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Life & Work with Robbie Kaye of Santa Ynez

Today we’d like to introduce you to Robbie Kaye.

Robbie, we appreciate you taking the time to share your story with us today. Where does your story begin?
I was one of those kids who actually asked for piano lessons. I was exposed early to music—singing, dancing, performing—and I knew right away it was something I needed in my life. I started with classical piano, then moved into playing songs from Broadway, the charts… and eventually rock and roll. At some point I realized playing Stairway to Heaven on piano didn’t quite feel like me—so I picked up the guitar.
Interestingly, my first real passion was gymnastics. I went to college as a gymnast, but after an injury during spring training, I had to pivot. Music was the one thing that remained. After a back operation, I went on to study at Berklee College of Music, where I focused on jazz composition and piano. That’s where I really learned how to write and arrange music across instruments—skills I rely on now more than ever.
But my path hasn’t been linear. After years of near misses and discouragement, I stepped away from music—not once, but three times. I went back to school and eventually built a full career in photography and visual art. I created several monographs and documentary projects, including my book Beauty and Wisdom, where I traveled the country photographing and interviewing women over 70 about aging, beauty, and their deeply personal relationships with their hairstylists.
I spent nearly 20 years working as a photographer and later transitioned into abstract expressionist painting, creating collections like Naked Trees, where each piece quietly holds a small bird—life within stillness. I exhibited internationally and was represented by a gallery in Ojai… until the pandemic shifted everything.
Then something unexpected happened.
A box of old cassette tapes—music I had written decades earlier—arrived from storage in New York. I almost put it away again. But instead, I found a way to listen. And hearing those songs… something clicked. Some of them still held up. More importantly, they reminded me of who I was.
So I picked up my guitar, sat down alone with a notebook, and wrote a song called When It’s Over—a question to myself about whether music was truly behind me. That song cracked the door open.
From there, things began to build. I started recording again, working with producers, and eventually took a leap into learning the modern side of the industry—especially writing for sync in film and TV. The business had changed dramatically, but I committed to learning it from the ground up.
Today, I write and produce music specifically for sync. Earlier in my career, I was a staff songwriter for Warner Chappell Music in NYC and I had a song placed in a Disney film and on The New Mickey Mouse Club, and now I’m building a new chapter—one that combines everything I’ve learned across music, storytelling, and visual art.
Some people might think it’s unusual to pursue this at my stage of life—but I see it differently. I’m bringing decades of experience, resilience, and perspective into my work. My songs are deeply personal to me—they’re like my children—and I’m committed to finding the right homes for them. In many ways, I’m not starting over—I’m continuing, just with more clarity and purpose than I had before.
And if that journey inspires someone else to return to something they once loved… then it’s all the more meaningful.

We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Not at all—it hasn’t been a smooth road. It’s been full of stops and starts, setbacks, and moments where I truly questioned whether I should keep going.
Early on, I experienced what I would call “near misses”—opportunities that felt just within reach but didn’t quite materialize. Over time, that kind of disappointment can wear on you. I stepped away from music not once, but three separate times, each time thinking maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
During those periods, I didn’t stop creating—I just expressed it differently. I built a career in photography and visual art, and even now I continue to collaborate with two other women on a collection of artwork. That creative thread has always been constant, even when music wasn’t.
There were also very real physical challenges. Injuries shifted my path early on, and later a back operation forced me to slow down and reassess. Those moments were difficult, but they also redirected me in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
Another challenge has been navigating how much the industry has changed. Coming back into music after many years away meant learning an entirely new landscape—everything from the business side to the technical side, metadata, licensing, and how songs are now discovered and placed.
But I think the biggest challenge has been internal—pushing through doubt, staying resilient, and continuing to believe in my voice and my work, even when the path wasn’t clear.
At the same time, those challenges shaped me. They gave me a broader creative life, and a deeper perspective that I now bring into my music. I don’t think I could write the way I do today without having lived all of that.

Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I’m a songwriter, recording artist, and multidisciplinary visual artist. My primary focus right now is writing and producing original music for film and television,—what’s known as sync. I create songs that are emotionally driven and story-forward, often designed for key moments like montages, transitions, and end credits.
Stylistically, my work leans toward indie, alternative, and singer-songwriter, with a strong sense of melody, atmosphere, and space. I’m drawn to music that feels intimate but cinematic—something that can sit under a scene and elevate it without overwhelming it.
What sets me apart is the combination of my musical background and my visual storytelling. Having spent nearly two decades as a photographer and visual artist, I naturally approach songwriting with a strong sense of narrative, tone, and imagery. I don’t just think about how a song sounds—I think about where it lives, what it supports, and how it moves a story forward.
I also bring a long creative history into my work. I’ve written across genres, studied classical and jazz composition, and collaborated with a wide range of artists and producers. That depth allows me to adapt while still maintaining a clear artistic voice.
In addition to my own catalog, I’ve begun representing select collaborators for sync placements, building a small, curated roster of songs that I believe in. I enjoy not only creating, but also helping great music find the right home.
What I’m most proud of is not just any single placement or project, but the fact that I’ve come back to this work with clarity and commitment after stepping away from it for many years. I’ve rebuilt my creative life in a way that feels intentional and aligned.
At the end of the day, I care deeply about creating work that resonates—music that connects emotionally, supports storytelling, and stays with people.

Can you talk to us a bit about happiness and what makes you happy?
I’m happiest when I’m in a creative flow—whether that’s writing a song, shaping a melody, or working on a visual piece and watching it slowly come to life. There’s something deeply satisfying about starting with nothing and ending up with something that feels meaningful and true.
I also find a lot of happiness in collaboration—working with other artists, exchanging ideas, and building something together that’s better than what any one of us might have created alone.
Outside of work, I find joy in quieter, simpler moments—being at home, spending time with my husband and my dog, being in nature, or just having the space to think and reflect. Those moments are often where ideas begin.
I think what ties it all together is a sense of connection—connection to creativity, to other people, and to something larger than myself. That’s what makes it meaningful for me.

Contact Info:

Image Credits
Photos: performing at piano and on guitar by Emmanuel Itier

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