4 NIPES

The private studio occupied the top floor of the house, isolated by acoustic walls and thick glass. It felt like a universe apart from the world—a sound cave. The ceiling was lined with black foam panels and sound diffusers, cables snaking like veins beneath everything.

Right at the entrance was a lounge area with leather puff sofas. The central table was always cluttered with bottles, glasses, and ashtrays. Rarely was it free of sheet music. The lighting was soft. The metallic scent ...