"My first day in China after two years away, I noticed a strange round object on the table - not only in appearance, but because it emitted musical notes, and my girlfriend literally doesn't listen to music. Ever. Further inquiry revealed it was a handmade version of a steel tongue drum, made by her uncle for her niece, in the hopes that she would not only learn about music, but learn to love it. Neither of those came to pass. But what remained was an object whose sounds I couldn't stop listening to. And couldn't stop speaking to me. That afternoon, I spent a half hour completely detached from the world while I randomly tapped its various notes, until reality called again. As it always does. 

I knew I would need to do something more with that drum - not only  for myself, but for its creator and creation. One morning, I sat down in my studio, the torrential rain outside nearly deafening through the open window, and let myself go. In the drum. In its sound and intent. In the rain that seemed it would never end. As I thought about all that had  brought me back to the place where we existed together. About the life I had left but always wanted back - and all the joys and perils that come with wishes coming true.

Recorded uninterrupted, live over 73 minutes, the session was then played back the same evening for the live electronic session that unfolded over it... one comprised of an infinite number of movements, from slight to sprawling, all bathed in a quiet restraint unlike any of my other work. Perhaps the result of its intent being about something bigger than myself. Perhaps an unintentionally pure example of one loneliness exchanged for another in my strange form of coming home. Perhaps an unconscious show of humility in the face of life and the world. Or, perhaps, a contemplation on the true depth of rain it seemed would never end." - Brock Van Wey