by Christopher Bruno (original cover photo by Mae Moreno)

Patrick Sansone keeps himself busy. Likely most recognized for his role as guitarist/keyboardist/musical Swiss Army knife in Wilco, a position he’s held since 2004 and which has garnered him two Grammy nominations, Sansone also fronts The Autumn Defense alongside Wilco bass player John Stirratt; is one quarter of The Mellotron Variations; has stewarded Big Star’s music into the twenty first century alongside drummer Jody Stephens; and has produced, mixed, arranged, or performed on countless records from the likes of Joseph Arthur, The Clientele, Mavis Staples, Philip Selway, Linda Perhacs, Jonathan Wilson, and Vera Sola.

Sansone is also an accomplished photographer; published in 2010, his monograph 100 Polaroids exhibits an eye just as strong as his ear and similarly attuned to the sort of beautiful, often ephemeral details which many of us are prone to overlook (listen to the surplus of rich sonic detail on The Whole Love, the 2011 Wilco album Sansone co-produced, to hear what I mean).

Were all that not enough, there is now Infinity Mirrors, a collection of six minimalist instrumental compositions for synthesizer which lull and transport the listener to spaces cosmic, abstract, and expansive without ever fully settling or setting aside their mystery. Released this past Friday on the always excellent Centripetal Force Records, it’s Sansone’s first LP under his own name and a beguiling new chapter in his artistic expression. As a photographer, Sansone adopts the prerogative of the flâneur, perambulating without intent or destination, cultivating a heightened and sympathetic awareness to his surroundings and allowing the world to unfold as a series of Duchampian Readymades awaiting the click of his camera’s shutter. He approached Infinity Mirrors in a similar state of ecstatic wonder, in which conception, composition, performance, and recording all merged into one extemporaneous gesture, an act of creation in which the listening is at least as important as the expression. We discussed this process over Zoom on the eve of Infinity Mirrors’ release; our conversation is transcribed below, edited for length and clarity.

Christopher Bruno: Most people who know your work probably know you from Wilco, from Autumn Defense, from collaborations with the likes of Big Star—acts that are broadly defined as pop—and may be surprised by Infinity Mirrors. What is your history with ambient music, and where do you think that there’s a crossover between this record and what you’ve previously released?

Patrick Sansone: Well, I think probably the thing that’s the closest in relation to Infinity Mirrors that I’ve done previously is maybe the Mellotron Variations Project. It was a live performance that was recorded in 2018, by myself and three other keyboardists. We wrote and performed fifteen or so short pieces entirely performed on Mellotrons, all instrumental music. So I think there’s definitely a connection between Infinity Mirrors and that music.

CB: Was Mellotron Variations written as a quartet? That project was comprised of you, John Medeski. Robby Grant, and Jonathan Kirkscey.

PS: Yes, we got together as a quartet, four guys and a handful of Mellotrons, and just wrote together in that way. I actually had begun working on the Infinity Mirrors music about a year prior to that. So four of the six pieces from Infinity Mirrors were made in 2017, really just as personal creative exercises, without any real plan or grand design about releasing them. I just wanted to do something outside of my normal habits of working and outside of how I approached most of the music that I make, just as a personal creative exercise.

CB: So the process was what led to this more so than a desired result.

PS: It was, yes, and I wanted to do something with my synthesizers, really. I had been carrying around these synths for a lot of years, and had picked up a few new ones, and I would use them occasionally here and there on things that I was producing, whether it was for my music or for other artists, using them as textures here and there, or maybe a counter melody here and just some sonic ear candy there. However, whenever I would do that, there was a part of me that felt like it would be great to just really lean into that in and of itself, you know? Just how fun it would be to do some music that was just about those textures and just enjoy that for itself. When I was a teenager and I had my first synthesizer, I would spend hours in my room with headphones on getting lost in those sounds. So there was some sort of impulse that I had to reconnect with that feeling that I remembered from when I was a kid.

CB: What do you think it was that made you want to change the process or get back to that sort of initial spark?

PS: I think a curiosity and a restlessness, which is just part of being a creative person. I enjoy making all kinds of music, and all the work that I do, all the pop music and singer-songwriter music and working with The Autumn Defense; I love it. I love getting into the problem solving of arrangement in a more traditional way. That really excites me, turns me on as a creative person. I also love things that are more abstract and more open-ended. It’s hard to go back to 2017 and really remember exactly where my head was at that was leading me to that, but there must have been something in me that just wanted to participate in that part of my creative brain.

CB: You mentioned that you started these in 2017 and had put them aside for a while. When you were creating them, was there a sense that you may do something with them later? Or was it that you were putting them aside just as experiments and then rediscovered them and felt that connection to them? Also, when you put that much distance between composing something and finishing it, do you ever feel like you’re relating to it in the third person, just as a listener?

PS: Yes, and that feeling that you’re describing is really what excited me in listening back to them and deciding to eventually release them. I had put them aside, not really even with any real purpose for doing so. I just got busy and probably went back on tour and was working on other things. I didn’t forget about them, but I just put them somewhere in the back of my mind. Then in 2021, in the pandemic era, an era in which I was spending a lot of time on the road driving back and forth from Nashville to Atlanta to see family and help with the family there—and also on a lot of photography road trips, because 2020 and 2021 was a period where I was getting back into my photography practice and spending a lot of time on road trips for that—something triggered a memory of making those pieces. I happened to have them in a Dropbox folder and I had access to them on my phone, so I listened to them on one of those drives and I was really taken with them. With that distance, I felt like I was listening to something that I couldn’t quite remember how I made, and I liked that. With so much of the music that I do make, I know every molecule, I’m sweating every microscopic detail, and this was different because it was more of an abstract listening experience. I couldn’t remember exactly how I made the work so I could listen to it, like you say, as a third party. So that is what prompted me to feel like, well, maybe this is worth sharing. I also felt like it wasn’t quite substantial enough to be a full album release, and I said to myself at that time I would like to release this, but it needs maybe a couple more pieces.

CB: So the process then was just writing more pieces? Had you finalized those initial four pieces, or did you go back and tinker with them after the fact?

PS: I didn’t tinker with them. The whole idea was that I would go down into my basement studio at home without anything planned, without anything set, turn on the computer, choose four different instruments to use for the piece—I wanted to keep it to four just to give myself some boundaries, some restrictions—look at one of them and say, “Okay, I’m going to start here.” I’d put my hands on that instrument and then whatever happened in that evening with those four elements would be the piece. I had to kind of resist the urge later to go back and tinker, but I really enjoyed the relief and the freedom of just allowing them to be what they were. That really is the spirit of it: to allow the music to be as closely tied to its original moment of creation as possible.

CB: Did you record a lot of pieces and then whittle it down to these six, or was what you had what you had?

PS: No, these are [all of] the pieces. So that’s why in 2021, when I listened back to them, I felt like it just needed maybe two more pieces to feel like a full record. It didn’t feel quite complete. Then a year went by, and it wasn’t until December of 2022 when I was doing a house concert with The Autumn Defense that a friend of the band brought me a book by a photographer named John Pfahl. She had bought a couple of prints from John in the 1980s and loved his work, and she had seen my work and enjoyed my photography, so she gifted me this amazing book called Altered Landscapes, and I loved the work immediately. I turned to this one page that had this image [Great Salt Lake Angles, Great Salt Lake, Utah, 1977] and as soon as I saw the image, it’s almost like the photograph spoke to me and said, I’m the cover of your instrumental album, which you haven’t finished, and you need to finish.

That image directly inspired me to return to my studio the next week, with the same process that I had used back in 2017, and record two more tracks, “Phosphenes” and “Jupiter Removed.”

CB: Since you bring up photography, have you in the past felt any kinship between your photographic practice and your music?

PS: I think that this project is the thing that is the most illustrative of it, because the way I make my photography is similar in that I don’t plan anything. I just have my cameras with me and wander. When I’m making my photographs, I’m looking to get into a heightened state of noticing. That’s why I like to refer to the work as “Noticings,” because I’m not setting anything up, I’m not planning anything, it’s just about being open and aware and present with my cameras and using the cameras as conduits into this state of mind.

CB: I ask because I do actually see some corollaries between your work as a photographer and the new record, and I don’t know if this is anything that you do consciously or if it’s anything that’s occurred to you. For instance, in your photos you don’t often depict people, but humanity is a presence in the images by either the detritus that they have left, or through some kind of relic or imprint. It reminds me a lot of the New Topographics in that regard. I find that on a lot of the pieces on Infinity Mirrors, you evince very vocal tones from the synthesizers. They almost recall the choral voices in Ligeti or Penderecki, but this is all synthesized. So there’s again this intimation of humanity almost in absentia.

PS: Yeah, and I think usually the voices that appear on the record are from the modern digital Mellotron, so it’s digital samples of recorded magnetic tapes of real voices. It’s recordings of actual humans but it’s two or three generations down. It’s kind of like the remains of something real then being used to create something new, so that’s a really interesting observation, and I like that, I like that correlation.

CB: Your photographs also focus on details or, as you say, noticings—little things like the way that the light falls, the texture of stucco, paint that’s started to chip away, signage that’s falling apart—details which I feel indicate perhaps a grander narrative that lay outside of the picture. This, to me, recalls what you said earlier about, say you’re doing overdubs on a Wilco record and you think, I really want to lean into just this fine detail of the sonics. If it’s the timbre of the instrument or just a harmonic overtone, bringing that to the foreground, making that the thing itself and not just an ornamentation.

PS: Yeah, that’s very true. I hadn’t really thought about it in that way, but that’s exactly right. I love the details of record making. All those details come together to make a larger picture, and you don’t necessarily want the listener to always notice the details, although sometimes it’s great when they do. However, you’re trying to create a larger experience, which is kind of the way we experience the world, but those details are each their own little universe. There’s a lot happening in the small places, and although it’s never been a totally conscious thing, I am aware that is an impulse I have when I’m making photography. My little catchphrase that I’ve been using is: I’m not necessarily trying to say something with my photography, but I am trying to see something. You know? I just enjoy the looking and the noticing. Like right now, I’m sitting in a parking lot in Nashville, and there are these what look like rain stains along the side of the building across the street, and they’re making these really beautiful shapes that look like an abstract expressionist painting, and I love that. I love the fact that if you frame things a certain way, there’s all these compositions that exist in the world that are just there and available to be framed just by the way that you look at them. I think there’s something fascinating about that, there’s a deeper value to that, that I don’t necessarily know how to express, but it’s something about openness and presence and mindfulness. That’s really, I think, what I was hoping to kind of plug into while making the Infinity Mirrors pieces, and it is a similar thing that I’m trying to plug into when I’m out making photographs.

CB: Yeah, the ability to see the fall of light as compared to the ability to hear and appreciate the resonance of an overtone—you’re allowing yourself to be mystified by something that may otherwise be overlooked.

PS: Very. That’s very well put. You know, I had the really amazing fortune to sit with William Eggleston once and look at some of the work that was about to be released in his recent book, The Outlands. And it was just an incredible experience to sit shoulder to shoulder with him, looking at his work, work that I love.

CB: Did he play any piano for you?

PS: He did not. The piano wasn’t nearby, but we were talking about the fact that it’s hard to talk about photography, you know? It’s hard to use words to really get to what it is that is being expressed. He said something like, You know, it’s more like music—light is vibration, just like music is vibration; these are both waves. This is something that I’ve thought and felt myself, and to hear him articulate it that way was really, really wonderful.

CB: When did you first start collecting synthesizers?

PS: When I was about fourteen or so my dad bought me a Korg Polysix. This would have been around 1984. I had already been playing piano for several years and had a little Casio that I messed around with, but I got that first synth around that time. I also was able to take a class at our local community college, which had an amazing music program. They had a class on electronic music and so I had access to a couple of synths that the community college had and at the end of the course we made a piece on a 4 track reel-to-reel machine. That was cool because I got to learn a bit about things like musique concrète and John Cage and some of the early electronic music pioneers. Also, it was the 1980s, so synths were everywhere, on all the great soundtracks from that period, so I was really curious about that and open to it. I was listening to all kinds of music already at that time, getting into the music of the 1960s and the emerging college rock underground that was happening in the mid-1980s, so I was kind of just gobbling up everything, including synth-based music. So getting that synthesizer at age 14 or so was a real gateway for me, and I loved sitting with it alone in my room with the headphones on, just twiddling knobs and trying to imitate the sounds that I was hearing on the records of the time, and just exploring the pleasure of sound.

Then I had a Roland JX-10, but at some point I started concentrating more on guitar and traded those keyboards for some guitars and amps and things. So my music became more guitar oriented for a few years, but as I started producing records and spending more time in that mode, I loved having synths around and using them as textures here and there. So it’s just always been a part of my toolbox.

CB: Is the tactility of analog gear a draw for you? You shoot film, you’re using largely vintage synthesizers—does that aid in the process of getting into that head space that you’re looking for?

PS: It must, yeah. Maybe it’s just that there’s a bit of magic about it that is attractive to me and that I feel connected to and excited by. I like the alchemy of film, the fact that it’s light and chemistry. When I print my work I use a process called Lambda printing, which is a hybrid of digital technology and traditional photographic printing. A lot of the work that I do in music as well is this hybrid between using analog gear—old microphones, old instruments—but also using computer technology as part of the process, similar to the way I work in photography: I start with film—I start with the old cameras using analog processes—but eventually the negatives do get scanned and do come into the digital realm in order to do any kind of preparation or slight editing before they go to print. So there’s a conversation being had between the analog and the digital.  I’m not a 100% purist when it comes to using analog technology. I love it, and I love that there’s something valuable about it and obviously inspiring to what I do, but I don’t claim to be using the analog process in every step along the way. I appreciate the fact that digital technology has given me the ability to make the records that I make and work with photography in the way that I do.

CB: I wanted to jump back to something you said earlier, that the problem solving of arranging and arrangements was one of your favorite parts of the music process. On your radio show, Baroque Down Palace, you seem to be very attuned to the arranger’s work in particular and I was wondering if you could just expand upon that a little bit. It seems like if there’s going to be a corollary drawn between, say, orchestral sixties pop and then the more minimalist or ambient music of something like Infinity Mirrors, that would be it. String section charts, sonic details that contain worlds of their own within the greater whole. Are there particular arrangers who changed the way that you heard music or who drew you into that side of production?

PS: Well, that’s a great question, and I was just actually putting together the new episode of Baroque Down Palace last night and I included a track by the arranger Clare Fischer, a brilliant arranger who started working in the 1960s, or maybe even the 1950s. To some he might be most well known as being the arranger for some of the records that Prince made in the 1980s and 1990s. Fascinating intersection of musicians, and the arrangements that he did for Prince are just incredible. That’s how I first heard his name. Really unusual voicings—not traditional, you know, but they work perfectly for Prince. I included a track from a Clare Fischer album that came out in the late ‘60s, it’s a track called “Sleep Sweet Child,” and I don’t really even know how to categorize it. It’s very impressionistic, almost like Debussy or like a tone poem. It’s fascinating, it’s just absolutely beautiful. Is it jazz? Is it classical? Is it pop? What is it? I don’t even really know, and I love that. I love that it kind of exists in its own little universe, this beautiful little universe.

PS: The arranger Robert Kirby, did the arrangements for the Nick Drake records, which I think are just absolutely beautiful and like their own universes in themselves. So with the Baroque Down Palace, I do make an effort to mention the arrangers’ names whenever I can because they don’t get talked about enough. And I like to connect things, so I’ll play a well-known track, and then play some other tracks from that same arranger that might not be as well known, and just put some light on that work.

CB: In general, how important do you think it is to leave space for the listener in an arrangement? I recall, I think it was around the time of Sukierae, Jeff Tweedy saying something to the effect of, I really like listening to demos because when a piece is unfinished, I can almost project myself into it, I can hear the instruments that could be there.

PS: Yeah, I like that idea a lot. I think space is important, and certainly for me, it’s something that I appreciate more and more as I grow as a producer and arranger. I think maybe when you’re younger and just excited by the possibilities and the process it’s exciting to fill every space and to do as much as you can on every track and try to say everything that you can say all the time. As I’ve gotten older, I enjoy the power of doing less, and I think that was one of the reasons when making Infinity Mirrors that I wanted to set a limit to how many instruments I would use on each track. I wanted to try to do more with less and just see where that led me. Economy in arrangements is important.

CB: With an ambient record, how important is melody? Compared to some other ambient pieces, I feel like there are really strong and memorable melodies on Infinity Mirrors. They’re paced and they move differently than a pop melody, but they still have momentum and resolution.

PS: Well, thank you for saying that, first of all. It’s funny—like I said, I had nothing written, nothing planned, but I do remember thinking that I would like to do something with as little music as possible. However, the music still kind of crept in. There was a sense of trying to be as patient as I possibly could and not try to fill the tracks with music, just trying to let the sound and the texture lead the way and let music come in where it needed to come in. I’d like to revisit this process again and see if I can even pull back the urge to be musical further. It’s still kind of mysterious to me, I still don’t really quite remember how I made these pieces, and I love that.

CB: They were just conjured.

PS: In a way, yeah. I mean, I hope so. I think that’s the state of mind I was attempting to get into while making it.

CB: The press release notes Klaus Schulze and Brian Eno, but a lot of the sonic touchstones that I was hearing are outside of that traditional ambient space. I mentioned Ligeti and Penderecki in some of the vocal tones and the glissandi, but on “Laughing Abyss,” for instance, I was thinking Wendy Carlos at points, Vangelis, Angelo Badalamenti. There were moments when I was reminded even more of things like William Basinski or the Caretaker.

PS: I’m not familiar with that, so I should check it out.

CB: A lot of The Caretaker’s records are looped and sampled from old 78s. The name comes from Leyland Kirby wanting to create something that felt like it would have been playing at the ball in The Shining, to have that same sense of repetition and decay.

PS: I’ve got to check it out. I mean, I’m a huge fan of Stanley Kubrick’s films. 2001: A Space Odyssey made a big impression on my life and my feelings about art. I saw it at a young age, probably when I was about ten years old, and it just blew my mind and still does. That led me to over the years pay attention to his filmmaking in a very deep way. The Shining and 2001: A Space Odyssey are my two favorites of his films, and they continually fascinate me. So I imagine that influenced Infinity Mirrors, I’m sure it did. It wasn’t conscious, it wasn’t intentional, but I’m sure it influenced it. I’m also a big fan of David Lynch’s work. David Lynch’s filmmaking is very important to me, and I’m sure that made its way in there too.

CB: There were certainly some cues that reminded me of Badalamenti’s scores for Lynch.

PS: Well, I really appreciate you saying that. Like I say, it wasn’t a conscious thing. But the fact that you’re recognizing that just shows to me the impact of those filmmakers on me as a person and as a creative person. It’s interesting that it’s reflected in this, that you’re hearing it in this music.

CB: I would imagine that probably has something to do with the subconscious and instinctual creation of it, too. You don’t necessarily know what you’re going in with, you don’t have any preconceptions, so whatever’s in that stew of influences from over the course of your lifetime is going to manifest in ways that you don’t expect.

PS: Right, yeah, very true. The third season of Twin Peaks, which I thought was incredible, came out in 2017 and I’m not sure if I had done the Infinity Mirrors pieces prior to watching that, but it was all kind of during that time. So it would be interesting to go back and see what the timeline of that was. Then there’s that incredible episode of Twin Peaks, episode eight, that uses the piece that Kubrick also used, the [Penderecki] piece. Do you know the piece I’m talking about?

CB: Yes, the “Threnody [for the Victims of Hiroshima].” Lynch and Alan Splet are incredible sound designers themselves. You can listen to Eraserhead, and that soundtrack is a piece of art in and of itself, even without the picture.

PS: I completely agree with you. Eraserhead is again similar to 2001: A Space Odyssey, just a piece of art that fascinates me on a very deep level. The sound design of Eraserhead is just a masterpiece in itself. There’s a music to it that is very abstract but which to me is still very musical.

CB: It’s that ebb and flow of textures. It doesn’t necessarily need a melody to be musical. It just needs to, I think, tell a story. You can do that through time and duration as much as through pitch sometimes.

PS: Right, and I’ve in the last year or so discovered some of the more abstract work of Ryuichi Sakamoto. There’s a couple of his records from the 2013-2015 era that are in that beautiful place in between music and sound design that I just love. I’m really interested in that gray area, that liminal space between sound and texture and music.

CB: Do you see that as possibly someplace to explore further with the next solo Pat Sansone record?

PS: I think so. I’m actually working on an album that’s kind of more traditional song-based. That’s something I still enjoy, of course, but I do want to revisit this more abstract approach at some point.

CB: Would you consider doing something like this live? Maybe in a site-specific, sound installation kind of way?

PS: Yes, I’d like to do that. I don’t exactly know how I would do it. I mean, I’m not interested in necessarily trying to perform Infinity Mirrors, because I think of these pieces as like sand paintings in a way. They were things that just happened and I think trying to perform them or recreate them would somehow not be in the spirit of what they are. However, I would like to perform something in this world, somehow, some way. I don’t exactly know how I’d do it, but…

CB: So you’re working on a Pat Sansone singer-songwriter record, you’re currently recording a new Autumn Defense record. Do you have anything else coming up?

PS: Well, I’m also getting a new photography book together of work that I made in 2020 and 2021. Eventually, I’d like to do a series of these that include the work done after that, but I decided to just focus on the work from that time period for this book, just to give it a frame. 

I’m also producing a record for an artist here in Nashville that I’ve worked with before named Philip Creamer, we just did some sessions for him. So I have a few balls in the air right now that I’m juggling.

CB: Plus a Wilco tour, plus Solid Sound.

PS: Yes, it’s a busy time. It’s a busy time, but it’s a good busy.

CB: Are you self-publishing your photography book as you did for 100 Polaroids?

PS: Yes, as of now, unless someone steps in…

CB: Unless Steidl says, “we have an offer.”

PS: Exactly. If Steidl said, you know, Let me get in there, then I’d be open to that. Right now, though, I’m just working on it on my own, like I did for the first book. Which I enjoy because—and I guess that’s kind of another correlation with Infinity Mirrors—a lot of the musical work that I do is very collaborative, which I like, but the photography is a very solitary experience. It’s a very personal and solitary practice, and I think self-publishing and making those decisions on my own about how to present the work stays really connected to the spirit of what the work is, and that’s kind of similar to Infinity Mirrors. It was a solitary experience. No one even heard it until I decided to release it.

CB: You spoke about having distance from the music and being able to come at it more objectively and experience it differently; and you shoot film, so there’s obviously that gap between the moment of observation, the moment of pressing the shutter, and then, much later, seeing the prints. Do you ever bring someone else in and get their eyes on it? Or is it just that you leave that space for yourself to distance yourself from the moment, to then look at it as objectively as you can?

PS: The latter. There is a value in that. That’s another reason I like film, that there is that time separation between being with the camera making the photograph and sometimes it’s weeks, sometimes it’s months before I see the scan of the negative of that moment. I like to think that there’s three photographs being made: there’s the photograph that you think you’re taking, there’s the photograph that you want to take, and then there’s the photograph that exists. Sometimes there’s a very close parallel between those three, and sometimes they’re very separated. Sometimes when I get scans back, I can’t see the photograph that exists because I’m too connected to the photograph that I thought that I was taking or wanted to take; I have something in my mind that I remember, and then the scan comes back and it’s not exactly that. Then it’s not ’til later that I’ll go back and revisit those scans and I can see the photograph as it just is without that association. Then I can go, Oh, actually, this one’s pretty cool.

CB: I know that Infinity Mirrors is a noun, but I can’t help reading the title as though “Mirrors” were a verb.

PS: That’s awesome, I love that!

CB: I’m wondering if that was at all intentional, and if you have any idea what the rest of the predicate of that sentence may be.

PS: It was not intentional, but I love that, so thank you for bringing that into the conversation. The title came quickly. It wasn’t a conscious reference to the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, but I’ve seen her work in person. I’ve been in the Infinity Mirrors pieces, and I saw her show when it was in Atlanta and in museums around the world, so I’m sure it was, like you said, just in my subconscious. However, it was something about seeing the John Pfahl photograph and connecting it to the music and that kind of reflection, because the photograph is about reflection. There’s a reflection between the photograph and the music—I was feeling some kind of conversation between those two things that inspired me to finish the record, so I think just from that sense of reflection the phrase “infinity mirrors” popped into my mind, and it just felt like, Well, this is the title. So in a way, it’s about the way I made the music. It was kind of a submerging into my own subconsciousness, a kind of conversation with my past, like getting back in touch with this feeling that I had when I was a teenager and first discovering this kind of abstract music and the pleasures of just making sound for sound’s sake. I mean, I haven’t really thought about this until just having this conversation with you right now, but we have this sense of mirroring in our own lives, of our past and our future, and we’re always kind of in this moment of being in the center of the reflection between our future and our past. So maybe there’s something in there that I was trying to kind of participate in with this music.

Click here to order your copy of Infinity Mirrors on vinyl, cassette or digital from Centripetal Force Records today. You can follow Sansone on Instagram @Sansonica_music.

Christopher Bruno is a New Jersey-based photographer, musician and all around good dude. Click here to check out his own photographic work and be sure to follow him on Instagram @CBruno1983. Thanks so much to Bruno and Sansone for their time, patience and indelible insight.