Do you think that music might be part of that call to activism and world­change? You sent me a copy of a piece of yours called “Lake” which you said is “made with field recordings from a hidden lake on the edge of West Virginia.” I love it and have played the song repeatedly while writing this response: something happens when the sounds you make meet the sounds you’ve recorded. You make me want to seek that hidden lake. But you also make me realize the deep layers of rhythm that bind human sound and frog sound, cricket chirp and drum. The track is ethereal (a thing of air) and yet has so many layers that, like American Drift, it seems geologically layered. And maybe you had that in mind when you entitled the album American Drift? Tectonic plates drift, swallowing the ocean on one side and creating new sea chasms on the other. Tectonic, by the way, comes from the Greek word for carpenter: someone who makes things, someone who repairs or composes. Sometimes American Drift seems to be about the Shenandoah, and at others about the human body, the propensity for bodies to change (and yet to carry history forward through change: a geology of the flesh). Have I gotten anything right?
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