I am a morning person when it comes to creativity. Though I have performed at night my entire career, for creative work, I usually feel fresher and more energetic in the morning. However, all the music for this album was created at night. In fact, it was all created on the same night, September 21, 2009. I had been recording already for several days, and felt as if I was “in a zone,” so I just continued deep into the night.
My mother used to lament about the hair our dogs left everywhere, saying that they not only had a fall shed and a spring shed, but a winter shed, a summer shed, a wood shed, a tool shed, a snow shed . . . . That old family joke became the model for the separate tracks of this album, using the work “drift” instead of “shed.” Drifting is what I feel separates my night music from my morning music. It is more willing to wander off the tracks into unfamiliar territory.
1. Driftwood. Sometimes, when I am playing, I imagine myself floating in the ocean or on wind currents. My music oscillates freely – up and down, loud and soft, fast and slow, dense and thin. It is more concerned with emotional expression than “grooving” or momentum. This first track is a good example.
2. Late Night Phone Call. The opening of this track with the repeating strident single notes brought back memories of late night phone calls which are usually from relatives and usually not good. Though guarded at first, this eventually opens up and lets it all out.
3. Drifter. A drifter drifts with a purpose. Drifting is a life style, and not always forced. My cousin and her spouse bought an RV and now drift around the country, which is something they never thought they would ever do. They love it.
4. Snowdrift. Snow makes about as much noise as fog. There is such great beauty to drifting snow – the shapes, the color, the grace. It makes substance from silence.
5. Place of the Butterflies. One place that is on my bucket list is the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary in the mountains of Southern Mexico. The monarchs make a yearly migration from Mexico to Southern Canada and back, a journey of 6,000 miles in six generations. It takes five generations going north but only one coming back! The butterflies return sometime in late October, usually in time for the Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) holiday. Each butterfly is said to embody the soul of a dead ancestor, and is therefore revered. They number in the millions and pack the branches of the trees.
6. The Balloon. The next three pieces form a drifting trilogy. Balloons are wonderful drifters, though their journey tends to end suddenly.
7. The Cloud. This is not exactly Debussy, but the same idea.
8. The Whim. Drifting concentration has uncovered many profound thoughts, and many silly ones, too.
9. Drifting Off. This is the last piece I did, and, having played all day and night, I was dead tired. The opening idea sort of rocks me to sleep, and by the end I could feel that I was beginning to nod off. It is a curious piece that way, but good chill music for the end of the day.
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