What I Do Isn’t Mass Production—And That’s the Point

There are companies out there that mass produce drums—and some of them make good instruments. I’ve never been one to deny that. But they don’t make what I make.

What I do here in my shop isn’t built for shelves or distribution lines. It’s not meant to be boxed up by the hundreds or shipped out in waves. It’s slower than that. More personal than that. Every drum I build starts with a piece of wood that spoke to me—and ends with the hope that it will speak to someone else.

I’m not in this to compete with big companies. I’m not trying to scale. I don’t have a warehouse or a team or a production quota. What I have is a small shop, two hands, and a clear reason for doing the work: I believe that what we make reflects how we live. And I want both to be intentional.

The truth is, I can't compete with companies that have global reach and automated processes. And I don’t want to. Because they can’t do what I do, either. They can’t select an individual board for how it resonates when I tap it. They can’t pause mid-build to rethink a decision because it doesn’t feel right. They can’t look a customer in the eye and say, “I built this myself, start to finish.” That’s not their model. And that’s fine.

But that’s the difference—and it’s an important one.

I’m not building instruments for the masses. I’m building for the musician who values connection over convenience. The one who wants to feel the story in the grain. The one who knows the difference between something made and something manufactured. That’s who I’m building for—because that’s who I am.

When I build a cajón, the tone is priority. However, tone isn't the only thing I think about. I think about longevity. I think about balance. I think about how the shell and the faceplate are going come together. I use wood I’ve selected by hand, finishes that let the wood sing, and I do it at a pace that respects the process.  You can read more about the acoustic impact of material selection in my post ?What Affects the Clarity of a Cajón.

There are faster ways to build. But I don’t take them. Not because I can’t—but because I won’t. Because speed isn’t the goal. A well crafted instrument is.

And I believe you can hear that in a drum.

Some people want uniformity. They want gear that looks exactly like what’s in the catalog or on the stage. And that’s fine. But the people who come to me want something more. They want something with life. Something that carries intention from the inside out. Something that didn’t just pass through machines—it passed through care.

That’s what I offer.

I often say that I’m not just building drums. I’m building a way of life. One where the work is honest, the pace is steady, and the outcome is meaningful. One where I can stand behind every drum I send out because I know what went into it. Every cut. Every joint. Every hour.

This is slow work in a fast world. But it’s the kind of work that lasts.

I won’t ever be the cheapest. I won’t ever have shelves full of ready-to-ship models. I won’t ever chase trends or gimmicks. What I will do is keep showing up, one build at a time, and giving it everything I’ve got.

Because when someone plays one of my drums, I want them to feel something deeper than volume or resonance. I want them to feel the weight of a choice—the choice to build something by hand, with purpose, in a world that often forgets what that means.

What I do isn’t mass production. And that’s the point.

And to those of you who have trusted me to build for you—to those who saw value in this kind of work and chose to be part of it—to those who get what it is all about, thank you. Your support makes it possible for me to keep doing what I love, the way I believe it should be done. One drum at a time.