30. An Unknown River
Have you ever met a ghost?
Ok, if you have met a ghost, or if you have a ghost story, I would love to hear it.
A wise person once said, Every love story is a ghost story.
The reverse is perhaps even truer: Every ghost story is a love story.
Otherwise, there wouldn’t be ghosts at all.
I have another question for you: have you ever wondered if you might one day, mysteriously, appear somewhere else in the world?
Well I’m here to tell you: it finally happened.
You wake up in a field of grass.
The sun shines on you but, somehow, you don’t feel warmed by it.
When you stand up, your body feels not your own. You know how to walk, but your legs feel strange. And when you touch your face, the shapes seem unfamiliar.
You look across a patch of flowers and see a stone house nearby, a wooden bridge, a stream slowly moving.
You hear people laughing and talking, but you can’t make out their words.
Smoke drifts over from an unseen fire, making gray curly wisps that carry to you the sweet smell of grilled corn.
You notice the linen clothes you’re wearing, but they feel not your own, and the way they brush up against your body feels unnatural.
As you approach . . . you see a group of people now, there are ten or twelve, women and men and children gathered.
You want to wave to them but they haven’t noticed you yet.
And when you walk closer, still no one turns to look.
Instead of walking along the riverbank next to them, you step into the circle of the crowd — now you’re standing at their fire pit.
Vegetables bubble in a giant brass pot.
Suddenly, you realize: none of the adults are talking anymore, and the children are staring at their feet.
You wonder if you are having a strange effect on them — because you seem like an outsider?
You walk up to the water, to check your reflection.
// Side B //
Thank you for tuning in to Campfire Sparks.
Today’s story hails from the Travel Poems live show, one of several that I speak aloud while members of the band improvise as the tale unfolds. For this one, usually it’s the acoustic bass, but sometimes it’s been vibraphones or frame drum.
The 1st song above was Oak Island, released on Chapter 2 . The night sea in 20221.
And the video was “Day 73 // an island emerges from the sea” from last year’s Proof of Play series — chronicling what I worked on each day, scored to a photo I took “on that day” from a previous year. The music was excerpted from practice time also in 2022, September 4th.
Comin’ right up: backstage stories, the current routine, and gifts for paid subs.
Table of Contents
a tale of three gigs 🌍
the creator’s schedule (2025 edition)
coffee hangs + gifts announcement
A Tale of Three Gigs
1 — Trio plus one-hundred
Three weeks ago, I’m an hour outside Paris
in a chill village called La Ferté-sous-Jouarre —
it’s the middle of June and we’re approaching a heatwave.
A 3-day jazz festival is afoot.
(Earth, Wind & Fire is the headliner, how perfect for “the festival of two rivers” — finally, the element they’ve been missing this whole time! anyways)
I’m there as Josephine Pia Wild’s pianist; we’re opening the festival.
Picture me, Josephine on handpan and voice, Guillaume on bass, and 100 French kids aged 8–12.
The children have been learning JPW’s songs throughout the year — not just singing but also dancing to them, speaking their own poetry over them, and playing orchestral arrangements of them.
It’s a marvel how they know the music inside-out.
As a kid I joined the Phoenix Boys Choir, which may’ve set me up early for the magic of children’s voices in ensemble — who’s untouched by Charlie Brown or The Sound of Music? — but nothing could have prepared me for how it felt to perform with these kids.
Rehearsal’s already beyond endearing, since the kids have started to wave to me, pull faces, shenanigans . . .
Then: one of the most beautiful shows I’ve ever played ~
2 — Duo
Next morning in the same town, bright and early.
Josephine and I play another show, this time just the two of us.
Festival organizers shuttle us to a new location. It’s a retirement home.
Indoors, clean, clinical. There’s a tiny elevated stage in front of a black velvet curtain, and an electric piano — one of those with its own pillars and power cable — which two nurses carry across the room and lift onto the stage, now 1/3 occupied by the piano.
The audience awaits, already in full attendance. We set up our own mics and cables, and they’re watching us do it, dishing commentary on what’s going on. One eighty-year-old woman says I look good.
They’re sitting in armchairs and wicker chairs and wheelchairs. Blankets. Half of them asleep.
Josephine’s face and name are projected onto the wall next to us, big as a movie screen, in case anyone forgets during the show.
We soundcheck for a minute then start immediately.
Quips from the peanut gallery continue as we play, even increase. Juxtaposed with respectful applause between songs.
There was one other time I played an old folks’ home — my first jazz group in California, bass and piano, called The Astronomer and Spaceman. Based on that representative sample size, I know that every retirement home comes with a talkative contingent.
Today it’s two women in the front row.
My french is beginner-level, but the comments seem critical. During one song I catch someone saying trop fort (too loud).
Mid-set, Josephine asks the audience if the sound level is ok. The non-sleeping crowd says yes, except for one dissenter. A woman raises her hands in front of her chest and makes a “T” — the universal sign for “it’s time to stop”.
3 — Solo
Days later I’m in Berlin for Fête de la Musique: longest day of the year.
Last autumn I started touring Radio Flyer, setting up the tea lounge around town, announcing where I’ll be via community text (you can join too!)
But this summer there’s a greater purpose beyond “playing outdoors”.
I’m making the next album in full public view.
My obsession with open-studio formats continue growing. For The Tributary it makes more sense than the recording-studio process: I can workshop relentlessly, live and for video, refine ideas and structures for improvisation, and truly give the music away (more on that later).
So. Load up the trolley with piano and collapsible tea lounge, wheel it from my house to Berlin’s island of museums.
It’s Fête day which means music EVERYWHERE — far more than I anticipated.
The spot I’d hoped to score is plastered in wall-to-wall techno music.
Contrast this 69-key piano: quiet, acoustic, one string for each note.
I’m looking for crowds and a good vibe away from car traffic, but wherever people are hanging out there’s cacophony.
Lots of people gathered on courtyards in front of the Dom Cathedral. But it’s packed with two choirs, a brass ensemble, an Egyptian saxophonist blowing on backing tracks from a rolly amp, a guitar quartet perched at the base of Altes Museum, solo trumpet, and a too-loud-for-convo 20-foot-tall water fountain splashing merrily.
As I walk in circles trying to find a calmer spot by ear, I begin to lose faith.
I tell myself I’m determined to play somewhere . . . when the fountain shuts off and the saxophonist starts packing up.
I walk up to Ahmed El Saidi and chat a bit, ask if I can take over. No problem. You can still hear all the music groups mentioned earlier, but it’s much better.
I set up on the grass lawn and play one of the most eventful outdoor shows I can remember.
It’s a striking experience, vibing the percussive grooves of West African folk rhythms while starling murmurations swirl above cathedral spires.
Interspersed with jazz standards and originals, here’s the concert program, given away as postcards at the merch stand.
Crazy bugs start swarming at crepuscule. Cockchafer don’t sting unless trapped — but what’s in a name? They’re as big as cherries, attracted by music, landing on my head, arms, even my face, hovering like helicopters and buzzing just as loud.
I continue as a dozen bugs crawl all over me, crashing around like bumper cars, drunk with glee.
The voice of Matthew McConaughey appears in my head. I’d recently heard his story about being summoned to Mali by a dream, and I recommend the whole interview. In concert, Ali Farka Touré doesn’t shoo away the “village hermaphrodite” climbing on top of him, even when it disrupts his ability to reach his guitar strings. You play the song that’s happening — indeed, as it has never been played before.
Gradually, sunset seeps into twilight, and I press on through midnight, feeling the undulations of wind and crowd presence . . . eventually, the music calls for softer voicings, the relief of darkness, night songs.
—
These 3 shows felt bundled together in a care package, as if through them I could witness the seasons of life. Spring, winter, the rainbows between, in glowing moonlit relief, a clarion request for attendance to all these moments I have been gifted.
( Thank you to Beata and Lacy for this video at a subsequent show <3 )
A Creator’s Schedule (2025 Edition)
It’s taken years for me to understand that artist life works better when approached with the similar constraints of a 9–5 job.
And more years to experience it, embodied, bit by bit one at a time, each lego piece maneuvered painstakingly into place as though by mechanical tower crane.
The revisions will continue until morale improves. Here’s the current schedule — if you’re curious about details such as journal prompts, scribble a post-it reply to this entry. I’d also love to hear how you approach this stuff, why to steal your ideas of course.
8a up, drink lime + salt, cold shower, yoga, tennis-ball massage
8:30 morning steps (outdoor walk & voice memo journaling)
9:30 make coffee, write on paper, meditate
10:15 piano
1p breakfast + inbox
2 [work block 1]
4 lunch + correspondence window
[work block 2 / meetings / piano instruction]
7 dinner + correspondence window
[concert, workout, reading, French/German, social time]
10 social media / news, optional
11 lights off ex candles + EOD writing: gratitude, plan next day
<11:59 bed8 hours for eating, 16 hours for fasting. 8 hours’ sleep.
Enforced downtime. If I don’t, I won’t, and both life and work quality go freefall.
I’ve noticed the more attention I put into the end-of-day writing, the better the next day goes. I fill out what occupies tomorrow’s work blocks (usually music or admin), what to write about, and what happened today that was lovely, storyworthy, or offered a lesson.
During periods of big projects — true right now — the writing practices serve as checkpoints to stay on track, zoom out, and discover next actions.
These days, “writing” drops into 5 possible buckets:
Voice memos, usually one per day — if interrupted they can be resumed
Paper notebook
Typed, into a computer document
Piano logs of music work: the regulars are sight-reading Bach, learning new songs by ear, and technical exercises
Apple notes, one per day, for jotting randomly out and about
Paid Subscriber Coffee Hangouts + Upcoming Gifts
This is the second issue where I’ve opted to not include a paid section, mainly because this platform doesn’t support the spirit of publishing entries that are 90% free with a bonus for paying subscribers — e.g., no way to let free readers comment on paid posts, etc.
So then, dear paid subscriber, you might ask: what cool perks are offered?
First, it’s time for a coffee and snacks hang with each one of you, to say hi and inquire what you’re up to — I’ll reach out individually by this weekend 📮.
Second, most likely I’ll write separate “fully paid” posts.
Third, filed under “special gifts”, you’ll still get albums free, in advance, or exclusive and not available otherwise. (The Travel Poems boxset is still available with an 80% discount, unlocked by the secret subscribers’ code.)
Fourth, something radical is brewing: a limited edition 1/1 art piece from the Proof of Play collection (“Day 73” was enclosed above) will be made available to all paid and founding members.
Thank you for stopping by — and much love 🍪
Music video for “Oak Island” features photography and a mystery story, included in Issue 15: The Carriage of Light. Dean Torrey on bass, Sebastian Chiriboga on drums, recorded at Douglass in Brooklyn.
the children singing along to Josephine's music is so beautifully chilling. dear eric, you've been my biggest inspiration in berlin! thank you for your music, your writing, and for you being you :))