Sometimes people write music because the world seems off-kilter, because the world seems to be missing something and there's only one way to fix it. And sometimes people write music because the world seems so overwhelmingly beautiful that you want to preserve it anyway you can. Love Song / Industrial Sunset is a single moment, a cross section of a split second on June 14th, 2008, somewhere around 8 PM on a roof in Berkeley, California, where fog floated pink from industrial smokestacks and little lights from across the Bay exuded some sort of strange otherworldiness like shattered glass, where a girl was climbing out a window and Bob Dylan levitated into clouds, a grid of streetlights and car lights and house lights and short breaths and fluttering speech and dancing and crying and wailing all swirled up like Big Sur waves, words gone out of comprehension like that music of moving, from streets just beyond recognition. Love Song / Industrial Sunset is the frozen, shaking, living representation of an explosion, expanding and falling and dying and fading in constant revolution, endlessly turning and turning like Leo Kottke on a twelve-string, like Messiaen's ocean of ecstatic brass, the imperfect but only record of the vast and undocumentable universe of a solitary instant.
Homeward Angel (Music for a Soundtrack to Clouds)
Performed by Symphony Parnassus, Conducted by Stephen Paulson
Homeward Angel (Music for a Soundtrack to Clouds) is a dream of flying engines from 3000 miles of night, a flight across the dreamstates, across mornings and airplanes, train whistles and broken headlights, across rain and motel lights in the dark, a sleepscape for those lighthouse nights when your window is so bright you can't see a foot outside.
The title comes not directly from the Thomas Wolfe novel Look Homeward, Angel but rather from a poem by George Mattingly (my father), entitled simply Homeward Angel. "We are all everywhere / in this jet age," he writes. This piece, written for the Symphony Parnassus, is for when even jet planes can't take you home before the sun rises, for when all of us can’t be everywhere all the time, for when not even part of is anywhere some of the time. Homeward Angel is my cloud atlas, for some things are always crossing.