Driftwood Choir’s “Tall Pines” reunites Ed Prosek and Portair for a radiant, soul-stirring indie folk reverie off Prosek’s forthcoming debut album ‘Redwood Cathedral’ – planting fatherhood, legacy, and wonder in a warm, cinematic anthem about the love and wisdom we hope will outlive us.

Stream: “Tall Pines” – Ed Prosek

A child’s first months can make time feel ancient and brand-new all at once.

Every sunrise becomes a beginning, every ordinary room a threshold, every question about the future tangled up in the people and places that made us.

On “Tall Pines,” singer/songwriter Ed Prosek meets that feeling with open hands, singing not toward immortality, but toward the hope that love, wisdom, and wonder might outlast us in some living form. Warm, expansive, and deeply human, the song plants itself in the space between fatherhood and forever – a soul-stirring indie folk reverie about legacy, rootedness, and the pieces of ourselves we leave behind.

I don’t think I had a past life
Cause this feels just like my first time
To wake up with the sunrise
And sleep beneath the tall pines

I’ve always been a rambler
I’m just looking for an answer
Something to take into the next life
And sleep beneath the tall pines

Atwood Magazine is proud to be premiering “Tall Pines,” the breathtaking new single from Driftwood Choir – the duo of Ed Prosek and Portair – and the latest offering from Prosek’s forthcoming debut album, Redwood Cathedral, out November 6 via Nettwerk Music Group. California-born and now based in Germany’s Black Forest, Prosek has spent the past decade building a world of open-hearted folk, chamber-tinged Americana, and soul-searching songcraft: Music shaped by old-world roots, classical training, years spent between continents, and the kind of personal reckoning that makes every note feel personal and profound.

On Redwood Cathedral, he turns that life into his most intentional body of work yet, reflecting on fatherhood, family, memory, mortality, and meaning from inside the 300-year-old German farmhouse where he writes, records, produces, and performs his music. “Tall Pines” brings Portair back into that landscape as Driftwood Choir, their voices rising together in a warm, cinematic swell – not as a detour from Prosek’s solo world, but as one of the album’s most stirring and communal expressions of it.

It’s a rare thing to hear an artist grapple with legacy without turning away from the small, ordinary moments that make a life worth remembering.

On “Tall Pines,” Prosek brings the wider world of Redwood Cathedral down to one of life’s most intimate questions: What do we leave in the world when we’re no longer here to carry it ourselves? The song reaches for an answer not through grandeur or certainty, but through tenderness – through the image of roots taking hold, wisdom being passed down, and love finding a way to remain present long after the moment has passed.

“‘Tall Pines’ is a song about legacy,” Prosek tells Atwood Magazine. “It’s a song that tries to look at what aspects of your life would be meaningful after you’re gone and to whom. The idea that you can place your ideas at the roots of something ancient and hope it carries you along with it as it grows. To that end, for me it’s a song about the birth of my son and the Hope that some piece of wisdom I’ve accumulated is worthwhile enough to pass along.”

That hope sits at the heart of “Tall Pines,” a song that feels both earthbound and eternal – grounded in the intimacy of a father watching his child discover the world, and lifted by the almost spiritual scale of what that moment awakens. Prosek opens with a line that feels like a confession and a revelation all at once: “I don’t think I had a past life / Cause this feels just like my first time / To wake up with the sunrise / And sleep beneath the tall pines.” It’s a beautiful, disarming image – not of reincarnation or cosmic certainty, but of presence; of being alive enough to feel each morning arrive as a miracle.

The music carries that same sense of wonder in its bones.

Glistening acoustic guitars move with a bright, forward pulse, while Prosek’s tender, expressive vocal gives the song its emotional center. When Portair’s harmonies rise in the chorus, “Tall Pines” suddenly feels bigger than one person’s prayer: It becomes communal, cinematic, almost cathedral-like in its reach. The song doesn’t strain for grandeur, but it finds it anyway – in breath, in wood, in roots, in the thought of love continuing after the body is gone.

By the time Prosek sings, “When I’m gone / Plant your roots upon my tired bones / And I’ll still be there when you need me most,” “Tall Pines” has become a lullaby, a blessing, and a promise. Its ache comes from the knowledge that none of us can stay forever; its radiance comes from the belief that what we nurture may still grow beyond us. For a song born from fatherhood, “Tall Pines” reaches toward a much wider human truth: The things we leave behind are rarely monuments. More often, they are gestures, memories, lessons, songs – small seeds of ourselves placed carefully into the soil.

When I’m gone
Plant your roots upon my tired bones
And I’ll still be there when you need me most
So don’t you ever worry, we’re not out of time
And if you’re worried
find me out beneath the tall pines

This tension – between wanting to give a child everything and knowing how little any parent can truly control – began in a moment almost comically small: An early morning at home, a five-month-old baby, and the sudden realization that wonder itself can feel like wisdom.

“I was watching my son inspecting some mundane household object meticulously but with so much joy, and I was struck by his strong personality and appetite for the world – and it got me thinking about the whole idea of past lives, and how I’ve always felt like I’m definitely here for the first time, this all feels incredibly new for me and it always has,” Prosek shares. “The song also talks about this wish to leave something meaningful and more importantly useful to your children. In this day and age, perhaps like any other it’s difficult to know which portions of the wisdom you’ve accumulated are actually useful to anyone.”

That’s what makes “Tall Pines” so affecting: Its emotional power doesn’t come from certainty, but from care. Prosek isn’t claiming to have the answers; he’s trying to leave behind whatever light he can, trusting that even an imperfect offering might one day take root.

“Tall Pines” arrives in the wake of a steady stream of songs that have already begun sketching the emotional architecture of Redwood Cathedral: “Reinvent the Wheel” wrestles with anxiety, self-pressure, and the grace of letting go; “All Things In Due Time” opens the album at the altar of patience, mortality, and hope; “Hush Little Baby” turns fatherhood into an intimate, time-suspending lullaby; and “Rosalie” moves through the difficult work of forgiveness. Together, they reveal an album built less like a collection of singles than a lived-in house of memory – each room holding its own aches, lessons, and light.

“Some of them might make you cry, some might even make you laugh a little bit, but I shed a tear or two making every single one of them, either from joy or pain, and each song carries a little piece of me with it,” Prosek says.

That last line may be the key to Redwood Cathedral: Every song carries a piece of Prosek, but none of them feel sealed off from the listener. The album’s tenderness lives in how openly it moves between the deeply personal and the universally felt – between a father waiting for his child, a man looking back on loss, a songwriter trying to forgive himself, and a human being standing before time with more questions than answers. “Tall Pines” may be the record’s one collaboration, but it feels utterly central to that emotional world: A song about leaving something useful behind, yes, but also about accepting that love’s true legacy may be found in the act of offering it freely.

“This record is a deep reflection on my whole life so far, which seems like an obvious enough theme for a first album, but as a new parent, it was extremely important for me to take stock of all of the incredible things (good and bad) I’ve been privileged to experience and hopefully translate that into something useful for myself in my new role,” Prosek says of Redwood Cathedral. “It’s the most intentional writing I’ve ever done, there’s a story arc through the whole album, and each song is a chapter of the story I’m trying to tell.”

For Prosek, that sense of purpose marks more than a new release cycle – it marks a self-portrait coming into focus.

After years of EPs, singles, and collaborations, Redwood Cathedral is the sound of an artist thinking in albums, in arcs, in roots and branches. It’s the place where his old-world musical instincts, California upbringing, Black Forest present, and new fatherhood all meet – not as biography alone, but as a living, breathing body of song.

“I moved out of the city into a 300-year-old farmhouse in the German countryside and built a studio specifically to record this album in,” he says. “I think this was the first time I’ve ever had so much to say all at once. It was clear that all these songs fit together as parts of a whole, so I had no doubt about why these specific songs were chosen now.”

Oh you strike me like an old soul
You’ve got a wisdom and it echoes
You marvel at the sunrise
And you’re singing to the pale moonlight

I don’t think I have a past life
Cause I see everything with new eyes
I listen as the wind blows
And sleep beneath the tall pines

And still, for all its roots in the larger world of Redwood Cathedral, “Tall Pines” stands on its own as a sweeping, soul-stirring testament to the kind of love that asks for nothing but hopes to leave everything. Its warmth feels earned; its wonder feels lived-in. Prosek doesn’t romanticize legacy so much as humanize it, finding meaning not in permanence, but in presence – in waking up with the sunrise, holding a child close, and trusting that the care we give today might become shelter tomorrow.

That’s what makes “Tall Pines” worth the journey. It’s tender without being fragile, expansive without losing its human center, and radiant without ever feeling polished past recognition. The song’s light comes from its honesty: From the knowledge that love can’t stop time, but it can change what time leaves behind. In Prosek and Portair’s hands, that realization becomes a prayer with a pulse – a bright, breathing folk anthem for anyone who’s ever wondered what part of themselves might keep growing after they’re gone.

Prosek has long stood apart as one of the indie folk world’s most quietly singular voices: A songwriter with an old soul’s ear for melody, a classicist’s sense of arrangement, and a storyteller’s devotion to the lived detail.

In an era when so much folk music can feel either overproduced or underwritten, his songs carry a rare fullness – thoughtful, tactile, emotionally direct, and rich with the feeling of a life being examined in real time. “Tall Pines” is a beautiful reminder of what he does so well: Taking the intimate and letting it breathe until it feels immense.

Stream “Tall Pines” exclusively on Atwood Magazine, and dive into our full conversation below as Ed Prosek opens up about fatherhood, legacy, the making of Redwood Cathedral, and the wonder of finding a life’s meaning in roots, records, old instruments, and early morning light.

In the end, “Tall Pines” returns us to the place where it began – a sunrise, a child, a question of what lasts – and leaves us with the feeling that love, when planted carefully enough, can become its own kind of forever.

When I’m gone
Plant your roots upon my tired bones
And I’ll still be there when you need me most
So don’t you ever worry, we’re not out of time
If you’re worried
find me out with the tall pines

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:: stream/purchase Redwood Cathedral here ::

:: connect with Ed Prosek here ::

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Stream: “Tall Pines” – Ed Prosek

A CONVERSATION WITH ED PROSEK

Ed Prosek: I’m a songwriter from Northern California living in a 300-year-old farmhouse in the Black Forest, Germany, where I write, create and record everything I put out, using a wonderful collection of unique and old instruments I’ve put together and do my best to play.

Ed Prosek: Most of my musical north stars are long dead or at least long irrelevant. I’ve recently rejoined the cult of vinyl because apparently I’m a hipster and it’s amazing what wonderful baroque and early music records you can find for nothing in the bargain bins of almost every record store around the world. I’m particularly a fan of Corelli, Pergolesi (1700’s) and earlier stuff like Marenzio (1500’s). For people who like music from living artists, I only listen to artists that have brother in their name, like the Wood Brothers, the Barr Brothers, or the Punch Brothers (obviously joking but I really do like all of those bands a lot).

What I’m most excited about in my own music today is that I’m finally not only making, but thinking in albums. The concept has lost a lot of its weight in the past 2 decades but it’s a pleasure to think about music on a broader scale than a series of separate songs. With both Redwood Cathedral (my upcoming album) and Driftwood Choir (2025) I’ve loved working through the things I want to say in pieces that fit together like a puzzle. It allows you the space to be so much more deliberate and detailed with each song and the end result paints so much grander a picture.

Ed Prosek: Yes, of course, but with the caveat that I really think the music I’m releasing right now is the best music I’ve ever made. If you’re looking for a deep cut, I would recommend “Mercy” (2020), one of my favorite songs, created during a stylistic experiment that thankfully didn’t stick. However, this song was the undeniable pinnacle of that exploration, and I can’t help but love this song. I would also throw “Wisdom” (2019) out there, a song almost no one has listened to, but it is one of my all-time favorites from my own catalogue. It honestly captures a transitory, dear, and very important time in my life.

Ed Prosek: This record is a deep reflection on my whole life so far, which seems like an obvious enough theme for a first album, but as a new parent, it was extremely important for me to take stock of all of the incredible things (good and bad) I’ve been privileged to experience and hopefully translate that into something useful for myself in my new role. It’s the most intentional writing I’ve ever done, there’s a story arc through the whole album and each song is a chapter of the story I’m trying to tell.

I write these songs primarily for myself, usually to remind myself to do something, like be patient (All Things in Due Time), forgive myself (Rosalie) or not to overcomplicate simple things (Reinvent The Wheel). Along side those self-chastisement songs I love to write, this album does something very new for me though by putting my first person storytelling in the shoes of other people I’ve known and lost along the way, something I’ve found really rewarding and cathartic and new that allowed me to tell the kinds of stories I’ve never been able to before.

Ed Prosek: Redwood Cathedral is definitively the way that I want to be introduced. I don’t even remember who I was back before 2025’s Driftwood Choir anymore. This is who I am, and this is the music I make: honest, conversational, sad but not morbid and intricately put together.

Ed Prosek: I moved out of the city into a 300-year-old farmhouse in the German countryside and built a studio specifically to record this album in. I think this was the first time I’ve ever had so much to say all at once. It was clear that all these songs fit together as parts of a whole so I had no doubt about why these specific songs were chosen now.

Ed Prosek: This was a song I wrote early in the morning playing with my son, who at the time was only about 5 months old. As an early riser myself I take him on mornings when he wakes up at the crack of dawn and entertain him for a few hours to let my wife sleep a little bit longer (what a catch I am). Anyhow I was watching him inspecting some mundane household object meticulously but with so much joy, and I was struck by his strong personality and appetite for the world and it got me thinking about the whole idea of past lives, and how I’ve always felt like I’m definitely here for the first time, this all feels incredibly new for me and it always has. The song also talks about this wish to leave something meaningful and more importantly useful to your children. In this day and age, perhaps like any other it’s difficult to know which portions of the wisdom you’ve accumulated are actually useful to anyone.

Ed Prosek: Redwoods obviously, but any evergreen will do. I grew up in Northern California on the forest moon of Endor but my new home, the Schwarzwald (Black Forest) is called that because of the evergreen trees that grow there, mostly spruce. I actually have a 40-year-old Redwood in my backyard, and that was one of the most obvious signs I was destined to live there.

Ed Prosek: “All Things In Due Time” is a very important song to me, it captures the album’s spirit and distills it to its purest form. Hush Little Baby is an intricately arranged song that is playful and fun while taking you on a lovely musical journey. Some of them might make you cry, some might even make you laugh a little bit, but I shed a tear or two making every single one of them, either from joy or pain, and each song carries a little piece of me with it.

Ed Prosek: I hope people take away something that they themselves can relate to. One of the things I love about older records is that people didn’t tell you what their songs were about, so you had to guess. Everything about the way we consume music today is so transparent and emotionally LARPed out for our consumption. I really have made a bit of a conscious effort to leave some of the track descriptions and underlying themes vague, not only because it’s deeply personal to me, but also because the real meaning behind a song often breaks the illusion of knowing.

It’s more fun (and often far more meaningful) for listeners to concoct their own understandings of the songs they love and build their own relationships to them without being spoonfed the universalist reduction of the meaning behind a song. This album is me, by listening to it consciously, you’ve come to understand (or maybe misunderstand) some deep part of my soul.

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:: stream/purchase Redwood Cathedral here ::

:: connect with Ed Prosek here ::

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Stream: “Tall Pines” – Ed Prosek

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