

Case Study
The Rising Tide
The Next Wave of Leadership at Envestnet, MCP for RIA's Made Simple Webinars & More

Jud Mackrill


During some down moments this week, I caught a conversation between David Senra and Rick Rubin. Two guys are sitting outside, sipping on iced tea, talking. Rubin is perched cross-legged, fielding a series of really well-researched questions while they talk.
Senra started in on the 18-year-old version of Rubin. A Manhattan-based student who fell deeply into the music scene shortly after he launched Def Jam Records from his college dorm room.
Early on, Rubin talks about how he viewed his role when he first started making records. He was very focused on hip hop music, which was widely misunderstood at the time. In Rubin’s opinion, recordings made at the time lacked soul. He thought the recordings lacked the energy the musicians had when they performed live.
As Rubin started helping make records, he opted not to call himself a producer. On that first record, the credit read "reduced by Rick Rubin."
Forty years later, Rubin has shaped some of modern music's greatest works. All of it starting from that same place: reduction.
He explained the trap. When you record a guitar part, the best practice is to layer additional takes of the same part on top of one another, creating a fuller, more complete sound.
When stacking those layers, you can lose the purity of the actual recording. You lose the original take. How the instrument was actually played. The style of the player. The very thing that made it worth recording.
The thing that separates Angus Young from a random studio musician who has played this same track a hundred times before.
For Rubin, the test for a song is brutal and simple: strip it down to one acoustic guitar. If it's great there, you can build a hundred versions, and it'll still be great. If it isn't, no amount of production will save it.
Somehow, in all those overdubs, I could not help but see the unintentional and often intentional complexity that comes with the way the wealth management industry serves the people who count on us.
We've never had more ways to reach a client. Portals. Apps. Dashboards. Compliant text messaging with brilliant tools like Current Client (shoutout Dustin). Quarterly reports thick enough to prop a door open. Automated birthday texts. AI-written market commentary. A drip campaign for every life event.
More touchpoints than ever. Less actual touch.
We layer and layer until the client can't find the one thing they came for, their relationship with an advisor or team who actually knows and cares about them.
Your read on their life.
The sense that someone is actually holding the thing they're most afraid of. The annual review becomes forty slides of performance charts. The client nods, says thank you, and walks out carrying the exact question they walked in with: am I going to be okay?
That question never needed a dashboard. It needed you, in the room, answering it.
Strip away the portals, and the reports, and the automation, and what's left is trust, presence, and judgment. That's the take worth recording. Everything else is overdub.
Last month, the Foo Fighters did the same thing Rubin describes. A band that sells out Wembley for multiple nights played a couple of secret club shows in New York and New Jersey. Thirty bucks, sold in person at the door, a thousand people close enough to count faces. They stripped away the arena: the giant stage, the rushed festival set, the distance. What was left was the band and the song, six feet away. Everyone who got in knew it was the best night.
It's a show they'll remember for a long time — versus a seat 100 yards back, watching the Jumbotron.
Our clients are no different. They won't remember the dashboard. They'll remember the call you made on the worst day of their year. They'll remember being seen.
So here's the question I'm sitting with this week. Not what else can I add — another report, another touchpoint, another automated kindness — but what could I strip away to get closer? What's standing between the person actually in front of me and me?
The most valuable thing you offer can't be layered on. It can only be uncovered.
Connect first. Everything else is overdub.

Case Study
The Rising Tide
The Next Wave of Leadership at Envestnet, MCP for RIA's Made Simple Webinars & More

Jud Mackrill

During some down moments this week, I caught a conversation between David Senra and Rick Rubin. Two guys are sitting outside, sipping on iced tea, talking. Rubin is perched cross-legged, fielding a series of really well-researched questions while they talk.
Senra started in on the 18-year-old version of Rubin. A Manhattan-based student who fell deeply into the music scene shortly after he launched Def Jam Records from his college dorm room.
Early on, Rubin talks about how he viewed his role when he first started making records. He was very focused on hip hop music, which was widely misunderstood at the time. In Rubin’s opinion, recordings made at the time lacked soul. He thought the recordings lacked the energy the musicians had when they performed live.
As Rubin started helping make records, he opted not to call himself a producer. On that first record, the credit read "reduced by Rick Rubin."
Forty years later, Rubin has shaped some of modern music's greatest works. All of it starting from that same place: reduction.
He explained the trap. When you record a guitar part, the best practice is to layer additional takes of the same part on top of one another, creating a fuller, more complete sound.
When stacking those layers, you can lose the purity of the actual recording. You lose the original take. How the instrument was actually played. The style of the player. The very thing that made it worth recording.
The thing that separates Angus Young from a random studio musician who has played this same track a hundred times before.
For Rubin, the test for a song is brutal and simple: strip it down to one acoustic guitar. If it's great there, you can build a hundred versions, and it'll still be great. If it isn't, no amount of production will save it.
Somehow, in all those overdubs, I could not help but see the unintentional and often intentional complexity that comes with the way the wealth management industry serves the people who count on us.
We've never had more ways to reach a client. Portals. Apps. Dashboards. Compliant text messaging with brilliant tools like Current Client (shoutout Dustin). Quarterly reports thick enough to prop a door open. Automated birthday texts. AI-written market commentary. A drip campaign for every life event.
More touchpoints than ever. Less actual touch.
We layer and layer until the client can't find the one thing they came for, their relationship with an advisor or team who actually knows and cares about them.
Your read on their life.
The sense that someone is actually holding the thing they're most afraid of. The annual review becomes forty slides of performance charts. The client nods, says thank you, and walks out carrying the exact question they walked in with: am I going to be okay?
That question never needed a dashboard. It needed you, in the room, answering it.
Strip away the portals, and the reports, and the automation, and what's left is trust, presence, and judgment. That's the take worth recording. Everything else is overdub.
Last month, the Foo Fighters did the same thing Rubin describes. A band that sells out Wembley for multiple nights played a couple of secret club shows in New York and New Jersey. Thirty bucks, sold in person at the door, a thousand people close enough to count faces. They stripped away the arena: the giant stage, the rushed festival set, the distance. What was left was the band and the song, six feet away. Everyone who got in knew it was the best night.
It's a show they'll remember for a long time — versus a seat 100 yards back, watching the Jumbotron.
Our clients are no different. They won't remember the dashboard. They'll remember the call you made on the worst day of their year. They'll remember being seen.
So here's the question I'm sitting with this week. Not what else can I add — another report, another touchpoint, another automated kindness — but what could I strip away to get closer? What's standing between the person actually in front of me and me?
The most valuable thing you offer can't be layered on. It can only be uncovered.
Connect first. Everything else is overdub.

Platform
Solutions
© 2026 Milemarker Inc. All rights reserved
DISCLAIMER: All product names, logos, and brands are property of their respective owners in the U.S. and other countries, and are used for identification purposes only. Use of these names, logos, and brands does not imply affiliation or endorsement.

Platform
Solutions
© 2026 Milemarker Inc. All rights reserved
DISCLAIMER: All product names, logos, and brands are property of their respective owners in the U.S. and other countries, and are used for identification purposes only. Use of these names, logos, and brands does not imply affiliation or endorsement.

Platform
Solutions
© 2026 Milemarker Inc. All rights reserved
DISCLAIMER: All product names, logos, and brands are property of their respective owners in the U.S. and other countries, and are used for identification purposes only. Use of these names, logos, and brands does not imply affiliation or endorsement.





