All the Black Keys (1:59)
All the White Keys (2:24)
Melancholy Piano (4:50)
North Hollywood (3:05)
Sonata for Piano (9:35)
The opening pair are studies in contrast—character pieces shaped by the stark limitation of the keyboard itself: first the black keys, then the white in the second piece. From that constraint emerges a surprising range of color and mood, as if the instrument is discovering its own voice under pressure.
Melancholy Piano inhabits a quieter, more solitary world. It is the sound of late hours and dim light, when the room falls away and the piano becomes less an instrument than a companion—steady, reflective, and unflinchingly honest.
North Hollywood arrives from a different place entirely. The title offers no explanation, and none is needed. The piece seemed to appear fully formed, unfolding with an ease that felt less like composition and more like discovery—playful, immediate, and alive with motion.
The Sonata for Piano began with more formal ambitions, a deliberate effort to engage the weight and tradition of the sonata form. But somewhere along the way, structure gave way to instinct. The music turned inward, growing darker, more dissonant, and increasingly improvisatory. It became as much a physical experience as a musical one—so much so that one listener remarked it made more sense when seen as well as heard. I tended to agree. That observation may be the key: this is music that lives not only in sound, but in gesture and the act of performance itself.