The first time I heard "Bells of Tomorrow" by Rob Byrd I was visiting the Crab Nebula.  Some crystalline entities were hanging out sending waves back and foth through the space dust.  "Whoa," I said, "you crystalline entities make some crazy sounds!"  "No way," they said, "this is a CD from Earth!  Look closer!"  And when I looked more closely at the music I realized that angular composition of gray glowing lines was a cityscape, those pinkish orange striations were the walls of a canyon, and that Martian landscape was just an extreme close-up of the rust on an old pipe.  When I saw Rob Byrd perform a few years ago, he created a vast desert landscape that seemed like it had to be interplanetary.  But this new CD is proudly Terrestrial, true to the metal in the stretched-out string that dance nervously through a modest magnetic field to give birth so improbably to this amazing sound.
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The day I met Rob Byrd, he gave me a copy of his entirely home-recorded/self-produced "Bells of Tomorrow".  I accepted it with some reservation, as I so often end up being disappointed whilst giving new artists' music that first, critical listen.  This was NOT the case when I entered the realm of Mr. Byrd's "Bells..."  From the opening note,  I knew that this recording was both inspired and very, very special.  Its enchanting qualities ensured that it did not leave my CD player for weeks, often easing me into kaleidoscopic dreamscapes while lullabying me into repose, then rousing me back into vivid consciousness upon leaving the sandman's domain.  That's the thing with this composition; it remarkably manages to massage simultaneously many of the myriad substrata of human consciousness.  Even Rob's performances reflect such, with venues as varied as seedy dive-bars and yoga classes seeming appropriate stages for his auditory spell-weaving.  Envision equal parts "Music for Airports"-era Brian Eno style ambient looping & phasing, Projekt records' fashioned darkwave-esque etherealism, the guitar and effect-pedal manipulatory acrobatics of Robert Fripp and the organic smoothness of some of the early Kitaro compositions, and you get a fairly accurate portrayal of Rob Byrd's beautiful meanders.  Buy this CD and surely enter the bliss state between joy and sorrow with Rob Byrd as your spirit guide...let his aural paintings wash warmly over you as he plays his gentle tug-of-war with darkness and light.
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