05/23/2025
🎶Celebrating Jonathan Beckner’s 20 Years at Real 2 Reel🎶
In his own words…
In May 2005, I made a bold move—I quit my internship at one of Atlanta's biggest, flashiest recording studios. As soon as I hung up the phone, panic set in. I jumped in my car and drove four hours to Charleston, just to breathe and let my best friend hold space for me. The next morning, another wave of panic hit, and I turned right around. No plan. No direction. Just an undeniable feeling in my chest.
I thought I had thrown away the chance of a lifetime—big artists, big rooms, big names. But that environment was toxic. I hated how it made me feel. I was learning to vacuum floors, order steaks, and stay quiet—essentially learning how to disappear and feel small.
But here’s the twist: I discovered I don’t like feeling small, and I don’t belong in spaces that diminish people.
Years before this, I had visited Real 2 Reel. It wasn’t flashy; it was off the beaten path, but it had soul. So, I called Bill Turpin, the founder. He told me he couldn’t hire me but encouraged me to stop by after graduation.
That next Monday, I walked in, greeted by Steve at the front desk. I spotted an old friend from GSU, and everyone smiled. Bill welcomed me, and we chatted for an hour. He still couldn’t hire me, but invited me to hang around. Then, James Cobb emerged from the A Room, learned I played jazz guitar, and invited me to help him finish a mix on the Trident console. That was my first day—I felt at home.
That summer, I interned—archiving, editing, observing, absorbing. I learned more in those months than in years of school. Then one day, Bill threw me into a chaotic session with a full band on a track he wrote. I was 22, barely hanging on, and felt completely overwhelmed. He pushed me hard that day: work faster, fix this, do better. I left feeling broken, swearing I’d quit the next day.
But the next morning, Bill approached me with a grin. “You did such a great job yesterday,” he said. “I threw everything at you, and you rolled with it. I’m proud of you.” One by one, others chimed in, “Hey, Bill said you killed it yesterday. Nice work.” I was stunned.
That day, something clicked—I hadn’t failed; I had been tested, and I passed. Not because I was perfect, but because I kept showing up. That’s when I knew: this was the place, these were my people, this was my path.
That was 20 years ago.
Two decades of making music, solving puzzles, pushing buttons, and holding space. Two decades of learning what it truly means to listen.
Thank you to Bill Turpin, Steve Rawls, and James Cobb for being my early teachers. To my partners in crime, Will Turpin and Brian Collins. And to every artist, engineer, and producer who’s been part of the R2R journey with me—you helped shape me into who I am today. You gave me the space to find my voice.
From panic attacks to producing records. From doubt to decades.
Still here. Still listening. Still learning. 🌟
Cheers to more music to come,
JB