I missed last week’s post so I’m putting everything in here for this week. I was able to complete 3 tracks in the past 2 weeks.
I feel like the gear-oriented videos I’ve been posting have been getting more attention than the nature and time-lapse nature material I’ve been putting out. Maybe that’s a learning.
It’s week 4 in my summer-long push to create as much music as possible—at minimum, two tracks per week. That means written, recorded, roughly mixed/mastered, and published.
This week I was only able to complete one track.
What’s Working
I liked the feeling of being in the moment here. It’s a live jam and it definitely has that feel.
What’s Not Working
Exactly that — it’s rough. It’s not a ‘finished track’ and the haphazard arrangement reflects what was happening at the moment. Not a lot of forethought. It’s imperfect, for sure.
💬 Open Invitation
If you’re making imperfect things too—music, writing, whatever—I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment below and link to what you’re up to.
It’s week 3 in my summer-long push to create as much music as possible—at minimum, two tracks per week. That means written, recorded, roughly mixed/mastered, and published.
This week I was able to complete 2.
What’s Working
I like that I was able to meld my particular ambient sound with a more prominent, traditional sounding guitar on Golden Chumash Silence. I’ve always used guitar in my music, but in the past I’ve always treated more like a synth: slow attack, drifty release, lots of effects. Ringing out. This time I actually started with the guitar. It felt right. After visiting Lake Cachuma, this particular Strat > Fender Amp sound felt right. I like how the Korg Polysix pads sounds here, too (soft synth emulation FYI).
The field recordings I used here are actually from Lake Cachuma and Chumash Painted Cave site.
Pizza Lawsuit was the result of delving deeper into the capabilities of the Elektron Syntakt. Aside from being a great drum machine, that little box has a ton of potential just in the synth zone. Great sounding machine. I’ve always been a big fan of groove boxes. I love sitting down with just one machine and seeing what you can get out of it, rubbing up against its natural limitations.
What’s Not Working
Nothing comes to mind this week.
💬 Open Invitation
If you’re making imperfect things too—music, writing, whatever—I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment below and link to what you’re up to.
It’s week 2 in my summer-long push to create as much music as possible—at minimum, two tracks per week. That means written, recorded, roughly mixed/mastered, and published.
This week I was able to complete three.
What’s Working
I like the textures I was able to coax out of Paul Stretch X app in Anger Relief Area and Paleozoic. That was a success. Paul Stretch is a great tool for stretching samples to extreme lengths and essentially turn them into pads.
What’s Not Working
I put a lot of time and energy into Beautyway. I wanted to try to do a pop song a la Magnetic Fields. It’s material I’ve listened to a lot over the years, but have only tried producing in that vein sparingly. So I’m going out on a limb here, a bit. Feeling pretty vulnerable here, especially with the vocals.
Now that a few days have past, I must say… it’s pretty cringey. The vocals are too far back in the mix, the effects are wrong and there’s no sparkle. It all sounds uninspired TBH. But that’s why the series is called Imperfections.
💬 Open Invitation
If you’re making imperfect things too—music, writing, whatever—I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment below and link to what you’re up to.
Point Lobos State Park
There’s a point in the creative life of any artist where quantity is quality.
You need to hit a certain critical mass to achieve momentum, whereby you can start to create with more fluidity. You need to be able to explore what you do on a deeper level and your own limits. This is achieved by dedicating more time to the process. The commitment to output allows you to outrun the inner critic.
I’m starting a new regiment, dedicating myself to creating two tracks per week: written, produced, and published.
The purpose of this practice is to become so immersed in the act of creation, so obsessed with my own inner vision, that I don’t have time to second guess. I want to concentrate on the act of creation—writing and producing music. That is what I love to do, to become immersed in the world of my imagination. No filter. No editing (or as little as I can get away with). I’m practicing pure manifestation.
I’m calling this practice “Imperfections” as that’s definitely part of it. Starting now through Labor Day. Eight weeks.
My intention is to able to look back at this period and begin to see some patterns. Patterns I can begin to cultivate. Imperfections and idiosyncrasies that may eventually mutate into style and voice.
Off we go. Here’s week one.
Last month I had a solo performance at Gray Area in San Francisco opening for Jan Jelinek and Andrew Pekler who were visiting from Berlin. I have a few reflections in the aftermath I’d like to share.
Studio vs Stage
It’s funny how when you are in the lead up to a performance and you’re rehearsing your material, you get a feeling how things might work onstage—what moments that might play really well, and how others you might breeze through on your way from one moment to another.
I’ve found that many times, the reverse is true when you get up there.
Some of the tracks I was most excited about fell a little flat, while others I felt lukewarm about came alive, sounding far more compelling on stage than they did in rehearsals.
It’s a reminder that being in the moment—on stage, performing, or even just recording—can feel very different from the safety and solitude of noodling in your bedroom.
Everyone Uses their Instruments Differently
Developing material for a performance is all about experimentation. I wanted to avoid using pre-recorded material, so I spent a lot of time creating and recontextualizing samples and audio I created or found. The guiding question: How can I make this material entertaining for others and fun for me to perform?
At many points, I had a modular synth in the mix, but it didn’t end up in my final configuration. While I love using the modular at home, I often find its unpredictable nature a liability. Onstage, I need an instrument that will respond reliably. That’s not always the way modular works. I admire artists that can make a modular work in the live context, but I’ve had too many instances of it misbehaving in front of a crowd or just sounding far different from the way it sounded in the studio. And those gaps can really kill the moment. I adore the chaos modular brings, but in a performance setting, I need more control.
This show taught me that everyone approaches modular differently. Both Andrew and Jan used modular as their central instrument—alongside samplers and loop machines. (Andrew had a Teenage Engineering OP-1; Jan used four or five mini-disc and cassette players.) When I asked Jan and Andrew how much they improvise live versus playing rehearsed material, they said their sets are fully improvised—but in a way that I didn’t expect.
When I’m using modular, I tend to build from the ground up—sequencing oscillators through filters and effects in a more traditional way. They, on the other hand, treat modular as a processor of pre-recorded audio—less about precision, more about presence. In other words, they combat the unpredictability of the modular by run sequences of pre-recorded samples through it. Very smart.
It’s About More than Just the Music
Visuals have always played a key role in live performance—but in electronic music, they’re essential. To the casual observer, a solo performer behind a laptop can look indistinguishable from someone checking email. Without a clear visual cue—like singing, strumming, or drumming—it’s easy for audiences to disengage. And honestly, that’s fair. If the music feels unfamiliar or abstract, people need something else to connect with.
The three performers at this event approached the visual aspect a little differently, and I learned a lot from seeing those choices in action.
For my set, I took a traditional route: I asked a talented friend to create and project visuals while I performed. I was really happy with how it turned out.
Jan Jelinek did something more intimate—he set up his rig in the middle of the audience with a camera trained on his gear. The live black-and-white feed was projected at the front. No effects, no filters—just a raw, CCTV-style view of what he was doing. Instead of hiding the process, he made it the centerpiece.
Andrew Pekler took the most conceptual approach. He told a story—using video, text, maps, and abstract visuals—about a series of forgotten or lost islands that historically existed and then somehow “disappeared.” I’m not sure how much of what he presented was historical and how much was invented, but it was brilliant. His improvised music paired perfectly with the narrative. It was thoughtful, immersive, and totally original.
All in all, I’m really glad I pushed myself to do this show. I put a lot of hard work into it, but it was absolutely worth it.
-*-
One of the things I enjoy most about making electronic music is the ability discover happy accidents. I find it’s important to start with an idea or a framework for an idea, but along the way, to utilize machines or processes—heck, even mistakes or misapplications of technology—to discover quirks in the composition that surprise and delight you.
Modular is fantastic for this kind of composition as many sequencer modules have fun features that add randomization, probability, and chance into the process. (For those unfamiliar, a sequencer is a tool that essentially orders the notes and timing of the notes to create the melodies and rhythms.)
In this patch, I used a familiar module I’ve used for ages (ornament & crime), but in a new configuration. This module is really good with creating musical phrases by just adding a few inputs. Here I’m using an app called Enigma in the Hemispheres firmware, which is a series of pre-programmed Turing Machine sequences that the user can interact with.
I recently acquired this small acrylic case, and I love that it’s forcing me to explore the possibility of creating something pleasing with very few elements. Here I’m playing with the sequences and the tonality the Bastl Pizza through Mutable Clouds. I haven’t racked Clouds in a while and it still provides so much pleasure. It’s a classic.
Photography is something I’ve always enjoyed, even if I’ve never felt completely confident in it. I’ve experimented a lot, but it’s never been something I felt I fully grasped. Still, I love the process—especially being out in nature, trying to capture its beauty.
What’s interesting is that while I’m most drawn to photographing landscapes, when I look back at my photos, it’s always the human subjects that catch my eye. I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s just something innate—our eyes are naturally drawn to faces.
I feel lucky to live in a place with dramatic elevation changes, right along the Pacific Ocean. It creates stunning, ever-shifting cloudscapes.
On days when the sky is especially active, I’ll find a spot with a good view—sometimes it’s just my backyard—and set up the camera. I usually choose a frame I like, set the shutter to fire every 3–5 seconds, and then let it run. I just sit back, relax, and let time do its thing.
There’s something deeply calming about compressing time. Watching the final result feels almost cinematic—like a scene from a movie, but it’s your life, your memory. There’s a quiet beauty in that, and a kind of melancholy too.
Sometimes I think that’s how the years feel as they pass: calm, but a little sad.
It’s a name known to few — unless you are deep in this world of electronic music. Then it’s a name spoken in hushed tones.
Sam Barker is a British producer and DJ based in Berlin. He’s a resident at Berghain, the club known around the world (perhaps more than any other) as defining what is bleeding edge in dance music.
I first heard his music a few years ago and was instantly captivated by his sound and innovative approach. His genre-defying music blends intricate rhythms with deep, atmospheric sound design to produce a futuristic world that is both cold and warm, technological and emotional. He broke new ground by omitting something we all thought was the one constant in dance music — the kick drum.
Such a simple idea, executed with precision, class, and most of all, skill.
Above is a short performance he did at Superbooth in 2023 - an excellent synth festival held annually in Berlin. Below is another side of him, going a bit more ambient with his producing partner, nd_baumecker.
It’s impossible to be a musician and producer in a genre skirting the edges of ambient and not acknowledge Brian Eno as the genesis or launch point for so much of what we do. Here’s a cool interview with him in his studio.
Rodeo Beach, Sausalito, CA
On a crisp, brilliant day in November, I descended the bluff and spotted a crowd lined up on Rodeo Beach, their formation too precise for a casual tour. It looked almost like they were searching for something—until I saw the large red and white RESCUE shields.
My stomach tightened. A rescue effort? A stranded seal? A beached whale? I hurried closer.
Within earshot, I finally heard the lead scientist making a speech and spied the two large dog crates at one end of the crowd, furthest from the waves.
That’s when I realized they weren’t saving; they were releasing.
Two juvenile sea lions, previously suffering from bacterial infections, had been rehabilitated at the Marine Mammal Center. Now, they were ready to return to the wild.
The scientist wrapped up his appeal, dutifully gave instructions for finding their institute online, and stepped back.
The dog crates opened, and all that could be heard was a whisper from the wind and surf. The collective bated breath of the three dozen onlookers, patrons, and high school students there assembled created a palpable tension as all eyes gazed into the shadow of the open crates.
They emerged slowly, tentatively, the yellow California sun reflecting off their light tan coats. Their obsidian eyes absorbed all the light there was to see and gave nothing in return.
They each took small steps and looked around in confusion. How strange we must have seemed to them. Then, as if suddenly realizing their purpose, they took off, lumbering initially, then sprinting into the foamy froth.
At first, I pitied them as they struggled against the cold, heavy surf, their tiny bodies dwarfed by the walls of crashing water.
But then I remembered—this isn’t a struggle. This is their home. They’re going home.
California sea lions being released by the Marine Mammal Center
Then a strange thought occurred to me. What if our whole lives are that period these sea lions experienced in their convalescence? What if all our struggles—our triumphs and our failures, all we hope to achieve and all we’re trying to prove—exist only within this temporary world, guided by forces we barely understand?
And then, just like that, it’s all over. We slip beneath the surface, back to where we truly belong.
We’re all complicated people. Each of us is in the process of trying to recover from some setback, from some injury, from some dis-ease--the physical, mental, or emotional kind, or a combination of all three. We’re all recovering from damage sustained while living. The accumulation of scar tissue over ages of wounds, seen and unseen, at some point becomes too much to bear. Sometimes it feels like we’re suffocating under the weight of our own choices.
But beyond all that, where we all want to go is home. We all want to go home.
And so, as I watched those two tiny beings slip beneath the surf and disappear—the cheers of the high school students ringing out and the scientists embracing one another—I realized how magical and powerful some moments can be, especially if we don’t see them coming.
We got to send these two back to where they belong. And it felt like something important.
California sea lions at Rodeo Beach, Sausalito, CA
Recurring Fantasy is a sonic exploration born from my time spent in Berlin. Over the last two visits I’ve made there, I found myself wandering the city's streets, soaking in the energy, the chaos, and the quiet moments that often go unnoticed. But it wasn’t just the city itself that inspired me—it was the sounds I discovered there. Analog, forgotten, and full of texture, those tapes became a window into a world that felt as fragmented and dreamlike as my own thoughts.
I created Recurring Fantasy using just my laptop and modular synths, two instruments that allowed me to bend sound into shapes I hadn’t imagined before. I felt like I was piecing together a collage of my own mind, stitching together fragments of melodies and textures into something cohesive but not quite whole. Each track is a reflection of a moment in Berlin: a walk down a narrow alley, the hum of a subway station, the reverberation of distant conversations. The city’s influence is there, but it's wrapped in a sense of dreamlike abstraction.
But despite the album being finished, I held onto it for a year. I wasn’t sure if it was ready. I wasn’t sure if I was ready. It was like releasing a part of myself that I wasn't quite ready to share with the world, a bit like holding an injured sea lion in my hands—careful, unsure, but hopeful. I wanted to wait until it was "healed"—until I felt ready to let it live on its own in the world.
Now, a year later, I realize that the hesitation was a part of the journey. The album is its own thing now, its life no longer tied to my doubt. Just as the sealion eventually returns to the sea, Recurring Fantasy is now free to roam, to evolve, and to find its place in the world. It feels like letting go—not of the music itself, but of the fear that once held it back.
This album is no longer just mine; it’s yours to experience, interpret, and feel. And I’m no longer afraid of what that means. It’s time to release it into the world and let it make its own waves.
Stream it on Spotify by clicking the image below.
One bright morning, after biking to Ocean Beach, I encountered a scene that struck me deeply.
The sun illuminated the golden sands, the waves splashing white as they kissed the shore. On the sidewalk, however, laid rotten watermelon rinds, filthy food containers, and refuse spilling from a garbage bag with a huge gash in its side. Someone had emptied every garbage can along the beach all over the pavement.
As I continued my ride, I spotted an older woman carefully loading the filth back into the garbage bins.
Noticing her well-kept appearance and kitchen gloves, I realized she wasn’t a city sanitation worker.
I paused and sincerely thanked her for her for what she was doing.
She turned to me, surprised, and said, “Thank you for saying that. You’re the first person to acknowledge me all week.” She stepped closer. “People see me and think, ‘Oh, she’s just an old Asian woman collecting bottles for money.’ But this is my church. I can’t stand to see it like this.”
Her name was Joy.
No, she doesn’t have to do what she’s doing. There are people that are paid to do that. Joy mentioned that when she does run into sanitation workers, they try to run her off.
But she’s doing it because she can and because the beach deserves better.
It’s easy to be critical and let our frustrations fester; but here is someone who took action. No superhero, Joy is a person unafraid to get her hands dirty for the greater good.
Wishing you many Joys in your life this month.
I released a track this month called Dragons of Eden. It’s dedicated to Carl Sagan, who would have turned 90 on November 9. Happy birthday, Carl. You brought joy to so many you came in contact with, and beyond.
For my latest release, Night Chant, I worked with Anthony Tesija to create an interactive video. We came up with the concept together and he programmed this and provided the software, which I was able to “perform” to the track.
The process of working with Anthony and the software he created really opened my mind to what audio-reactive visuals could be. It was a delightful process and I look forward to more collaborations with Anthony.
The Slow Music Movement wrote a brief review on my latest release, Out of Balance.
I appreciate the coverage. Check it out the review on their site and take a listen to the Slowtronic Playlist from your favorite streaming platform.
Here is a recoding of my performance of the original “Out of Balance” composition. This was recorded live at the 4 Star Theatre in San Francisco preceding (and inspired by) the film Koyaanisqatsi.
Thanks to Sycamore Willow for organizing and for inviting me to join.
Cheers to Fetz A/V for providing such cool visuals and to AVion for recording the event.
I just released a new single called Out of Balance. I composed this piece for an event in April in which three composers were each asked to create 10 minute pieces inspired by the classic experimental film, Koyaanisqatsi.
We gathered at the 4 Star Theatre in San Francsisco and performed those pieces before a screening of the film.
I first saw this film in a high school photography class and was immediately arrested by it—and honestly, a little put off. I had never experienced a film that had so defiantly thrown away all the conventions of traditional narrative film. It was strange, but also beautiful.
In later years, I saw more of Ron Fricke’s work—Samsara and Baraka—which resonated and made more sense to me, perhaps because I was older and a bit more open minded to what film as a medium could be.
I rewatched Koyaanisqatsi earlier this year and found I was still a little unsettled by it, but also recognized that is one of the filmmakers’ intended effects.
The name of the film is a Hopi word that can be translated as “life out of balance.” In this piece, I was striving to strike a medium between the beauty of nature, and the rigid structure that comes from modern society. I hope you enjoy.
“There is always a well-known solution to every human problem—neat, plausible, and wrong.”
- H.L. Mencken
Photo: Sam Sommer
Growing up, if you wanted love and acceptance, you had to do certain things — like perform well in school, meet others’ expectations, or conform to what society wanted a little boy or girl to look and act like. You had to do what your parents and teachers expected of you.
The educational system I came up through—and that probably still exists to a large degree today—didn’t ask students to access their sensitivity or emotions. It required them to be obedient. It required them to do as they were told. Going to Catholic schools as I did, it was even more intense. All these expectations around school were not only backed up by parents and teachers, but also nuns, priests, and ultimately, God. Religious study, Bible reading, and church attendance were indispersed among the more traditional subjects. It was just another thing, and felt very normal at the time.
But looking back now, I wonder.
I was very good at school. Aside from a few classes, I aced everything I put my mind to. It was easy to me. I knew implicitly how to be the “good boy” that I was expected to be. I was usually the first to raise my hand and answer the teacher’s questions, so much so that I stopped because I could tell the teacher was looking to “give someone else a chance.”
I learned very early how to be obedient, how to give my superiors what they wanted. I became an expert rule follower. But I spent very little time exploring who I was, what I was capable of, and what I wanted to do with my life. That caused some serious issues later on.
The education system didn’t provide a whole lot of room for free expression. Sure, we had art and music classes in school, but they were project-based and quite antiquated. Let’s all sing this song in a choir. Now make this animal from a milk carton.
As an adult, I have only recently come to realize the full extent of these ramifications. This is why I still feel a strong desire to fit in, to be like others, to blend into the crowd. This is why I hate drawing attention to myself in public places, and feel instinctually annoyed by people making noise and creating public drama.
This is why I had a lot of trouble with girls when I first started dating. (Single sex education was another factor here—right in time for puberty!) This is why I was afraid to be assertive with women, scared I was gross and crude and something girls didn’t want to be around. This is why I was the “good guy,” firmly in the friend-zone with all my girl friends, but alone on date night for long stretches.
This is why I struggle with artistic self expression—and also why I’m obsessed with it.
“Our definition of self-awareness as artists relates directly to the way we tune into our inner experience, not the way we are externally perceived. The more we identify with our self as it exists through the eyes of others, the more disconnected we become and the less energy we have to draw from.”
Unconditional self acceptance is something I’m working toward. Self acceptance means accepting my reality. It’s coming to an understanding that I am something separate from my achievements, from my job, from my family, and definitely from outside expectations. These things all still exist—they just don’t define me.
Sometimes I think I can only be worthy of self-acceptance if I’m a “productive” individual—if I’m working hard, if I’m producing enough artistic content to be “worthy” of being a non-parent.
We’re all a work in progress. I try to take to heart the words of Ralph Waldo. Some days it’s easier than others.
“No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily transferrable to that or this; only right is what is after my constitution; the only wrong is what is against it.”
Jump to 10:00.