Patrick Smith

Fences, Frames and Alleys is music arising from reflecting on growing up in a factory district
of South East Baltimore. The music is inspiring, often meditative;
yet at times jarring and always touches one’s heart. Music that is
just like life.I am forever grateful that music has continued to take me into her
confidence.

On the anniversary of the passing of my Father, a
steelworker for Bethlehem Steel, inspiration for the opening track
Taking Flight arrived. Remembering those nights sitting by the
pond on the big hill at City Hospital where I could see the ships on
the bay and out across the city lights, the inspiration for High
Land View flew in. I’ll never forget the day I visited my old “hood”
and what had been Anchor Fence Factory on Kane Street. The
smokestack rising from the brick and concrete mountain of rubble
is seared into my being. I was born here and raised across the
street from this huge factory. Out my front door I would hear metal
on metal. Sparks flew out of the windows on summer nights.
Anchor Fence Is Gone echo those past times.

My second solo guitar CD - The Call - is a reflection of the ongoing practices of meditation, music and Qi Gong affecting my being. My guitar instructor Robert Fripp, who introduced me to a sitting practice, called these pieces “meditations in sound.” These types of comments have been offered about my work for over a decade now by countless others. “Is That How It Is?” is the opening line of the poem The Great Sleep authored by our departed & beloved Dharma teacher Bill Menza. The piece titled “The Call” was inspired by hearing the call to prayer throughout the day when we spent 5 weeks visiting family in Malaysia. Loss, suffering and love inform these pieces of music. But words are not enough, listen & experience what this music has to offer you.

Dreams, wishes, & memories of lost loved ones inform the solo guitar pieces of Scattered Hearts. The impact of relationships that brought me peace and torn me apart. Finding Sanctuary in music has helped me gather the positive aspects of being and given hope at time when I’m Picking Up the Pieces. I often fret over titles, but when an improvisation took form that echoed memories of my Mother, Matka Boska, Polish for Blessed Mother, was the only title that would do her justice.