Passage: 
 AV talks with Chris Meyer

 

Chris Meyer

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Learning Modular




Passage
by Chris Meyer

 

Passage: Mapping the Journey
Chris Meyer discusses collaboration with Robert Rich, the evolution of Passage,
and finding beauty within landscapes of transition.

Some collaborations seem inevitable in hindsight. Chris Meyer and Robert Rich have traveled parallel paths through the ambient landscape for decades, each cultivating a distinctive musical voice rooted in exploration, atmosphere, and patient listening. Yet it was not until Passage that the two longtime friends found the right creative opportunity to bring their individual worlds together. The result is an album that feels both deeply personal and remarkably unified, inviting listeners into a series of immersive soundscapes that explore the many transitions we experience throughout our lives.

In this Ambient Visions CD Focus interview, Chris takes us inside the evolution of Passage, from its beginnings as extended modular improvisations for an immersive gallery installation in Santa Fe to its transformation into a fully realized collaborative work. Along the way, he discusses his creative partnership with Robert Rich, the unusual process of exchanging musical ideas across time and distance, the inspiration behind the album's themes of passage and renewal, and his fascination with discovering stories that seem to emerge naturally from the music itself.

What makes this conversation especially rewarding is Chris' willingness to look beyond the technical details of synthesis and production to examine the artistic choices that shaped the album's emotional core. Whether discussing the beauty that can exist within decay, the value of attentive listening, or the quiet optimism that ultimately lies at the heart of Passage, his thoughtful responses offer readers a deeper appreciation not only of this remarkable collaboration, but of the creative process itself.


AV:  Passage is built around the idea of transition—moving from one phase of life to another, whether physically, emotionally, spiritually, or even passing from this life into whatever comes next. What first inspired you to explore that particular theme, and did it evolve as the album took shape?

CM:  It evolved.

The tracks that make up Passage started as extended improvisations. In that state, they could be thought of as chunks of lovely stone. But it takes a sculptor’s chisel to add further meaning to those stones. That’s where editing, and overdubbing new parts, comes in.

As I chiseled away at these pieces, individual stories started to emerge. Then came deciding which order the tracks should play in to convert those individual stories into an over-arching narrative.

Early on in the process, the original story they were telling me was nocturnal: akin to being in an old, overgrown graveyard after midnight, observing what the various insects, animals, and ghosts were up to while others slept.

 

During the editing process, a story of travel started to emerge. Originally I thought it might space travel, leaving this planet for a hopefully better place.

Then I remembered William Burroughs’ collaboration with Bill Laswell on The Western Lands, where Burroughs recited a text inspired by the Egyptian Book of the Dead. That book gives advice to souls on their journey after death – and that resonated even more with the shape these tracks (or lumps of stone) were taking.

But of course, the listener can mold their meaning to fit whatever journey they are currently on, passing from one reality to another.

AV:  This album represents a long-awaited collaboration with Robert Rich. Having known each other for years, what made Passage feel like the right project for the two of you to finally create together?

CM:  I’ve known Robert for over 40 years now, and long admired his music – particularly the way he blends acoustic, electro-acoustic, and electronic instruments with exotic influences.

As I was working on the core tracks for these pieces, I felt they were lovely, if dark and challenging environments on their own, and considered releasing them as is to preserve their original intent. But I determined I wasn’t beholden to any personally manufactured rule of honoring their origin, and instead thought they would benefit from adding other elements to help give them a narrative.

I considered adding these elements myself, but thought it would be even better to bring in an outside influence to widen the palette of colors used beyond my own. I started thinking of multi-instrumentalists who could play that role, and Robert immediately floated to the top – both for his skills as a musician, but also because he had created dark works of his own in the past.

I started by sending the core tracks to Robert just to ask his opinion of them as a fellow musician and friend whose advice I trusted. He liked them, but like me also thought they needed solos on top to give then a narrative direction. I asked him if he might be interested in playing those solos – and he agreed!


Chris Meyer performing at The Gathering in Philadelphia

AV:  The project began as music for the Currents Gallery 826 Vibrant Pool exhibition in Santa Fe, where several artists performed simultaneously in different rooms and visitors created their own experience simply by moving through the gallery. How did that unique environment influence your approach to composing and performing the music?

CM:  The plan was for each of us to play continuously for two hours, using the same notes – Scriabin’s Mystic Chord – as well as a constant tempo, while knowing that the audience would be ever-changing over the course of the night. My pieces normally are shorter, and have a narrative arc with a lot of changes for the listener to follow. So, I had to completely re-think the way I composed and performed music to suit this experience.

My solution was to create a set of what I referred to as “human guided autonomous systems.” I had some control – such as entering the notes to be played – but then the systems were able to evolve and morph to a degree on their own.

I had a lot of fun interacting with these systems: I could send them off in a particular direction, listen for awhile to hear what they were doing, and then play new stimulus to send them off a different way. But unlike a lot of “generative music” software, I had personally determined the rules they would follow, based on my own musical tastes.

AV:  Rather than composing in a traditional studio setting, you drew from hours of exploratory improvisations and live performance recordings before shaping the final pieces. How much of Passage was discovered rather than planned?

CM:  The vast majority was discovered; then I had to plan what to do with those discoveries!

Before the actual performance, I spent a lot of time programming the systems, as well as jamming with them to see how they would respond – plus to plan how I would interact with them. These jams would go on for a half hour to over an hour each. I recorded all of them – as well as the gallery performance itself, and more jams afterwards in the studio.

I then went through these hours of material, noting which sections I thought showed promise to be turned into standalone compositions. I originally marked out segments that were 20 minutes or longer, and later kept editing them down and tightening them up to where a listener unaware of the process might enjoy them on their own, and not get bored.

AV:  According to the album notes, Robert added his solos after hearing your completed soundscapes, and you then returned to add additional layers in response to his performances. What was it like having a musical conversation unfold across time rather than in the same room?

CM:  It’s a process I’ve become very used to, driven by outside circumstances.

When I lived in Los Angeles, I would improvise live or in the studio with a couple different ensembles, including Richard Bugg’s Cosmic Debris who introduced me to improvisation. When I moved to New Mexico 17 years ago, I wanted to keep playing with Richard as well as the bassist Lachlan Westfall, so by necessity we started passing music files back and forth to work on, rather than playing together in the same room in real time. Richard in particular contributed to several of my prior albums.

Similarly, after I moved to New Mexico I improvised with a variety of musicians, until Covid hit. This required me to take on most of the compositional duties myself, as well as rely more on remote or time-shifted methods to play with others.

Although a lot of magic can happen spontaneously in real time, sometimes it’s useful to not have to make snap judgements. That way you’re able to consider what might be most appropriate for a given piece, without the pressure of the other musicians in the same room staring at you while you hope for inspiration to strike.

For remote, time-shifted collaboration to work, there does have to be a certain amount of trust, including letting go of being able to micro-manage the process. I gave Robert permission to play whatever he wanted over extended versions of the core tracks, and he gave me permission to use or not use whichever segments of his contributions that I wanted.

Since all four tracks originated on the same musical system following the same set of rules, I was keen to make sure the end results sounded sufficiently different from each other. Robert suggested varispeeding each piece by a different amount to give each their own musical key and tempo. Once we agreed on those variations, he listened closely to each piece to map out what he might like to do. He then improvised his parts – using a different instrument on each track – guided by these maps.

Once I had his contributions, I made some additional light edits to tighten up the overall tracks. I then overdubbed a different final layer of my own on all but the first track, Elegy.

AV:  One description of the album mentions Robert's "plaintive solos" floating above your "backdrops of quiet industrial decay." That's a wonderfully evocative image. Were you consciously trying to balance beauty and deterioration throughout the record?

CM:  I think there can be beauty in disorder or decay: be it an abandoned factory, garden, or graveyard. The artistry comes in with how you frame the picture to bring order and meaning to the seeming chaos.

Some of the sounds I chose have a distinct “broken machines” character, such as the occasional percussive hits which sound a bit like slow-motion crashes or explosions. But I did not go for the harshness and distortion that some prefer, instead aiming for a feeling of lushness among the decay. The languid pace also implies worlds which time had gradually passed by.

Robert picked up on these intentions beautifully with his solos. To further enhance the organic counterbalance to the industrial feel of the core tracks, I added slowed-down acoustic percussion to three of them, including the rubbed gongs that signify “The Three Gates” on the final track Afterlife.

AV:  The four compositions are all substantial works, each allowing ideas to unfold gradually. What does the longer format allow you to express that shorter compositions simply can’t?


Chris Meyer

CM:  I have a definite preference for what I call “the long arc.”

Rather than going straight in at 100% energy with most or all the parts playing immediately, I prefer to set a scene with an initial sound or ambience. Then I’ll add one “actor” at a time to the scene by introducing a new instrument. I like to let it play long enough for the listener to make its acquaintance and become familiar with it, before introducing another actor. It’s not unusual for this building process to take several minutes just by itself, which is as long as a finished piece by many others!

Once I’ve introduced the entire cast, I let them play off of each other for awhile, occasionally adding in new elements to push along or comment on the narrative. Once they’ve acted out their scene, then I either unwind the piece in a similar manner, or bring them all “on stage” as it were to sing a final triumphant chorus.

AV:  The titles—"Elegy," "Realization," "Horizonless," and "Afterlife (The Three Gates)"—almost suggest chapters in a larger journey. Did the music naturally lead to those titles, or did the conceptual framework exist before the pieces were finished?

CM:  The music led me to their titles.

As I mentioned earlier, the overall journey is intended to be akin to The Book of the Dead, instructing souls how to cross to the other side. However, there was a process involved in trying to uncover the overall narrative arc these four pieces were trying to tell me.

I’m also a visual artist, creating assemblages intended to resemble artifacts from lost civilizations. My hope is that the viewer will study them, and try to determine the latent stories that brought about their creation.

These four tracks presented me with a similar dilemma: I could tell there was a story in there, but it wasn’t in a language I spoke every day. It took some time living with them and testing alternative narratives until I found one that matched the clues they were revealing to me.

AV:  Your setup combines modular synthesizers, Hydrasynth, Wavestation, Folktek instruments, and a collection of unusual acoustic textures like gong growls, rattles, and bells, while Robert contributes instruments such as the Continuum, Vibraslide guitar, PVC flute, and Osmose. Were there particular sounds that surprised even you as the album developed?

CM:  Although many identify me as a “modular musician,” in fact my real interest in in sound – no matter how it is created. The instruments are chosen to create the sounds I imagine when composing a piece.

Each of Robert’s contributions were a delight to discover and decode. This was especially true the fourth track – Afterlife – where he played an Expressive E Osmose through a spectral reverb that made it sound like it was frozen in time. This one was the most challenging for me to assimilate, as it was unlike what Robert played on the other tracks, or what I’ve become used to hearing in his more recent music.

As for the sounds I chose for this project, I particularly enjoy slowing things down, and seeing what micro details are exposed. For example, the two middle tracks – Realization and Horizonless – include rattles and a bell tree that I played softly and continuously for the entire track. That was interesting in itself, but when I slowed them down to around half speed, they really took on a life of their own.

That’s a good analogy for the entire album: These are moments in time that have been stretched out or frozen, inviting us to study and discover their inner secrets while they wait patiently.

AV:  Ambient music is often described as background music, yet Passage seems equally intended for immersive, attentive listening. When you were creating these pieces, what kind of listening experience were you hoping your audience would have?


Chris Meyer in his studio

CM:  As we discussed at the start, the core pieces were originally created for a performance at an art gallery. The intention was that the visitors could use it as a background to enhance their enjoyment of the art, or they could actively engage with the music – as well as the musicians! I often invited visitors to play with parts of the system themselves.

I think it’s fair to say that most ambient or “floating” music is created to fit these duel roles of passive or active enjoyment. Even Brian Eno – often cited as the father of ambient music – said it should “accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular; it must be as ignorable as it is interesting.”

In his liner notes to Music for Airports, Eno also noted that “Whereas conventional background music is produced by stripping away all sense of doubt and uncertainty (and thus all genuine interest) from the music, Ambient Music retains these qualities.” I used to think that “dark ambient” was a bit of a contradiction in terms until I was reminded of that quote – that uncertainty and even unease could live inside ambient music.

Going back again to the parallels between visual and aural art: It’s often said that the purpose of much artwork is to look good hanging over a couch. One of the goals in my visual art was to hopefully catch someone’s eye from across the room, and then reward them for walking across that room to get a closer look with interesting details in the work. I feel the same way about my music: In addition to catching someone’s attention, I want to reward close, repeated listening.

AV:  The album artwork carries the same ancient, weathered aesthetic found throughout the music. How closely did the visual design and the sonic world influence one another during the creation of Passage?

CM:  I try to paint a mental picture with my music, so it should be no surprise that I care a lot about the imagery I pair with my albums.

It’s not a coincidence that both my music and my album artwork share the same aesthetic: All of my albums except my very first use my own artwork for the covers. The artwork does not drive the music; after the music has been created, I go through the art I’ve created – including unfinished work and design studies – and find the piece that I feel best relates visually to that music.

AV:  You recorded and produced the album in the Sandia Mountains of New Mexico. Do you feel that the landscape where you work leaves an imprint on the music you create, even when the compositions aren't explicitly about nature?

CM:  I’m very fortunate to live in the foothills of a national forest, surrounded by nature, as well as dramatic clouds during the day and a sky full of planets, stars, meteors, and satellites at night.

Although I spend a lot of time watching wildlife, tending our landscape, and lying on the roof at night staring at the heavens, you are correct that there is not an explicit connection: I don’t aim to write music about the owls nesting on our porch, or the celestial movements of the spheres above.

All of these things do contribute, however, to an overall sense of peace that I feel living here, freeing up my mind in turn to try and express beauty – even if it’s in the abstract.

AV:  Collaboration often requires artists to leave room for one another's ideas. Did working with Robert encourage you to approach your own music differently than you might have on a solo Alias Zone release?

CM:  In the past – especially during the creation of Passage – I did not necessarily leave room, as much as noticed that there was a hole!

On the one hand, I admit to being a bit of a control freak. Covid meant I had to learn to compose and play all of the parts of my music by myself. Once I became used to creating fully-realized worlds on my own, I found I had become a bit protective about letting anyone interfere with that process.

On the other hand, as Clint Eastwood said in Magnum Force: “a man’s got to know his limitations.” If a piece of music is demanding something that I cannot personally give it, I have to be egoless enough to look beyond myself to serve the music. When given the choice between leaving a part out, playing it myself poorly, or getting someone else to play it, the latter choice wins. Passage is the most extensive example of that to date.

Going forward, I have a few other friends who have raised the idea of collaborative albums. I could just wait to create pieces that had holes I thought they could fill. But instead I need to take up the challenge of creating sketches that purposely have holes – “room” – that they would be appropriate to fill.

AV:  After spending several years developing Passage, what aspect of the finished album gives you the greatest sense of satisfaction—or perhaps surprised you the most once everything came together?

CM:  Honestly? The biggest surprise is that other people like it!

For my more melodic and rhythmic work, I have a rule that if a new composition makes emotions start to well up inside me, then I might be onto something that will connect with others as well.

The tracks that make up Passage are different. There was something in the core tracks that connected with me on a different level – more cellular than just raw emotion. But they also felt incredibly personal: I was finding this beauty in what I was afraid others would feel were some pretty dark places. Would other people connect to it, or be repulsed by it? Robert connected to it, but I knew he was used to exploring some pretty dark places himself. This uncertainty – combined with how different Passage is from my other work – made me reluctant to release it for awhile.

However, the response has been much more positive than I could have imagined. Ironically, the track I thought would be the most challenging for others to appreciate – Afterlife – is the one getting the most airplay right now; one reviewer declared it contained “a compositional maturity that’s hard to match. It is, without exaggeration, one of the most accomplished moments ambient music has produced so far this year.” I’m still knocked a bit off balance by this.

AV:  Finally, when listeners reach the end of Afterlife (The Three Gates) and the journey is complete, what do you hope they carry with them after experiencing Passage from beginning to end?

CM:  I’ve been referring to Afterlife as the most challenging track on the album. However, when we pass through the second gate – the second gong punctuation – Robert’s spine-tingling solo is finished, and more uplifting elements creep in toward the end to counterbalance the darkness, allowing us to cross that third gate. At its conclusion, I hope the listener is left with the same sense of optimism – maybe even of cleansing or renewal.

Life is difficult and has numerous challenges. But with patience, perseverance, and belief in one’s self, one can overcome many obstacles. One of the tenants of Buddhism – which has had a large impact on my life – is that life does indeed have clouds…but clouds tend to move on, revealing the blue sky that was always behind them.

AV:  Our sincere thanks to Chris Meyer for taking the time to share such thoughtful and detailed insights into the creation of Passage. His willingness to look beyond the technical aspects of the album and explore the ideas, inspirations, and creative decisions that shaped this remarkable collaboration with Robert Rich has made for a fascinating conversation. We appreciate his generosity, his openness, and the care he devoted to answering our questions.

We also extend our best wishes to Chris and Robert for the success of Passage and look forward to hearing where their musical journeys lead in the years ahead. It has been a pleasure to spend some time exploring the stories behind this extraordinary release, and we thank Chris once again for sharing that journey with the readers of Ambient Visions.