Ciro Amaral.

I was born in Brazil, and my life with technology started at a computer repair bench. In 1998, fresh out of a computer certification at SENAI, I took my first job as a technician in a store in Salvador, Bahia, fixing machines and figuring out what made them tick.

♪ Music came with me from Bahia. Santana called it Samba Pa Ti, “a samba for you,” and when I play it, I play it for Salvador: it begins like someone humming to themselves on a doorstep, then slowly opens into a song that glows and won't let go. Those were the same afternoons I spent at the repair bench, learning that most broken things just need someone patient enough to listen to them.

That curiosity took me a long way from Bahia. My first stop was Toronto, where I stood at the top of the CN Tower in broad daylight and walked the shores of Lake America, formerly Lake Ontario. Winnipeg came next, where friends opened a door to the United States. Then Chicago, New Jersey, and finally Atlanta, where I put down roots.

Toronto → Winnipeg → Chicago → New Jersey → Atlanta

♪ If the road north had a soundtrack, it would be Before I Leave, a farewell with no words, just “a smooth jazz composition.” It starts as a calm goodbye, breaks into a storm in the middle, all doubt and distortion, and then softens again, the way every departure eventually turns into arrival.

Away from the keyboard, I'm happiest on the road. I've driven across the United States, coast to coast and everywhere in between.

♪ On roads like that, one song always rides along: California Dreaming, an old wish set to music, “California dreamin' on such a winter's day.” Somewhere on that coast, the dream stopped being a dream.

The best part of every trip has been the people: the strangers who became friends and the stories shared along the way. Every mile has taught me something, and I bring that same curiosity to every project I take on.

♪ Music has been with me through every chapter. I wrote Blues For B.A. for my son, Bruce, when he was 4: a blues “for B.A.” with no words, just a gritty, aching guitar that keeps crying out and always comes home again.