I started composing AIR CHUNKS about the same time I began my long-term infatuation with the literature of the Beat Generation (Kerouac, Ginsberg, Corso, etc.) Like the automatic writing of the Surrealists, and the wild improvisations of Bebop jazz musicians, these authors allowed their ideas to flow from pen to paper in a bold, unhindered, and very personal stream-of-consciousness. This meant that their focus was on the writing rather than the written, that the paper was simply a device with which to capture particles of inspiration from the electric river as it stormed madly through - a filter of sorts. Enlightened, I began to view the staff lines on my music paper as the fine gridwork of a filter screen, and I, too, dipped my strainer into the river. The result was the mixture of seemingly incongruous elements, of air chunks, which, allowed to harden, became this piece.

AIR CHUNKS also happened to be the first work I composed under the tutelage of Bill Albright. He encouraged me to follow the lyricism of my instincts, and listen to the howl of my own voice. It has been said that geniuses are "on" all the time, and as such there is no clear distinction between the genius and the madman - for day and night, the irrational logic of dreams is a very real and constant force influencing their actions. As my teacher he WAS exactly this, and he poured it generously into my work work like wine. He intoxicated me.

In retrospect, I know that I arrived at my studies with Bill on the glorious eve of his final decline, the last highpoint of his life before he succumbed once more to the song of a deadly muse - alcohol. This work is full of crisis and comedic contradictions, it is brutal and sensitive, ultra-passionate and restrained, and I dedicate this piece to his memory.