Crossing Lines, Playing Through Generations, and The Spiritual Connection of Music with Mike Bernos
Meet the Nurturer
Some people chase relevance. Others create legacy. And then there’s Mike Bernos, who simply lives the music, at 68 years old, playing, writing, mentoring, and performing with the hunger of someone who never left the garage.
On The Contrast Project Lounge Podcast, Tracy Rigdon and Jim Alabiso welcomed Mike to talk about a life spent riding the currents of creativity, from journalism to songwriting, from fiction to funk. But what unfolded wasn’t just a career retrospective. It was a lesson in ageless expression, cross-generational collaboration, and how music remains one of the last spiritual sanctuaries in an increasingly synthetic world.
Mike isn’t here to cash in on nostalgia. He’s still making records. Still dropping songs on Spotify. Still finding joy in sessions with musicians decades younger than him. And still calling bullshit on an industry that has traded heart for algorithms.
The Sacred Act of Songwriting
For Mike, music isn’t entertainment, it’s spiritual practice. Not in some abstract, Hallmark-card way, but as sacrament. Writing a song is a moment of connection to something bigger. A melody becomes a prayer. A lyric becomes scripture. The studio is his sanctuary.
“The creative process used in pursuit of my art provides a direct link to my spirituality; it is my spirituality,” Mike said on the show. “When I write or play music, I feel connected to all things.”
That raw honesty defines his voice not just in conversation, but in every track he records. Whether fronting Ample Angst or Spice and the Po Boys, Mike’s songs feel like snapshots of the soul: equal parts poetry and protest, grace and grit.
Ample Angst, Spice, and the Politics of Rhythm
Mike doesn’t shy away from where he fits in the ecosystem of American music. A white man writing in genres deeply rooted in Black expression, he walks that line with humility and reverence.
“It allows me to cross cultural barriers and be a witness to the resiliency, grace, and gratitude of those minorities less fortunate than me.”
Through Ample Angst and Spice and the Po Boys, Mike has built collaborative spaces where the music speaks louder than demographics. His work isn’t about appropriation—it’s about appreciation, about listening before leading, and inviting people to the table without pretending the table was always his.
And his songs reflect that: southern-fried soul with global edges, New Orleans swing with Jacksonville roots, and stories that tap into universal truths about longing, love, and liberation.
Music Across Generations: From Boomers to Zoomers
The most striking thing about Mike’s story isn’t the volume of his catalog, it’s who he’s building it with. His bandmates and collaborators are often decades younger, and he loves it that way.
“Working with young musicians is absolutely phenomenal,” Mike told Tracy. “They’re all much better musicians than me.”
That humility is rare. That openness even rarer. Mike sees no divide, just rhythm. The beat is the bridge. Age dissolves in the groove.
He understands that art doesn’t come with an expiration date, and neither does insight. When older artists step into collaborative spaces without ego, they become mentors. And when younger artists reciprocate, the art becomes timeless.
Streaming Isn’t Saving Us
Of course, it’s not all studio sessions and feel-good vibes. Mike is brutally honest about the predatory nature of digital streaming. Platforms like Spotify may offer access, but they pay peanuts. They’ve gutted the album economy, shifted attention to singles, and made musicians scramble for pennies in a broken race for visibility.
“The album is a promotion for your concert. It’s not the other way around anymore,” Mike said. And even that’s a struggle because the venues are disappearing.
Artists today are expected to be content creators, social media experts, tour managers, and business strategists, on top of being actual artists. It’s exhausting. It’s unsustainable. And Mike isn’t pretending otherwise.
AI Can’t Write the Blues
As if streaming wasn’t dystopian enough, Mike also weighed in on AI’s encroachment into music and he didn’t hold back. While machine learning tools may help remix or remaster, they can’t replicate heart. They can’t fake soul. They can’t improvise pain, or bottle joy.
“AI has the potential to assist in music creation,” Mike conceded, “but it cannot replicate the heart and soul that humans bring to their art.”
That’s more than a critique. That’s a manifesto. In an age where sound can be synthesized and lyrics generated by code, Mike stands as a reminder that the human experience matters, messy, flawed, emotional, sacred.
Machines might produce songs. But only humans can write an anthem.
Jacksonville’s Original Music Problem
Mike’s local critique hits hard, too. For all of Jacksonville’s cultural depth, the lack of venues for original music has stifled its artists. Cover bands get the gigs. Singer-songwriters get the sidelines. And that’s a loss not just for musicians, but for the soul of the city.
“There’s talent here. There’s hunger. But where the hell do they play?”
Mike’s concern isn’t just for himself. It’s for the next generation. Because without stages, creativity withers. And without original music, a city becomes sonically sterile.
His call to action? Simple: support local. Show up. Stop waiting for Nashville to tell you what good music sounds like.
Creativity at 68; Why You Don’t ‘Age Out’
In a society obsessed with youth, Mike is a walking act of resistance. At 68, he’s not coasting on past glory. He’s creating. Collaborating. Performing. Teaching. Learning. He isn’t chasing trends, he’s doubling down on truth.
“I could benefit from many of the perks bestowed to [older white males], but the trade-off of living a one-dimensional life of country clubs and effete dinner parties is no longer worth it.”
He chose the noise. The chaos. The joy. The jam sessions and recording booths over the quiet retirement narrative society laid out for him. And in doing so, he’s writing a new script for what aging creatively can look like.
A Devil’s Tale and the Writer Within
Mike isn’t just a musician. He’s a published author. His novella, A Devil’s Tale: of Love and Redemption, reflects the same emotional curiosity that lives in his lyrics.
His stories, whether sung or written, deal with transformation. With becoming. With redemption earned, not given. They aren’t pretty parables. They’re messy, human blueprints for how we get through the dark and come out singing.
For Mike, the creative impulse doesn’t sit in silos. Whether he’s holding a guitar or a pen, it’s all the same pursuit: to understand more, to feel deeper, to connect wider.
What’s Next for Mike Bernos?
Mike isn’t slowing down. He’s writing new music. Booking shows. Looking for collaborators who want to tell real stories with real instruments and real heart.
He’s mentoring where he can, but still learning with every gig. He’s not interested in nostalgia acts or cover band comfort zones. He’s still exploring, still pushing.
What’s next? Another album. Maybe another book. Definitely more conversations like this one, where the stories of creative lives are treated not as exceptions, but expectations.
Conclusion: Create Until the Last Chord Rings
Mike Bernos is proof that the muse doesn’t retire. She just changes tempo.
In an era where artists are encouraged to burn bright and burn fast, Mike is playing the long game. He’s refusing to disappear into the background. He’s embracing the friction of collaboration, the vulnerability of aging, and the sacredness of craft.
And he’s showing us that maybe the point of art isn’t to win the algorithm. Maybe it’s just to say something true, with whatever time and talent we’ve got left.
So listen up.
Because Mike’s not done talking and you’re gonna want to hear what he plays next.
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