The Untold Story of Arlo Vance
If you’d told me five years ago I’d be a musician, I’d have laughed. Back then, I was fixing cars in my dad’s garage, dreaming of something bigger but stuck in the same routine. My guitar was my only escape—a beat-up Fender my uncle left me before moving away.
I didn’t grow up with lessons or a musical background. I learned by trial and error, playing late into the night after long shifts. My first gig was at a local bar, where I was paid in burgers and beer. The crowd barely noticed me, but I played like it was Madison Square Garden.
Things changed when I recorded a demo using a cheap mic and my garage as a studio. A friend uploaded it online without telling me, and somehow, it caught the attention of an indie label. They reached out, and the next thing I knew, I was on stage in front of people who actually knew my songs.
Now, I’m traveling the world, writing music that feels like home. The garage days are long gone, but the grit and grind will always be part of my story.