Each Petal, A Portal

My New EP is a Wild Ride!

Behind these gates, from the bricks of this behemoth, you will hear the ghosts of the East German mecca of haute culture and mass propaganda. 

And behind a drab door at the end of one of its seemingly ceaseless corridors, through which tumbleweeds and hip kids roll…

There is a man of magic, an alchemist of sorts, who imbues sounds with vitality.

He creates community and cordially invites collaboration. He shares stories and sings to the spirits.

Brian Trahan was my student two decades ago; I am his student now. If you read last week’s edition of this fine publication, you’ll recall that Brian produced my new LP. He also walked beside me on a polyphonic journey, my new EP, a meditation on my conversation with composer and pianist, Eric Pan.

Brian and I adore and admire Eric. So we agreed to meet at his studio to write a song that reflected the tone and content of my podcast with Eric. We ended up writing a twenty minute, four-part composition. Oopsie doodle. 

Eric’s music tends to be instrumental, but it can be lyrical. Eric tells stories. Though there is a reticence in his work, he quite intentionally invites listeners to join him on journeys. Refusing to get trapped by seriousness, Eric prefers to be playful. He lives in a world of wonder, uncovering hidden objects, seeking a shining light. His work is grounded in lullabies, folklore, and mythology. But he also seeks to traverse worlds and transport listeners. Perhaps this is the precise counterpoint that makes his Travel Poems so compelling. 

Brian and I endeavored to illuminate Eric Pan’s sense of wonder. We delved into the fantastical, the spirit of the journey. We carved pathways on keyboards together, side by side. Student and teacher, teacher and student. We played over and under one another, sometimes with interlocked arms. We gazed at each other, wide-eyed. Side-eyed. We were relentless until we relented. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if sonic adventures of this nature take place in his studio day after day. Brian empowers sensitive but bold spaces. He doesn’t seem to have musical limits. Just good taste and a heart of gold. 

We could’ve left our keyboard composition stand on its own, vulnerable in its impenetrability. We discussed incorporating soundscapes that speak to Eric’s faith in journeys. I was assigned to climb down the rabbit hole of freesound, where I discovered free recordings such as “Yuanlin City Landscape” and “Soft Tonal Wind.” Brian gently slid some of these into the mix, tastefully, by my reckoning. 

We also discussed incorporating vocals. First, we toyed with a howling mantra of sorts. Then, we discussed reading Zen koans. But when sitting with Zen, I got excited about reading a poem by one of the most equanimous dudes I know, my pal Joshua Weiner. I combed his catalog (you should too!) but found no words that suited our journey. I texted to ask him if he could recommend a poem that might fit the bill. 

Always generous, Josh hopped on the phone with me. He was at his writing desk in DC. I was laying on a filthy mat on the yet filthier floor of the Peloton studio in my gym. After some back and forth, J Dubs proposed a cento. 

I pretended to know what a cento is and Googled it while he spoke. 

A cento is a collage-poem composed of lines lifted from other sources--often, though not always, from great poets of the past. In Latin the word cento means "patchwork," and the verse form resembles a quilt of discrete lines stitched together to make a whole. The word cento is also Italian for "one hundred," and some mosaic poems consist of exactly 100 lines culled by one poet from the work of another to pay tribute to him or her. The ancient Greeks assembled centos in homage to Homer, the Romans in homage to Virgil.

-David Lehman, These Fragments I Have Shored. As published in the New York Times, 2006. 

And so it came to be that the lyrics to our composition are a cento, selected from various poems by Josh.

J-Dub Cento
::For Eric Pan::­­­

Beneath the dogwood’s white explosion
the ocean’s scaled wing is slightly dried
each petal a portal
feels the sun penetrate to the spring steel 

clear skies, clear tempers; luck’s barometer
as it negates you
blossoms fallen like a great snow cape
soon again knows the sea

no essential mysteries
to cure us of winter
fragrance
of milk floated down and floated up
silencing capacities of green
an old hurt piano alone 
this stone
in place of home

like a child’s kite catching at the wind   
a pure cup
and sweet pill 

to hold the metamorphoses of the world
to know the soul exceeds where it’s confined   

the sick butterfly
the pastor’s, perchance
out front for the first time 
by a single light
that flies because the hand holds tight the line
one day, every year

the world belongs to you
yet does not seek the terms of its release
yet does not seek by a single light
nor hold the metamorphoses of the world
nor silence the capacities of green

as it negates you
as it negates you
this stone
in place of home

no essential mysteries
no cure for winter
no hurt piano
no pure cup
no hand no hold
no line no light no world.

We slide in and out of these poetic fragments over the course of our four-part composition: 

I. Beneath the Dogwood’s White Explosion
II. No Essential Mysteries
III. The Hand Holds Tight the Line
IV. No Hand, No Hold

I might concede that there’s a barrier to entry to our composition. It’s hardly easy listening. I hope this writing serves as a cordial invitation to you. But still, the work requires you to submit to taking a journey. 

Dear reader, on behalf of Brian Trahan and I, and with loving gestures towards Josh Weiner and Eric Pan, it is my pleasure to present our composition, Each Petal, a Portal. 

My advice? Headphones on, reclined in your favorite chair, eyes wide shut.

I hope you enjoy the ride. 

Yours, 

DL

Note: Eric Pan has a simply splendiferous Substack, which I urge you to explore.