This just popped up as a memory from my regular page. I believe part of his payment was for the cords to hook up all his pedals. Jake said he had those all hooked up.

his just popped up as a memory from my regular page, and I have to say—it really brought me back. Funny how certain moments sneak up on you like that, completely out of nowhere, carrying with them the full weight of a story you’d almost forgotten. I remember this particular day so clearly, and now that I’m thinking about it, I believe part of his payment was for the cords to hook up all his pedals. That detail might sound small, but in the world of music, every connection matters—literally and metaphorically.

We were helping Jake set up his rig, and as always, he had a very specific vision for how he wanted everything to sound. It wasn’t just about plugging things in and making noise; it was about sculpting tone, layering textures, and creating a space where inspiration could live. He mentioned he already had the cords hooked up, but we all know how that goes. There’s always one that hums, one that’s too short, or one that’s mysteriously vanished since the last gig. But Jake—he was always two steps ahead. By the time we got there, he had everything snaked around his board with that signature neatness he swore was “organized chaos.”

Thinking back now, I realize how often we overlook the little things that go into a musician’s craft. The cords, the patch cables, the adapters—all those unsung pieces that aren’t glamorous but are absolutely essential. It wasn’t just about the guitar or the amp. It was about ensuring the whole chain—from foot to finger to speaker—was solid. That kind of care, that kind of preparation, says a lot about a person.

And maybe that’s what made Jake stand out. He cared. Not just about gear, but about sound, about people, about the experience of making music together. He wasn’t one to show off or make a big deal about the work he put in. But it was always there, in the details. He didn’t just hook up his pedals—he built a soundscape, and he invited us into it every time we played.

That memory reminded me not only of a gig or a setup day—it reminded me of the camaraderie, the shared passion, the late-night sessions when we were running on caffeine and adrenaline and sheer love for what we were doing. Those days didn’t feel extraordinary at the time, but now? They shine a little brighter in retrospect.

So here’s to the small things that end up meaning more than we realize. To the cords, the cables, the quiet commitment. And to Jake, who always made sure the connection was strong—on the pedalboard and in the friendships we built along the way.