Bringing Joy to the World: My Journey So Far (in brief)

I’ve always loved music. I credit this in part to my mum, who constantly played new music around the house. As a kid, she’d bribe me to behave at the grocery store with the promise that afterwards, she’d take me to the record store. It was the highlight of my week, and I soaked up every sound I could get my hands on.

Back then, we didn’t have YouTube or the iTunes Store—so we mostly relied on radio or MTV to hear new music. But my mum wouldn’t let me browse the pop section; instead, she guided me to the import area, where fresh and wonderful releases from around the world were waiting. I spent my time making mixtapes for friends, taping late-night indie radio shows, and constantly chasing unique and interesting sounds that lit me up.

Discovering Dance Music

When I was an early teen, my older brother moved back home after living in the UK for a few years. He brought with him a set of turntables and a few crates of records, which introduced me to dance music. I’d spend hours with him late at night, spinning late ’90s house, prog, and techno. Those sessions opened my eyes to the music scene abroad and showed me there was a whole world of sound out there.

Getting My Own Turntables

Fast-forward a few years to my 18th birthday. All I wanted was my own set of turntables, and my parents agreed that if I worked and saved up, they’d match whatever I could contribute. After weekends and nights at a local café, I pulled together $1,000—and my parents matched it. I scored a second-hand set of turntables and was presented them on my birthday.

I had already collected some records over the years, and now I finally had a way to play them. Night after night, I was mixing and honing my skills, and eventually felt I was good enough to start playing in clubs.

The problem was, nobody would book me.

My First Event

At the time, I worked for a company that posted billstickers around town, so I often stopped by my favourite club to pick up their posters and flyers for my routes. One day, the manager mentioned that a promoter had cancelled for the following Friday and he was stuck with an empty slot. I saw my chance.

I told him I was a promoter myself and would happily book the night—and somehow, he agreed. Only thing was, I’d never run a show before, and I didn’t actually have artists lined up. But I had an idea: some friends of mine, who were well known in the local scene, had a secret project under the alias TRUTH. Their music was gaining traction overseas, but their identity was still somewhat under wraps. They agreed to play their debut public appearance under this new alias.

I got a poster made, rented a sound system, and started spreading the word. I told everyone I knew and blanketed the city with promotion. The night arrived and it sold out. It was a blur—I was also making my debut as a support DJ—but I do remember the manager coming to me at the end of the night, saying how great it was, and asking, “When’s your next show?”

Building What’s Down Low

I was hooked. I named the brand What’s Down Low and soon started bringing international artists to New Zealand at a time when it wasn’t a weekly occurrence like it is now. This was still the era of pre-digital DJing, so if you wanted to hear certain tunes, you had to be in the room.

I was still figuring it all out and didn’t have access to the “bigger” artists yet, so I got really good at spotting talent on the rise and booking them early, while they were still relatively inexpensive. One of my biggest early wins was booking an act called NERO, who, between the time I booked them and the actual show date, had a couple of monster releases. By the time they arrived in Christchurch, the show was sold out, with a queue around the block of people hoping for door sales.

That was my first real taste of how quickly things could grow. We went from packing 400-person clubs to needing 1,500-person capacity venues. It came with a lot more responsibility, but I loved it. I felt like I was levelling up with each event.

The Christchurch Earthquake

Then in the summer of 2011, the Christchurch earthquake hit.

My house was destroyed, my business collapsed, and it felt like my entire world had crumbled in an instant. Yet in a strange way, it was also a reset. I moved to Nelson, played music for a living (by this stage I was fairly accomplished as a DJ), and used that time to reconnect with what was really important.

Taking on Rhythm & Alps

A couple of years later, I had the chance to buy into a failed music festival called Rhythm & Alps. It had started strong but then wiped out, losing close to $1 million. The owners were looking to shut down the business. Most people saw a disaster; I saw potential. I was literally dreaming about it. So I backed myself and dived in.

My new business partner and I stripped it down and rebuilt it from the ground up. It wasn’t easy—there was a lot of debt to manage and foundations to fix—but we had a vision: create a platform that allowed us to bring global artists to New Zealand, many of whom wouldn’t have been able to come otherwise.

Over time, we turned it around. Rhythm & Alps became one of New Zealand’s flagship festivals—profitable, respected, and full of heart and soul. One of my best moments was having my parents stand side-stage on New Year’s Eve, fireworks overhead, with 10,000 smiling faces in front of us. Everyone else had said I was crazy for taking it on, but my parents always backed me, and that moment was one of the proudest of my life. I’ll never forget that.

The Bold COVID Call

When COVID hit, we made some bold decisions—like committing early to a fully local lineup while other events still banked on the borders opening. Eventually, those other festivals had to cancel, but we went ahead. That year, we were one of the only New Year’s festivals in the world to actually happen. Friends from around the globe sent me articles in their own languages about us. It was surreal.

Afterwards, we got a buyout offer. It was bittersweet to let it go, and my business partner chose to remain, but for me it was time to move on. By then, I was living mostly in Europe and needed space to figure out what was next.

Enter Alegria Worldwide

And what’s next… is Alegria.

Alegria (Portuguese/Spanish for “JOY”) is all about intimate, intentional gatherings in beautiful places. It’s about bringing together artists, writers, filmmakers, musicians, and event producers—anyone creating beautiful things—so we can show the world what’s possible through art and music. Making connections across borders, languages and cultures. Think of it as a creative playground for grown-ups, a co-created global family.

Right now, I’m building Alegria so it lives both online and on the ground. I want to capture the energy of a live event but record it in a way that can be shared with the world, giving access to all. I’m working with promoters, producers, and creatives on event strategy, artist booking, brand development, and navigating the (often messy) magic of this industry. I’ve been through the chaos and come out the other side, and I love helping people bring their visions to life in a collaborative way.

I’m also laying the foundation for a travelling series of creative gatherings—each one a spark of joy and artistic energy that can ripple out far beyond the people in the room. I see these gatherings as a chance to forge deeper connections, celebrate new music and art, and keep building the kind of global community that once seemed impossible.

Bringing Joy to the World

We’ve gone global, but the mission hasn’t changed since my old mixtape days: bring joy to the world. This is the heart of everything I do. Music has always been my way of connecting with people, and I hope Alegria can help others find that same spark in themselves.

Keep chasing what lights you up, and never underestimate the power of music to bring people together.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. There’s so much more to come.