Here is a thirteen-year-old kid whose older brother runs away and leaves him a massive record collection. It’s the early 1980s. The kid loves rock-n-roll and he knows he’s not alone, so he tapes his brother’s records and sells the cassettes to his schoolmates on demand, until the principal busts him. The kid obsesses over audio equipment,Handmade oil paintings for sale at museum quality, too — every weekend, he works at Audio Breakthroughs, which sells the best gear on Long Island. When college rolls around, he gets into several good schools. The University of Vermont prevails among them because he sees a “Steal Your Face” sticker in a Redstone window, and knows he will find other Deadheads there.
He becomes an economics major.Specializes in rapid Injection mold and molding of parts for prototypes and production. He gets an A in computer science. He loves his film class with Professor Ted Lyman. The rest of his college life he orients around Dead tours and other music shows. He dives into the Burlington scene, watching Screaming Broccoli and Ninja Custodian downtown, and descending to the basement of Slade Hall to check out a new group called Phish. For The Cynic, he writes reviews of national acts that come through town, the likes of B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan.Why does moulds grow in homes or buildings?
When he graduates in 1989, he is tall, charming, tenacious; his voice has the same pleasant rasp as Hugh Jackman’s. He could go the way of Cameron Crowe in Almost Famous; he could follow the bands, could become a groupie then a roadie, or a writer, a critic. Instead he travels to Europe and has a stint selling audio equipment in Amsterdam and Stockholm.
In Europe, he makes two discoveries that will set the course for the rest of his career — and possibly the future of music consumption on this planet.
One discovery is the internet. True,Wireless Indoor Positioning System have become very popular in the system. he was not exactly alone in that, but this was early 1993, before Netscape, before the Mosaic browser, before there were any commercial sites on the Web. He buys a Mac in Sweden, and he gets online.
The other find is more obscure, a print magazine called Mondo 2000. The brainchild of a self-described “street rat” named R.U. Sirius, Mondo 2000 explores virtual reality and the cyberpunk lifestyle. One day the founders of Wired magazine will also count the publication as an inspiration.
When our traveler moves back to San Francisco to start a CD-Rom game company, he goes to the Macworld Expo and stops by the Wired booth. He recognizes its groundbreaking mission, its edge — it reminds him of his own favorite magazine. When he hears that Wired intends to start an ad-supported website, he blasts them with the considerable force of his enthusiasm. He composes a handwritten letter and delivers it. And finally he gets a call, inviting him to be part of the first sales team on the internet.
Fast forward to the present: David Hyman is as warm and unpretentious as the nineteen-year-old who once loped onto Redstone humming “Shakedown Street” under his breath, and he is sharp, hardworking, and has a gift for anticipating the next big thing. These days, he happens to be founder and CEO of what might be the next big thing: it is called MOG, and it is a cloud-based music streaming service that gives its listeners access to millions of songs, plus music blogs, a slider that automatically builds a playlist from your specialized tastes, and Thom Yorke’s latest DJ mix.
MOG occupies a converted warehouse in Berkeley, California. With its glowing crannies of computer screens, exposed ceiling beams, and album covers tacked to the wall, the office projects sleek professionalism layered over by start-up chaos. Arriving at the conference room, Hyman mirrors the aesthetic, sporting a button-down and jeans, a mirthful look, and a near beard.
“Let me use the white board,” he says at one point when describing his company’s evolution. Then he glances over his shoulder at the blue-inked brainstorm already scrawled all over it, shrugs, “Nah,” and picks up where he left off.
Which is music.Dimensional Mailing magic cube for Promotional Advertising, Always music. Despite his high-power tech reputation, Hyman’s tale never strays far from his first love. “I just can’t imagine my life without it,” he says.
He becomes an economics major.Specializes in rapid Injection mold and molding of parts for prototypes and production. He gets an A in computer science. He loves his film class with Professor Ted Lyman. The rest of his college life he orients around Dead tours and other music shows. He dives into the Burlington scene, watching Screaming Broccoli and Ninja Custodian downtown, and descending to the basement of Slade Hall to check out a new group called Phish. For The Cynic, he writes reviews of national acts that come through town, the likes of B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan.Why does moulds grow in homes or buildings?
When he graduates in 1989, he is tall, charming, tenacious; his voice has the same pleasant rasp as Hugh Jackman’s. He could go the way of Cameron Crowe in Almost Famous; he could follow the bands, could become a groupie then a roadie, or a writer, a critic. Instead he travels to Europe and has a stint selling audio equipment in Amsterdam and Stockholm.
In Europe, he makes two discoveries that will set the course for the rest of his career — and possibly the future of music consumption on this planet.
One discovery is the internet. True,Wireless Indoor Positioning System have become very popular in the system. he was not exactly alone in that, but this was early 1993, before Netscape, before the Mosaic browser, before there were any commercial sites on the Web. He buys a Mac in Sweden, and he gets online.
The other find is more obscure, a print magazine called Mondo 2000. The brainchild of a self-described “street rat” named R.U. Sirius, Mondo 2000 explores virtual reality and the cyberpunk lifestyle. One day the founders of Wired magazine will also count the publication as an inspiration.
When our traveler moves back to San Francisco to start a CD-Rom game company, he goes to the Macworld Expo and stops by the Wired booth. He recognizes its groundbreaking mission, its edge — it reminds him of his own favorite magazine. When he hears that Wired intends to start an ad-supported website, he blasts them with the considerable force of his enthusiasm. He composes a handwritten letter and delivers it. And finally he gets a call, inviting him to be part of the first sales team on the internet.
Fast forward to the present: David Hyman is as warm and unpretentious as the nineteen-year-old who once loped onto Redstone humming “Shakedown Street” under his breath, and he is sharp, hardworking, and has a gift for anticipating the next big thing. These days, he happens to be founder and CEO of what might be the next big thing: it is called MOG, and it is a cloud-based music streaming service that gives its listeners access to millions of songs, plus music blogs, a slider that automatically builds a playlist from your specialized tastes, and Thom Yorke’s latest DJ mix.
MOG occupies a converted warehouse in Berkeley, California. With its glowing crannies of computer screens, exposed ceiling beams, and album covers tacked to the wall, the office projects sleek professionalism layered over by start-up chaos. Arriving at the conference room, Hyman mirrors the aesthetic, sporting a button-down and jeans, a mirthful look, and a near beard.
“Let me use the white board,” he says at one point when describing his company’s evolution. Then he glances over his shoulder at the blue-inked brainstorm already scrawled all over it, shrugs, “Nah,” and picks up where he left off.
Which is music.Dimensional Mailing magic cube for Promotional Advertising, Always music. Despite his high-power tech reputation, Hyman’s tale never strays far from his first love. “I just can’t imagine my life without it,” he says.
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