In one of life’s little coincidences, I was brought up in a house set right in the middle of Art Street.

I loved music since I was a little kid. My father, who owned a company that serviced jukeboxes, would bring home the latest 45's for my brother and me to hear. I remember romping around our San Diego house, air-drumming wildly to the latest Beatles or Beach Boys tune, and from then on I couldn't get enough.

When I was nine, I was placed in an experimental electronics class. After setting fire to an entire wall-- details available upon request, but it was an accident, I swear-- I was dropped off at the only other class with an opening: piano. Apparently I impressed the teacher, because she called my parents and urged them to buy a piano.

I don't know how my folks did it, but a piano showed up the next day, and I will love them forever for that. I took lessons for about 9 months, and I burned out one teacher after another. They wanted me to play Chopin, but I only wanted to play songs from the radio by ear. I won that particular battle-- the lessons were stopped. (Every time I sit at the piano today, I wish I'd been less persuasive.) Fortunately, I've since had many other great teachers to guide me.

Meanwhile, my brother Andy was turning into a great rock drummer. I watched with envy as he rehearsed in our garage with his band, and soon decided that drums were my new love. By the time I was 11, I had transformed myself into a rock drummer, gigging around town with a pre-pubescent trio.

I became very provincial in my musical tastes.

As a newly-minted rock 'n roller, I looked down on any other form of music. Then one eventful day in the 7th grade, I was approached by a young Nathan East. I kind of knew he was a musician, but we ran in such different circles that we never spoke. In fact, when I look back, Nathan might have been the first black person with whom I'd ever carried on a meaningful conversation. He told me his jazz band's drummer was sick, and he wanted me to sub for a gig. If it weren't for the promise of some hefty pay ($10), I'd have passed, since I had no taste for jazz.

The next day I found myself sitting in a room with four talented young jazz musicians: Nathan, Carl Evans Jr., Hollis Gentry III, and Casper Glenn. I set up my drums and awaited instructions. Instead, Hollis called out a Pharaoh Sanders tune and started to count it in! I yelled "Wait! What am I supposed to play?" With a sly grin, Hollis told me "Hey, this is jazz. All you have to do is play what you feel." That one comment probably kickstarted puberty at that precise moment, and I entered into a life-long love affair with jazz, an artform so filled with mystery that every attempt to define what it is usually ends up illustrating what it is not.

Not long after that, I discovered Synanon, an experimental community that was set up to help people in trouble with drugs. I was simply blown away by the personal transformations I witnessed, and I decided to do whatever I had to do to help the organization out. I'd come down every day after school and mop the floors, talk to worried parents, and anything else that was needed. Synanon was an extremely creative community - of course, lots of musicians and artists seem to have trouble with drugs, but the non-addicts, or "squares" who were there were also extremely interesting. By the time I had turned 18, I had some scholarships to study music at CalState Northridge, but my heart was really set on moving into the Synanon community, and maybe teaching music to the kids in the Synanon school system.

Instead, I hit the jackpot: trombone legend Frank Rehak had come to Synanon to clean up from his heroin addiction for the last time. Even as a junkie, Frank had been well-loved both as a musician and as a man. Once he got healthy, he married and settled into a rich career of teaching and performing at Synanon. He and I hit it off right away, and I am eternally grateful to Frank for taking me under his wing. For 15 years, he was my mentor and good friend.

Frank was diagnosed with throat cancer in 1984 and was given 3 months to live. 3 long years later, we recorded our last performance together. He died 6 months later. The final song we recorded, The Man With The Horn, appears on my album "Plays Well With Others." Click here to hear a Real Audio sample of Frank and me on "The Man With The Horn".

The Synanon experience was extremely rich for me. I made friends with people that I never would have spoken to, because we were committed to breaking down alienation. It was a timely lesson for me, seeing how much seemingly diverse people actually have in common. I had always wanted to change the world-- that’s what it said in my high school yearbook-- and in some small way I've actually had a chance to try. In fact, I’m still trying!

Throughout the 20 years I spent with Synanon, I always felt like I was beating the system. We didn't have any money to speak of, but our resources were pooled so we all lived pretty well. I didn’t own a lot of material possessions, and sometimes I miss that aspect more than anything else. Instead of filling our lives up with common everyday tasks like getting your car serviced or paying the bills, we placed a lot of emphasis on the grace notes of life, you might say-- working on personal relationships, "big picture" brainstorming, entertaining, and our own version of "the arts." It was not a perfect community, but it would be an understatement to say that I had a grand time and a great education. And I also met the love of my life-- Glenda Alice Garrett.

Over the years, I got into creative marketing and advertising through AdGap, originally one of Synanon's fundraising businesses. In 1989, Glenda and I teamed up to create some fairly hip work for the pharmaceutical products division of Abbott Laboratories, and ended up spending a decade working with many terrific people there. I will always be grateful to the folks at Abbott who placed their trust in us, and pushed us to new creative heights every year.

As the '90s approached, Synanon shut its doors, AdGap was standing on its own, and Glenda and I finally entered mainstream society! (You mean to say that if our refrigerator breaks down, we can’t just call Maintenance and have them drop off a new one? And we have to pay these all these bills EVERY MONTH?) Actually, we settled happily into a beautiful home in Exeter, CA, near AdGap's Visalia offices, and began raising our family of basset hounds and beagle basset crosses.

March of 1999 found us returning to the scene of the crime-San Diego. My dad had passed away, and it was time to help Mom more than we could from such a long distance. Shortly after my mom died, my brother Andy and his longtime love Dagmar got married and moved into our old house on Art Street, one of the happiest events of the last decade for me.

Wait--what about the music, you're asking? Well--it's been flowing nonstop! I try hard to not repeat myself artistically. Since I've been in San Diego, I've played and recorded with some great jazz cats here including Tripp and Peter Sprague, Duncan Moore, and Ken Dow. Because I could play about 15 instruments, my first few albums were basically one-man band stuff (with guest appearances from friends). But far more exciting, though, is the work I've done since 1998: Plays Well With Others, SitJazzDown, Jazz For a Winter's Eve, Let Freedom Swing, and Two Days in November - all strong examples of my compositions brought to life by fantastic players.

I've also started producing artists whose work I love, such as Michelle Abby (Spinner and Yes World) and my brother Andy (The Andy Robinson Band and Exotic America). And I've even scored my feature film, an indie called Lost Lake (available from Netflicks!) produced by Adams Entertainment.

A few years back, Glenda and I started getting requests to use various Doug Robinson recordings as hip corporate giveaways. The numbers were pretty staggering for jazz. By the third CD order, I decided to include music from other musicians who I thought deserved wider recognition. This led to the creation of Jazzooo Productions, which specializes in custom music CDs. Our goal is to persuade corporate America to use original music from independent artists as business gifts, instead of more common fare like imprinted caps and mugs. In this capacity, I've been able to promote the music of friends and role models such as Peter Erskine, Fred Simon, Rob Mounsey, Don Grusin, Peter Sprague, Wayne Johnson, and Michelle Abby.

In the middle of all the above, 9/11 happened and changed our lives forever. I didn't release any music for several months-didn't actually see the point of making it, to be honest. But being the resiliant and cocky American that I am...check out my store to see my two newest projects. Midlife Chrysalis is my first ever vocal album, featuring witty and personal songs with sophisticated arrangements. And Yes World is Michelle Abby's fab followup to the glorious album she called Spinner.

There's always more to tell when you have an adventurous family unit like mine. At the end of 2004, Glenda and I bought a home in San Miguel De Allende, Mexico, and we're just loving the people and the pace. I've started a funky jazz band there called Mo' Ritmo with guitarist Ken Basman, and as of this writing we sound pretty darned good. George, the wonder pet, died in 2003, and his replacement Duffy has created a place in our family with grace and ease. Well, actually with a lot of howling, but it's working out.

We send our love and hope that you will enjoy the music. I write it for myself, but I record it for you. So take a moment, check out the new work, and please pick up a couple of CDs if you think you'll enjoy them!

All the best,