“Next to houseplants and vines that twinkled with projection-mapped lights, Kuykendall sat under the image of the tree and played us its song. Sometimes it sounded like a benevolent warning, one you might hear from a mother figure. Sometimes I heard a whisper, a warm trill, a growl of hunger. The sounds ranged from ominous and erratic to fervent and almost hopeful as Kuykendall shaped the tree’s complex tonal energy. The fourth and last movement ended with Kuykendall letting unprocessed sounds from the Council Oak itself pour out in a wave of fierce noise: warbling, formless notes growled from the tree like the song of a whale.” - Annie Jones (The Pickup)