Retro East Coast hiphop + pseudo-evangelical rhetorical extravagance + my Persian دوتار and the ney I made from discarded steel conduit.

My voice grew confident. All concerns for innovating in the purely technical aspects of music seem trivial: what matters is that my words get across, that my voice is precise in emotional coloration, that the imagination trembles, that the nerves and muscles mirror the verbal undulations.

"The fiery gate, disillusionment. The power of a question mark, hanging all over what you love."