Sound of Ceres at Hawks and Reed, 4/2/23

Greenfield, Massachusetts—a town two hours out west that I’d never heard of before. The Hawks & Reed Performing Arts Center, another site foreign to my usual repertoire of Boston venues. This was the setting most becoming of Ryan and k Hover’s Sound of Ceres, whose music beckons its listener to draw away from familiarity and discover hidden lands, both physically and sonically. Feeling a palpable excitement between us, my two friends and I got into my car and set out on our journey around noon.

With ample time to spare before the show, we gratefully took the opportunity to explore a part of the country we had barely seen before. One of us is from Ohio, the other from eastern Massachusetts, myself from New Jersey—so it was fitting for a band like Sound of Ceres to ignite a sudden spark of adventure in us. With the southern borders of New Hampshire and Vermont merely twenty minutes away, we drove further north, cruising through ancient winding streets, crossing great bridges over water dyed crystal blue, and admiring the amber tint of the imposing evergreens at sunset. We erupted into humorous awe and terror at the sight of a “WATCH FOR MOOSE” sign on the Vermont highway, postulating what we might do if we did encounter one of those mythical northern megafauna. 

With the sun aglow on the horizon and the show drawing ever nearer, we returned to Greenfield while listening with delight to both Sound of Ceres’ discography as well as the various abandoned CDs strewn about my car. We pulled up just around the block and entered Hawks & Reed. The venue was small, comfortable, and familiar; not only did it house an elevated stage for performers, but also a bar replete with signature cocktails and a vegan pizzeria in the front (much to the delight of my vegan friend). I could see the space as something of a community center, as its sweet and intimate nature would make for an excellent gathering space for the people of Greenfield. Make no mistake though, this is the perfect venue for a band like Sound of Ceres.

Sound of Ceres took the stage to perform their newest album Emerald Sea, which was released last June. Emerald Sea is an album that always accompanies me on trips through nature, alongside the other works of Ryan and k Hover. When I picked up a little hobby of trail walking last autumn, Emerald Sea was the perfect soundtrack. It’s an album that will turn the mundane moments of your woodland hike into monumental climaxes. Still though, I knew there was an aspect of the album I had been missing. Emerald Sea is not just an album, not merely a collection of songs. It is an epic meant to be consumed using all of the senses. It is “the story of the Universe coming to know itself.”

From the darkness of the unlit venue—little points of light flickered on against the back wall. With k at the center of the stage, their Venusian whispers blowing through the audience, images transported us into the world of the Emerald Sea. Through the three act performance, we experienced space, ice caves, aspen forests, coral-bedded oceans, the Sun, and the moon. k themself harnessed these universal powers, utilizing a projector on a ghostly sheet, allowing the band to hold images of moons and stars. On “Enchanter,” my favorite track of the performance, k wielded a golden flashbulb, throwing piercing sun rays in the shape of a cross.

I had the cherished opportunity to talk with k at the merch booth after the show. Wrapped in a scarlet Mondrianesque coat, they signed a copy of their debut LP Nostalgia for Infinity for me (the ink kind of rubbed off when I returned it to the sleeve—oops), which I’ll keep securely in my collection forever. k spoke with an inviting passion for their art, for their listeners, and for the world. That conversation was the best possible way the night could have ended. The three of us left Hawks & Reed in utter astonishment at the celestial miracle that had just unfolded in that building.

This is the heart of Sound of Ceres—acknowledging the privilege of being a part of the jubilee of life, to be a living, breathing, loving participant in a grateful world. It’s this acknowledgement that I thought about during the two hour drive home, the drive in which I mistook a distended cloud for a spiral arm of the galaxy, the drive in which the Universe mercifully and mysteriously turned off my check engine light, the drive that I shared with two other joyously alive individuals. Follow the words and be deeply surrounded by that joy of life: “Oh, won’t you follow yesterday / Wherever I go?”