“My son died seven months ago. He was 21. Actually he was killed – wrong place – wrong time,” the cab driver told me. It was abundantly clear he was grieving, but not at all bitter. “My son once told me – long before he died – that everything he was as a man, he owed to me. I don’t know if that’s true, but he told me, because of that, he wanted to give back – to help people. With his words. He was a poet – an author. So when he was killed I determined I needed to give back – by keeping the work he wanted to do alive.” I doubt I can do justice to the emotion that was present in that taxi that morning. Suffice it, to say, without ever having read any of the son’s word, I knew a little of his spirit, through his father. And that is at lease one we participate in resurrection.
In this piece – I envision the organ as the unique voice and spirit of the father. The synthetic sounds are the voice of the son. Each is unique with a life unto it(him)self, and yet that play around common themes and work in concert as well as individually.