Over a recent summer, I worked near the top of a relatively tall building in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I sat with my computer by a window that faced the East River and Manhattan. Every morning I was able to watch as the sun rose over the brick housing developments that run up the East side and reflected giant bursts of yellow and orange on the river. Large boats chugged along slowly through the sunlight, and every afternoon at least one seaplane would cruise to a landing. The river was close, but the people and boats who went by felt so distant from me. I wanted very much to be out there with them. Although I couldn’t, it was a scene I found incredibly life affirming and the sort of thing that keeps you going in a city like ours. That summer we were all packed tightly in a small office, desk to desk, in a room that was mostly glass. The sun poured in and would heat us up as we worked. Only one small window opened, and when it did, truck engines and shouts from the street filled the room. There were new buildings being built nearby. It only strikes me now that if I was a year or so late to that particular spot I may not have seen the river at all. This is not a new phenomenon in New York. Drums of the East River came together very quickly over the course of a week or two during this period. When things weren’t busy I would sneak to the roof of our building and work on these tracks. It’s incredible to me how that orange of the sun on the river came through into this music. I can’t say it was intentional, but this sounds exactly how the view from that window looks in my memory. I was so lucky to have such a place for my mind to sneak out into before or between emails. It’s an image that will stay with me forever and is now in this music. I hope you can also hear the orange water lapping against these drums the way it did the sides of those boats and seaplanes. Enjoy, Max In The World Summer 2019 Artwork by Bailey Elder