In 2016, Boron’s Dan Nelson found himself on the remote Greek island of Thirasia. Little more than a rocky outcropping in the Aegean Sea with only a hotel and a monastery, it was the perfect setting for emptying the mind and letting tired grey matter be buffeted by the wind and salt mists. Between pre-noon swims in warm, agate-colored water and sunset feasts of Greek wine and grilled octopus, in the heat of the siesta hours, tone clouds were summoned willy-nilly from a synthesizer and a guitar amp, as aimless and hypnotic as summer insects. The result: somewhere between the damp shadows of “Seven and the Ragged Tiger” and the sun-baked reckoning of “The Magnificent Seven”, there is…”Boron VII”.

Polyfonal: “Many moons ago I commissioned Dan Nelson to make Field Hymns a meditation tape, but with a non-traditional consideration: the well-being of those in the world who serve us, the machinery in our daily lives nearing the end of its service, maybe for those with no firmware updates in the future, no prototyping of replacement parts forthcoming, and those finally stepping onto the top rung of obsolescence. How would one guide such machines into the white? Could one find the poetry to ease the transition into scrap, the devices we throw away with no more thought of the end of their usefulness than the swatting of a mosquito? Maybe vespers for the soon-to-be-vanquished and a eulogy for the unloved was the task. What could have come back a hackneyed harsh noise, a fax/modem glitch barrage, instead was a beautiful meditative exploration of finality, a soloist’s composition entreating the final path to be kind, and an exaltation of service well rendered. It’s beautiful, and I hope you find as much peace in it as I do.”

Dan Nelson as Musician and as Artist

Written, played, and recorded by Dan Nelson on the island of Thirasia, Greece, Sept. 2-29, 2017.
Mixed by Dan Nelson
Mastered by Mark Gergis

Art by Tiny Little Hammers
Thanks to Theo at Kamara Taverna, Leuka at Zacharo, Helios at Profotis Elias, the illustrious Tiny Little Hammers, and the classy-as-all-get-out Field Hymns. Stop faking sense.