It’s not often you find yourself recording alone in a church at 3am. I’m not religious, but I experienced something unique while playing through the night as the streets around me slept. It felt like the music was telling me what to play and I was the passenger. Lumen grew out of a variety of compositional seeds from through composed songs that remain true to the score, leaving little room for freedom, to wide-open improvisations recorded in the moment with nothing predetermined. It’s in the space between composition and improvisation where the magic happens and where, if the musicians are willing, the music can lead. I recorded day and night on a Yamaha grand and an upright felted piano. It felt like some sort of solo retreat: sitting in a building of faith through the night, delving ever deeper into the music. When I finally resurfaced, I felt profoundly that it was the music that had led me, rather than the other way around. As a composer, it’s simplicity that I’m searching for how to say the most with the least. My previous albums were about filling the space, both texturally and dynamically. But solo performance is different. There’s unlimited freedom, and while that can be liberating, it also comes with added responsibility. Beyond the recording, the music takes on a new life. The piano, the room, the acoustic, the mood of the audience, even how much sleep I’ve had all of it informs how the music evolves. So, each performance is completely unique and unrepeatable. The recording of Lumen is just the beginning of its journey. Where and how it evolves from here is what keeps me searching