I have always been fascinated by the echoes of the word “barcarolle.” A French composer I like, Faure, wrote thirteen barcarolles, and that's probably what influenced me. So I am thrilled to be able to name my work “barcarolle.”
I say “be able to” because I originally wrote an improvised soundtrack for a film I submitted to the “Beautiful Keelung” film festival, organized by the city of Keelung, and I didn't intend to use it to make a single for this song. If the idea for this album had not been born, this song would not have become a “barcarolle.”
In reality, Taiwan and Japan are about three hours away by plane, so in a modern sense of the word, they are “close.” In fact, the three-hour flight passes by very quickly. Watch a movie, eat an airplane meal, and you'll be there in no time. But what about when you land on the ground? You can't even see Japan beyond the horizon of Su'ao, which is said to be the closest to Japan in Taiwan.
Are Taiwan and Japan really “close?” Could we be much smaller than we think? The breeze from the ocean seems to be asking me this question, quietly, at the edge of a world where “flying” is no longer the norm.