Carl White
The progeny of a "professional chemist" + another chemist who would sneeze every morning operatically, spoke in German, and sang too loudly, Carl found himself growing up in a noisy but amicable household in West Virginia. Every Sunday of course was spent in church dealing with the agony of being quiet, wondering why, and giggling at the bellowing minister who would later die of throat cancer. He was thrust onto the cello at age 8, and more noise was produced. Blessedly, though TV and Radio had been deemed “Instruments of the Devil”, a television showed up at home at a very formative time. Classical music studies soon devolved into copying the notes of beautifully executed product jingles, like Strohs Beer, or Old Spice, or Lowenbrau Beer. Wow, so fun.
In another fortunate twist of fate, his school's curriculum considered guitar playing a worthy endeavor for 7th graders. Carl would learn to play some nice hippy folk tunes with basic chords. And that was more fun. But he still practiced cello because "those lessons are costly", so the guitar only happened at school, oh well. Not long after the TV appeared, the pro chemist's parents allowed for Carl and his brother to get handheld AM radios. West Virginia did have radio stations, and it was Carls brother who had the patience to tease the sounds of Deep Purple and Foghat out of the ether. Wow! A cello simply doesn’t make those noises no matter how hard you rip that bow, but nonetheless Carl tried hard to recreate that Smoke on the Water sound. His cello growled and squealed, but sigh... The effort would be rewarded though. In guitar class, a visiting (delinquent) kid who knew how to make those noises on guitar would provide a revelation: Bar Chords! OMG! Those work, even on a nylon stringed thing!
Eventually a move to Minnesota would bring job opportunities for teenaged Carl, and soon he would buy an electric guitar with amps and effect pedals and there were even more radio stations and of course a band would be formed with buddies and this band would practice under the floor of his mother's dining room during dinner time. This band eventually moved out of the family house into a bigass Minneapolis house and it was there that the band knew it wouldn’t succeed unless they made a record. They did, and when Carl had the “I could have done that” feeling after telling the recording engineer what to do, he realized he should have his own studio. Arrogant and capable, Carl remains in Minneapolis with studios that can make all kinds of noise, and even better, do commercials! Naturally, he can do them pretty well.