music from 1,000 miles apart
Ignite the Sky
Available Now
Smoke
Single Out Now
While everyone was isolated in their homes during lockdowns, one of the moments of respite was being outside with friends and family. There is something comforting about the smell of campfires, and now living through a pandemic it’s come to symbolize togetherness even more. Smoke is mysterious in its shape, the way it lingers even after you think you’ve washed it away. This song is an acknowledgment of our memories with friends and family, however fleeting.
Ignite the Sky
In the spring of 2020 we were admittedly disappointed that we were unable to perform together for the first time–we had been planning for months. On a much bigger scale there were people separated from loved ones, the most tragic of all being separated by death. “Ignite the Sky” is the most cinematic and robust song on the album with layered guitars, dual piano tracks, and multiple drum tracks to capture the orchestral percussion. The richness and sonic range of textures attempts to depict the immense vastness of the sky while the moments of quiet remind us of being solitary, separated within that vastness. Humans coping with separation–whether because of adoption, quarantine, distance, or death–try as we might, we can only do so much. Continually we hope for the stars to align so we can all be reunited once again.
Torn Vine
I wrote these lyrics nine months before my milestone birthday. I was thinking about my birth parents, where they were in the world, and perhaps forty years later they would be thinking about me, too. At least, I hoped they were. When you’re adopted you just want to know who you look like (and who you can unfairly blame all your bad traits on). Adrian sent me his musical idea: a lyrical line over strumming harmonics, and I immediately heard percussive piano underneath it. Ever since, we’ve been building on that idea, creating layers upon layers further illustrating the complex notion of identity. -M
I found my stars, I found my stars,
I can see them shine
so far away, so far away,
now I know they’re mine.
About the Album
Mariko’s birth parents from around 1980, based off of a family photo. Painted by Mariko Langan using acrylics on canvas.
I’m still working through all of it, writing and playing and trying to shape a kaleidoscope of emotions. Adrian and I live 1000 miles apart. We’re juggling our families, work and sanity in a struggling world.
In the midst of everything we turn to music— music to ignite us, keep us simultaneously focused and distracted, and as therapy for our minds, bodies and spirits. I send words to Adrian, he gives them melodies, depth and direction. This album is a collection of our favorites from the past two years.
We hope that these stories resonate with you: the struggle with identity, loss, distance, connection, love, and hope—and the celebration of those things, too.
Thanks for being a part of our music.
Mariko Langan
Seattle, 2022
I never really thought about meeting my birth parents. But 2020 changed everything. I saw lives being lost, chances being missed. My family supported me through this change of heart: I suddenly wanted to meet these strangers before they were gone. I didn’t want any regrets.
A DNA test led me to a first cousin, who convinced me to write to my birth father—a decision that rolls through the lyrics on this album, a wave of truth, discovery and selfless love.
In spring of 2021, my birth father contacted me and connected me with my birth mother. They told me the story.
When I was born, they were only given twenty-four hours to hold me. When it was time, they relinquished me to a lawyer, and the system required that they promise never to try and find me. They went on living their lives without their child, a child they had wanted, but knew they couldn’t keep. Roughly 15,000 days later, we would see each other again.
Adrian and Mariko recording at Earwig Studios, October 2021.