citizen, I’ve lived in America a long time. So I always felt like I owed a little something back. That was my way of giving back—helping bring these guys home. We found hundreds and hundreds of lost Americans.

Q: Is the work still going on?

Moon: The website is still up—MIAhunters.com. And another site, Wildlifenow.com, is still active too. That one ties back to the lion work in Africa. Tony Fitzjohn, who took over for George Adamson, passed away recently, but his family is continuing the conservation work.

The ‘Voice of America’ Project – A National Anthem of Equality

Q: Is there one project that really broke your heart but taught you something?

Chris Moon: Yeah — One of my favorite failures: I created a musical project called Colors after 9/11, — 50 states, 50 artists, every genre, all performing one song with different arrangements. Sent it to all the major outlets with a coordinated national release. I thought, this is it. 

It started when I wrote this song called “Colors.” It was about unity, equality — how we’re all the same no matter our color. I had this wild idea to bring together a band from every state — not famous people, just regular, real artists. I wanted all genres: jazz, reggae, country, rap, blues, Spanish — you name it. I spent a year pulling it together. I wrote the lyrics and sent them out. Each band created their own music to it.

Every day, Dona and I would go to the mailbox and find a new version waiting. It was like Christmas. Each one sounded totally different, totally fresh. It was so cool. We put it all together into a red, white, and blue CD collection. The idea was, on the one-year anniversary of 9/11, every artist would launch a coordinated press campaign in their local markets. I pre-wrote the press releases, got everyone lined up — even had national press ready: Oprah, Time, Newsweek, Rolling Stone. It was brilliant. Never been done before.

Then — the week of the launch — the anthrax scare hit. Same exact week. Suddenly no one would open unsolicited mail. I got calls from Time and Rolling Stone saying they were throwing everything away. A year of work — all gone, just like that. But I’ll tell you what — I still believe in what that project stood for. And it was a hell of a ride. That failure was a bigger education than any success I’ve ever had.

Q: Your family life must’ve been pretty unique with all these adventures. How did your son react growing up around that?

Dona Moon: Oh, we’ve got a great story from when our son Sterling was in first grade. He went to school telling his teacher that we were off living with headhunters and that his dad had discovered Prince and was finding crashed airplane sites. So we go into our first parent-teacher conference and the teacher says, “Your son has the most vivid imagination I’ve ever seen.” And I just looked at her and said, “Well, has he ever told you his dad vacuums?” She said no, and I said, “That would be the lie. Everything else? Totally true.”
We’ve learned not to share too much because it just sounds so unbelievable. But that’s just been our life.

What Chris Moon Is Working On Now

Q: What are you working on right now that excites you the most?

Moon: Right now, I’m neck-deep in some really exciting projects that bring together everything I love — science, music, technology, even a little bit of magic. I’m building advanced AI tools — not the off-the-shelf kind, but original software that composes, arranges, and generates new ideas across disciplines. It’s where tech meets creativity.

But what I’m really passionate about these days is frequency healing. I’m using sound therapies to potentially regenerate tissue, break down amyloids in the brain — treatments that could help with Alzheimer’s. I’ve also developed a device that restructures fluids — like medicine or supplements — at the molecular level so they’re more bioavailable. That means you take less, and it works better. Nobody’s commercialized it yet, but they will. In ten years, frequency healing won’t be fringe — it’ll be frontline.

Q: And you’re still writing music?

Moon: Constantly. I’ve written thousands of songs over the years — I probably crank out a few albums worth of material every month. Some tracks sit in my vault, some get picked up. I just had a song recorded by Snoop Dogg. He called me a week after I sent it and sent me his vocal track 14 days later. Still trying to do a little something-something after 20 million in music sales, you know?

And recently, I was asked to send a song for someone named “Marshall Mathers.” I said, “Yeah, I can find something for her.” They go, “Do you know who that is?” I didn’t. Turns out, it was Eminem. [laughs]

Q: With such a massive catalog, how are you using it now?

Moon: Last week, I launched an internet radio station — airadiohits.com — featuring all original music across every genre. It’s a playground for my catalog, and I’m also talking with people about film licensing. Plus, we’ve still got the original piano lyric sheets — the songs Prince would pick from back in the day.

Honestly, I’ve never stopped creating. It’s just evolved. Now I get to play with sound, light, molecules, and still — always — music.

Chris Moon – Reinvention, Resilience, and What He’s Working on Now

Q: That kind of reinvention seems rare. What drives it?
Moon: Curiosity. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly smart. I barely got through high school. No college degree to speak of. I just believe in myself wildly and jump into things I have no business doing. That’s the secret. And I’m not afraid to fail.

Q: That’s something you talk about often — failure.
Moon: Absolutely. You learn nothing from success. When something works, you just keep doing it the same way and never grow. But failure? That teaches you everything. 

Q: So how do you keep going after setbacks like that?
Moon: That’s the difference. Most people think failure is the end. I think it’s just another tool.

Q: What keeps you going today?
Moon: I stay up until 3 a.m. every night. Our motto is: ‘You can’t reach the Moon before noon.’ I run companies, help my son launch his own, still invent, still write, still build. People say I work too much. I say, I play too much.

Q: For anyone out there who’s dreaming of something wild, something out of reach, what would you say?
Moon: Don’t wait for permission. Don’t wait for the right credentials. Just start. Fail hard, and keep failing until something clicks. If you believe in yourself, even when it’s unreasonable, you’ll end up somewhere remarkable. I mean, look at me — I’m just a guy who thought a 16-year-old kid from Minneapolis with no voice could change the world. And he did.

Quality of Place – Chris Moon on Discovering Alva, Florida

Q: You’ve lived in cities most of your life. How did you end up falling in love with Alva?

Moon: Yeah, that surprised even me. I mean, when we first moved here, I looked around and said, “There’s just a gas station out here.” I told my wife, “Give me two years. If I’m not happy, we’ll move.” That was over a decade ago. And we’re still here. Turns out, she was right. Again.

Q: What changed?

Moon: I’m a tech guy — I like my fiber optics, fast connections, overnight shipping. Back then, I was stuck with copper internet lines. Couldn’t ship anything easily. It felt like I’d moved to the moon — and not in the good way. But we’d done life my way for a long time. So I said, “Let’s do it your way.” And you know what? It was the better way.

Q: So what is it about Alva that got to you?

Moon: There’s a tranquility that just takes over when you drive past cows, open fields, canopied roads. There’s elbow room here — literal space to breathe. It reminds me of living in Africa, actually. That same raw naturalness, that same quiet. It sparks creativity in a different way. You can’t understand the value of a natural life until you step away from the synthetic one.

Q: You once said you could go anywhere in the world from your backyard. What did you mean by that?

Moon: We live on the Caloosahatchee River. If you’ve got a boat, a canoe, even a paddleboard — you can go anywhere. That river connects to the Intracoastal. It’s open ocean to the Gulf, the Atlantic, the world. It’s a metaphor, but it’s also literal. That sense of freedom, that ability to launch from right here — that’s rare.

Q: That’s a powerful image.

Moon: Yeah. You don’t hear people talk about that. But this is one of the only places in the country where a river runs east to west. Most go north to south. Here, we’re tucked in the bottom of the country, and that waterway stretches out — one continuous ribbon. You can look out from our elevated backyard and think: I could be in Cuba, France, or the Keys if I wanted. And that’s not just poetic. It’s real. Try that in California.

Q: Sounds like you’ve found more than just a home here.

Moon: Alva’s the gateway to the world. Peaceful, creative, connected in ways people don’t expect. Took me 70 years to say something original — but I think that’s it.

ARTISTS RECORDED BY MOONSOUND (partial list):

• Aaron Ficchi

• Alexander O’Neal (Double platinum artist discovered at MoonSound)

• Amory Chesterton

• Andre Cymone

• Arne Fogel

• Band of Thieves

• Barry Thomas Goldberg

• BB King

• Ben Sidran

• Bill Gaskill (MoonSound House Band)

• Bobby John

• Brandon Bailey Johnson (MoonSound House Producer)

• Cain

• Chameleon

• Champagne

• Charles “Chaz” Smith

• Chase Walker

• Climax Blues Band

• Cohesion (MoonSound House Band)

• Crow

• Cynthia Johnson (Vocalist on Funkytown)

• DaSyndicate

• Dave Peterson

• Del Counts

• Dez Dickerson

• Dondino

• Eddie Wardell

• Eric Aletky (MoonSound House Band)

• EV

• Geo (Exclusive MoonSound artist)

• Gor Sujyan

• Gianna Minichiello

• Hall and Danielson

• Herman Jones (Stephen Faison, Josh Weaver, Chuck Smith, Howard Arthur)

• Jan Edwards

• Jason Bonham

• Jeff Dayton

• Jerry Jeff Walker

• Jim Plattes

• Jimmie Jam

• Joe Walsh

• Joey Busse

• John Rivers (MoonSound House Producer)

• Johnny Coddaire

• Jose Safra

• Kansas

• Kaitlyn Roling

• Karey Lee Woolsey

• Karl Olsen

• Katie Tich

• Lamont Cranston

• Larry Ankrum  (MoonSound House Band)

• Lewis Connection (Andre and Pierre Lewis)

• Liam Zondervan

• Luke Underhill

• Lyssa Coulter

• Mark Aletky  (MoonSound House Band)

• Mark Brown

• Mark Lickteig

• Marve Bottke

• Marvin Hamlish

• Maryanne Swidron

• Matt Fink

• Mind & Matter

• Morris Day

• Muddy Waters

• Muske and Rathes

• Nicky Spring (Mary Biem)

• Orville Shannon

• Paul Westerberg

• Paulina Dmitrenko

• Peter Lang

• Peter Macpherson

• Power

• Prince

• Priscilla

• Quiet Storm

• Raymoane

• Rennaissance

• Rick Gillmore (MoonSound House Band)

• Robbie Lawrence (Howard Lapiedes)

• Rockie Robbins

• Rocky Garrity (MoonSound House Band)

• Ronnie Robbins (MoonSound House Band)

• Roxanne Peterson

• Ryan Desiato

• Ryan Jenkins

• Scott Sansby (MoonSound House Band)

• Sheila Ray (Ray Charles daughter)

• Spark (Garr Johnson, Rick Johnson, Mark Lickteig, & Dave Peterson)

• Steve Kimmel Trio

• Steve Mecca

• Steve Wagner

• SueAnn Carwell

• T.Keal

• Taj Mahal

• Terry Lewis

• Trevor James

• The Can Band

• The Icon

• The Suburbs

• Tom Tipton

• Tyler Rayn

• Vixen

• Walter Riley

• Willie Walker