Patricia Brennan: when stars become jazz
There's a particular beauty in the act of interacting with the infinite. From one moment to another, time and distance become elastic, and billions of years or kilometers fit in a human expression. The vastness of the cosmos turns into the mirror of the soul, and art becomes a tangible reality. Blackness isn't a void; it is a space where the most important questions are asked... and left unsolved.
Art continues to be the bridge that connects us with that which seems impossible to understand. Through artistic creation, it’s possible to participate in the eternal human conversation about our origins; to define, or leave space for the unknown. This pursuit belongs to Patricia Brennan, marimbist, percussionist, and composer, but perhaps most importantly, a seeker. Her exploration of these celestial mysteries finds its voice in Of the Near and Far, an album born from a curiosity that refuses to remain grounded. “Humans in general are amazed by the sky,” she reflects. “There is something about those good old questions as to where we come from and what we are doing here. Looking up gives us hope to find the answers. We still haven't been able to find them, and I don't think we'll ever be able to in our lifetime.”
The horizon that first shaped this dialogue wasn't found in the concrete of The Big Apple, but in the dark waters of a Mexican port. For Brennan, there is a stark difference between geographic proximity and spiritual connection. "Veracruz, where I grew up, has a really special place in my heart. There is something about the port—a particular element of 'special': the connection to the water and to the abyss. At night, it’s almost like the sky and the water become one, and that was always fascinating and intimidating to me at the same time.” While New York is technically an island, its buildings act as a sensory barrier—an artificial layer that muffles the call of the deep. “When I wrote this record, I worked on it a little bit in New York, but even though we are surrounded by water here, you don’t really perceive it. It feels very artificial; you can feel the cement around you.”
"Artistry is always interconnected with who you are, where you are in life, and what your place is in the universe." Patricia rejects the simplistic idea that looking at the stars is a detached, academic exercise. Instead, she views the magnitude of the universe as a tool for microscopic self-examination. "It sounds very esoteric, but it's a two-way street: if you grow as a human being, your art grows as well, and vice versa. It all came from the sky, but at the same time, it helped me work with internal things—very microscopic if you compare them to the scale of the cosmos.”
Brennan’s work is rooted in the unyielding logic of a laboratory, seeking to demonstrate that the cosmic and the musical intertwine through physical laws. “I believe everything is connected—not only in a sentimental way, but actually scientifically. One of the goals behind this project was to test the theory that constellations could be converted not only into sound material but also into structures that make sense within musical language. To me, it was really wild when I started to see those kinds of relationships.” In the summer of 2024, she developed a process to extract numerical data directly from the stars, overlaying the shapes of constellations onto the circle of fifths—the foundational map musicians use to organize pitches. She was hunting for symmetry: if a constellation looked symmetrical in the sky, would it sound balanced in a chord? By mapping these celestial coordinates onto the musical circle, Brennan discovered new clusters of notes and key signatures that emerged entirely from the stars’ positions rather than traditional rules.
This scientific rigor creates a dynamic between the calculated and the chaotic. From her perspective, the math isn’t meant to be cold, but to capture the same harmony found in the human spirit. In Of the Near and Far, there’s a clear roller coaster of chaos and calmness. “That contrast is within all of us. At any moment, we can go from tranquility to disorder. Musically speaking, I’m always looking for that balance between tension and release. In my music, I seek that balance not only in the overall flow, but even in the microscopic writing of a simple drum beat. I try to be very aware of the relationship between harmony and melody.”
For those who believe jazz is nothing more than mathematics, Patricia offers a compelling response. She views music as an extension of math, where rhythm becomes a sequence of numbers and emotion a reaction to frequencies. “Scientifically, there’s a reason why we all respond to a minor chord the same way: it has to do with frequencies. A minor chord exists within a particular frequency range that resonates with us in a specific way.” The vibraphone becomes her telescope—a tool for a 'good' anxiety that demands she never stop searching for the next discovery. “There’s always a sense of exploration; I’m constantly trying to understand things. No matter how far I get in my career, I feel even more like, ‘Oh my God, I still have so many things to figure out.’ The same thing happens behind the telescope. There’s a certain curiosity—this urgency to figure it out right now.”
This restless search eventually forced a confrontation with her own nature. To fully translate the symmetry of the stars, Brennan had to dismantle the 'calculated' mindset shaped by her classical training. In doing so, the music itself became a catalyst for personal evolution. “When I moved from Mexico to Philadelphia, I knew I wanted to improvise. At first, it felt like the opposite of my personality; I had to plan everything. Improvisation allowed me to relax. As I said, music and human growth are interconnected.” Now, she approaches the stage not to execute a plan, but to nurture a dialogue. “For me, improvisation is a pure, instinctive reaction to what you’re presented with.”
Fortunately, we share the same time and space as this music. Not as distant observers, but as witnesses. Of the Near and Far doesn’t ask to be measured or explained; it asks to be experienced. It stands as one of those rare works that remind us why listening still matters—why sound can orient us when certainty dissolves. Even if the light fades, even if we step into the abyss, the harmonies and melodies of Patricia Brennan offer another kind of guidance. Because sometimes, as she understands so deeply, the lack of visual light actually provides a different illumination.