I ‘honestly’ can’t remember the last time an album did this to me. I’ve been sitting here trying to think of another record that swept me away in quite the same way, and… blank. This one just induced joy — plain, uncomplicated, unpretentious joy. And that’s the thing: the album itself is plain and uncomplicated too, in the best possible way. No gloss, no posturing, no ‘studio magic’. Just music, made by humans, captured honestly.
I first heard about Reel to Reel Haven thanks to a wildly enthusiastic recommendation from Kevin Root over at RX Reels. I approached cautiously — as you do when someone says “you have to hear this.” Then I saw founder Ryan O’Connor pop up on Steve Guttenberg’s YouTube channel, fizzing with energy and tape‑nerd enthusiasm. Still, life got in the way, as it does, until Kevin messaged again — this time practically shouting about Andrea Bocelli doing a straight‑to‑tape, all‑analogue recording for Stella Records. I’m not exactly an opera diehard, but Bocelli is Bocelli, so I finally reached out to Ryan. (You can read my review of the Bocelli tape here).
Our first video call was one of those rare conversations where you just click. Ryan’s a cool guy — passionate, funny, buzzing with ideas — but there was something deeper too. His mission to raise money for cancer research isn’t a marketing line; it’s personal. He’s survived a rare cancer. And, well… I live with one too. So suddenly we weren’t just talking tape machines and mastering chains — we were talking life, and fragility, and the strange clarity that comes with knowing that real life can be what happens while you’re busy making other plans. Chatting with Ryan I felt immediately at home, like chatting to someone who understands you better than perhaps anyone else possibly ever could, due to a life-changing shared experience. And of course his passion for music and all things analogue is something I entirely share. (Our chat turned into an interview diving into Ryan’s whole project – which you can read here).
Anyway — my original plan was to review the Bocelli tape (tick). But Ryan, in that way he has, said, “You have to hear the Adam Levy one too.” I’d never heard of Levy, but a quick Discogs wander (Tracy Chapman? Norah Jones? Okay then…) convinced me to give it a go.
When the tapes arrived, they were packaged like treasure – and to survive any possible shipping misdemeanour (they probably would’ve withstood a plane crash, quite frankly). Here was the sort of thing you open slowly, reverently, because it feels wrong to rush. Naturally, I cued up the Bocelli first, then life intervened again, and it was a couple of weeks before I finally put on the Adam Levy tape.
And that’s when things got interesting. I took the gorgeous burnt‑chocolate box, slid out the tray, opened the inner case, loaded reel one onto my pre‑warmed Studer A80, hit rewind, settled in… and tick tick tick — drumsticks counting in the band — and then bang, we’re off.
“No Dancing” leaps out of the speakers with this effortless, lived‑in vitality. And I swear to you: I couldn’t write a single review note. Not one. I just sat there, jaw slack, letting it all wash over me. When the reel ended, I didn’t even think — I hit rewind and played it again. Did I really just hear what I thought I heard?
Yes. Yes, I did.
Reel two? Same story. No notes. Just awe. And when I finally sat down days later, determined to be a responsible adult rambler and actually review the thing… I hit rewind again instead of swapping reels. It’s that kind of album. Once it’s on the machine, it’s hard to take it off.
But eventually I managed to listen like a reviewer rather than a mesmerised bystander. So, tape lovers, here we go.
The band
Adam Levy leads the trio (obviously) — guitarist, songwriter, vocalist, long‑time Norah Jones collaborator. His voice has that Chris Rea huskiness, but softer, more intimate. Honestly? I prefer it to Rea’s. His guitar playing is creamy, lyrical, sun‑warmed — think Mark Knopfler on a bluegrass‑tinged holiday.
On bass, Andy Hess — another name I didn’t know, but apparently he’s played with everyone from Britney Spears to Mica Paris to The Black Crowes. And on drums, Tony Mason, who’s appeared on several Norah Jones records. So yes, these guys know how to groove.
The sound (aka: the part where I lose my mind again)
The drums are the first thing that hit you. They swing — not in a “look at me, I’m swinging” way, but in that natural, loose‑tight, human way that makes your shoulders move without permission. The snare is the snare. The kick has weight without thud. The stick taps are alive. It’s perfection — both in playing and in capture.
The bass is rich, present and gloriously unprocessed. No tight, clipped, “studio‑clean” nonsense. Just a Fender bass breathing in your room. Every note starts and stops with intention, never blurred, never pinched. It’s musical, not mechanical.
And Levy’s voice… it can go from a swing to a whisper, and it always feels like he’s right there, leaning in slightly, telling you something meant only for you.
The production
Because of the amazing sound of this recording, I have to give full credits to the production team too, they are:
Recorded by Paul Falcone
Mixed by Mark Harder
Produced by Marco Stella
LP mastering by Paul Gold
I didn’t know any of these names before. I do now, and I’ll be looking out for them.
The overall vibe
This album is honest by name and by nature. That’s the word I keep coming back to, so it’s 100% aptly titled. Honest playing, honest recording, honest emotion. No tricks. No polish for polish’s sake. Just three musicians communicating directly, with tape acting not as a filter but as a conduit.
Listening to it feels like sipping something divine — ambrosia, if we’re being dramatic — and realising halfway through that you’ve forgotten the world outside the room.
OK, so now I’m going to briefly try and sum up each song.
Reel One
- No Dancing
A perfect opener — the whole character of the album is right there in the first few seconds. The “tap tap tap” of the sticks, the bass sliding in with that fast, swinging gait, the drums dancing around the room like they’ve been waiting for you all day, and Levy’s smoky, swaggering vocal floating over those sunshine‑soaked guitar licks. It’s alive. Properly alive.
- There’s a Light
This one pulled me even deeper in. Is the “light” a literal spotlight? A spiritual glow? A metaphor for something else entirely? Doesn’t matter — you just end up basking in it. There’s an easy looseness to the rhythm, all honesty and warmth and unpretentious charm. It’s joy without the slightest hint of self‑consciousness.
- I Said No
If the radiant glow of There’s a Light didn’t get you grinning, I Said No will. Levy shifts into a slightly tipsy blues drawl, telling the tale of one drink too many and a persistent temptress. It starts chit‑chatty, ends cheeky, and the whole thing is delivered with that effortless Levy charm. Like everything on this album, it’s a pleasure from start to finish. (I’ll leave you to discover the end of the tale for yourselves…!).
- Come On Home
My notes for almost every track begin with something like “snare drum phenomenal, 100%,” and I stand by it. This album has one of the most real drum sounds I’ve ever heard — not hyped, not oversized, just true. Levy’s Chapman/Jones pedigree is all over this track: classy, understated, deeply musical. It’s 100% authenticity, not 110% “audiophile spectacular.” There’s a difference, and this is the good kind.
- Washing Day
The snare is snare‑ier than any snare has a right to be, the bass rolls from note to note like it’s telling its own story, the kick lands with perfect weight, and Levy’s voice drifts in soft, husky, and warm. The guitar glows with that early‑morning golden light — the kind you only get on a summer day before the world wakes up.
And then reel one ends… and what do I do?
Even on my third listening session, I jumped up, hit stop, rewind and play. Couldn’t help myself. Moving on to reel two felt almost rude. This album has that rare quality where replaying the same reel feels more natural than progressing to the next one. The last time I felt this compulsion was with the Rhino reel of The Yes Album — but that was a record I’d loved for half a century. This? This was an artist I’d never even heard of!
Almost every time I put this tape on, I play each reel twice. It’s that present, that natural, that there. It even makes some of the Tracy Chapman and Norah Jones albums sound a touch “produced” by comparison — which, of course, they are.
Reel Two
- Long Way Home
A melodic, mellifluous little journey. The drums shuffle gently in the distance while the bass flows like a river — smooth, unhurried, inevitable. It’s enchanting in that understated way this trio seems to specialise in.
- I Wish I Could Change Your Mind
A slow, sultry blues that slides in perfectly after Long Way Home. The bass leads with quiet authority, the drums shuffle with that effortless looseness, and the guitar drapes a layer of cream over the whole thing. It’s the sonic equivalent of the perfect cup of coffee.
- Little Bit of Sunday Morning
A touch more bluegrass in the guitar, a hint of Knopfler in the phrasing. The bass progression is held with such natural ease — not tight, not loose, just right. Everything sits exactly where it should. Nothing forced, nothing hidden. It really is ‘easy like Sunday morning’.
- To The Stars
Imagine Dire Straits crossed with Chris Rea, then imagine the trio playing with even more intimacy and delicacy than that suggests. Levy’s voice moves from warm richness to a soft whisper, and the band follows him like they’re sharing a single heartbeat. It’s gorgeous.
- You’re Not My Baby
The final track can make or break an album, and this one absolutely makes it. It might even be my favourite. Less Rea/Knopfler, more Tom Waits — a growly, vaudeville‑tinged wink of a song that rounds things off like a fine brandy after a long, indulgent meal. And then, of course, you hit rewind. Again.
Wrapping up
Honestly is one heck of an album. It’s rare that a new‑to‑me artist knocks me sideways, but Adam Levy did exactly that.
Oh and it’s also available on vinyl. Levy heard the tape master and immediately said, “We have to put this on vinyl.” Hard to argue with him.
A quick word on how Reel to Reel Haven / Stella Records operate, because it’s unusual in the best way. The label pays for the recording sessions — which can save artists $20–30k — and in return Stella gets the rights to issue 1:1 tape copies. The artists keep everything else: the music, the masters, the rights. They walk away with a ½” tape master they can use for CDs, streaming, whatever they like.
As I just mentioned, when Levy heard the tape master of Honestly, he was so blown away he wanted a vinyl cut. So the master went to Paul Gold at Salt Mastering for a fully analogue cut, then to Gotta Groove for pressing. And while the vinyl can’t quite match the tape (nothing does), it’s still an exceptionally fine‑sounding record — and at $49.99, it’s a bit of a gift.
One final note: the track Long Way Gone isn’t on the LP. So if you want the full Adam Levy experience… well, there’s really only one format that’ll give it to you.
Honestly is available here:
First generation master tape copy for $550:
https://reeltoreelhaven.com/pages/music-on-tape
Vinyl LP for $49.99:
Adam Levy & The Mint Imperials 180 Gram Straight from Master Tape Vinyl Record
Dave Denyer: The Reel-to-Reel Rambler 