The thing that finally made me start writing in public, what this blog is, and what it isn't.
I’ve been pulled toward this for years.
The pull to share what I do, what I’ve learned, what over twenty years of mixing and producing in a tumultuous, gorgeous, brutal industry has actually taught me. I felt it. I ignored it. I felt it again. I told myself I’d start when the camera was better, when the lighting was right, when I had a clear plan, when the first piece would be polished enough to stand next to anyone else’s.
That’s how the years go by. You can perfectionist your way out of doing anything.
The thing that finally made me hit record was a stroke.
February 2025. I’m not going to make a meal out of the details here because I'm going to write about it elsewhere. It was the kind of thing that makes death stop being an idea and start being a fact.
Up to that point, “someday I’ll do this” was a sentence I could keep saying with no consequences. After it, that sentence stopped being available. There is no someday. There’s just whatever I do today, and tomorrow, if I get one.
So this is probably the worst piece I’ll ever write. I’m okay with that — the only way the next one gets better is if this one exists.
I’m Jon Rezin. Twenty-plus years mixing and producing vocals, from a basement in the Bronx to major rooms in Manhattan to sunny Southern California finally landing back in my home state of Ohio. Mixing in the midwest surrounded by trees and close to my aging parents and family. Still hustling, still mixing, still learning. None of that is changing.
What’s changing is that I’m starting to share. Out loud, in public, on a blog and a newsletter called Stroke of Luck.
A few things about what this is and isn’t, because I’ve thought about it a lot and I’d rather lay my cards on the table up front. I’ll also tell you what I’m afraid of, because hiding it would be dishonest: I’m a perfectionist who wants this to look good and say the right things in the right order, and the fear is that it won’t, especially at first. I’m afraid of being inauthentic — I’ve watched a lot of people in this space lean into a version of themselves that isn’t really them because it gets clicks, and I’d rather make something quieter and truer. And I’m afraid of getting trapped by my ego. The minute this becomes about proving something instead of being useful, I’ve lost the plot. That’s the one I’ll have to keep an eye on. Every essay. Every conversation. Every comment.
What this isn’t
This isn’t a “look at me” project. I have my version of imposter syndrome, same as everyone else who does this work seriously, and I’ve never had the bravado some people use to push past it. I’m confident, but I’m not loud. There are incredible resources out there already, taught by incredible people who know what they’re doing. I’m not trying to compete with them. I’m trying to be of service. If something I share helps even one person leapfrog a problem I had to crawl through, this whole project earns its keep.
This isn’t going to tell you there’s only one way to do things. There are infinite ways. The way I work is one of them. I’ll show you what I do and why I do it. You take what’s useful and leave what isn’t.
This isn’t going to punch down at other engineers or producers. There are enough people doing that. I’d rather use the time to actually teach something.
This isn’t an influencer project. I have respect for people who do that work well, but it isn’t what I’m here for. I’m here because I do this for a living, every day, and I have things to share that I learned the long way around.
Who this is for
The people I’m hoping to reach are the ones who want information from someone actually doing the work. Producers, mixers, vocalists, engineers. People coming up. People stuck. People who’ve been at it a while and are quietly wondering if they’re missing something. There are a lot of voices in this space who don’t actually do the job. I do. That’s the only thing I bring to the table that you can’t get elsewhere.
If you’re an artist who’s hired a mix engineer or is thinking about hiring one, some of this is for you too. The pieces about how to prep your session, how to give mix notes, how to provide mixes for mastering — those are written for you. Use them. They’ll save you and your engineer a lot of friction.
If you’re a working pro in any creative field — not just audio — some of the business and life writing might land. Difficult clients, rate-raising, communication that disarms, the 80/20 audit, the way this work breaks people if you let it. None of that is unique to mixing.
What to expect
Some technical pieces including the session starter template I’ll give you for free and why I organize sessions the way I do. Plus the broader craft work: how to prep a session for mixing, how to bounce stems correctly, how to set up the master bus, how I think about vocal chains across genres, what micro-automation actually means and why I think it’s the secret to great vocals.
Some business pieces. Why I won’t give you my mix session, how to fire a difficult client without burning the bridge, how to communicate in a way that disarms, the 80/20 audit I’m finally going to run on my own work.
Some personal pieces. The producer who taught me my first real lesson. The mastering engineer who taught me the second. The records I’m proudest of. The records I lost. The stroke that almost ended this whole thing and the way it unexpectedly launched the rest of it.
Some health and longevity pieces. Because the industry has a pattern of losing the people we love too soon, and I almost became part of that pattern, and I don’t want anyone reading this to.
Some software and AI pieces. Because the second studio I’m running now (a software studio, built post-stroke as a kind of brain rehab) has changed how I think about everything else. AI tools are part of how this work gets made now, and I’m going to be honest about that.
Some learning out loud. The audit I haven’t run yet. The VA experiment I haven’t tried yet. The pieces I’m working through in real time. The version of me at the keyboard now is not the version of me who’ll be here a year from now, and the writing should reflect that arc, not pretend to a wisdom I’m still earning.
The thing I keep coming back to
We are an enormous resource for each other. The plan is to share what I’ve learned, learn what you’ve learned, and pass it back and forth until we’re all a little better at this than we were yesterday.
The newsletter is called Stroke of Luck because that’s what it is and what it has been. The fact that I’m here writing this at all is luck I didn’t earn. The fact that you might read this is luck I’m grateful for. The fact that we get to do this work, in this strange industry, in whatever shape our lives have taken, is more grace than any of us got in the brochure.
If you want this in your inbox instead of having to remember to check the site, the Stroke of Luck newsletter goes out monthly. One piece, no spam, unsubscribe whenever. Sign up here.
So. Here we go.
P.S. If you’ve been waiting for someone to say a particular thing about this work and nobody has yet, tell me what it is. The list of pieces I’m planning to write is long, and the most useful additions to it have always come from readers naming the questions I should have been asking. Welcome. I’m glad you’re here.