For over two decades, David Hickey has been captivating audiences across North America with Crystal Journey, a transformative musical experience that blends ancient instruments and celestial harmonics. Performing with an extraordinary ensemble of 8–10 Paiste Gongs, Persian Santoors, and 6–8 Quartz Crystal Singing Bowls, David creates a meditative soundscape that touches the soul and transcends the ordinary. Each Crystal Journey performance is an improvisational masterpiece, rooted in the natural harmonic series of Pythagorean Cosmology. The Gongs, tuned to the orbital properties of celestial bodies, merge seamlessly with the haunting beauty of the Persian Santoor and the purity of Quartz Crystal Singing Bowls. Together, they craft an atmosphere of peace, reflection, and renewal. In this Mystic Mag‘s interview, David Hickey shares his inspirations, the philosophy behind his music, and how Crystal Journey seeks to heal and unite a world at a crossroads.
Your performances blend ancient and modern instruments in a unique way. What inspired you to combine gongs, Persian santoors, and quartz crystal singing bowls in your musical journey?
This is my 22nd year, and I’m still going strong. The music just keeps evolving. I started out in the early days with just the singing bowls. When I first heard them, I thought, Wow, this is really something! I never imagined I’d end up performing with them.
Back then, I had a small store where I sold tapestries, incense, Tibetan bowls, and similar items. When I first heard the singing bowls, I thought they would make a great addition to my shop. At the time, I was one of the only people in Canada, specifically in Ontario near Toronto, selling them. They were quite expensive, so not many people wanted to buy them, but they loved hearing them. People would come into the store just to listen.
At first, I didn’t think much about the effect the bowls had on people. Then one day, someone suggested I should play them for an audience. That’s how this journey started—it wasn’t something I had planned. My first concert was a small event with just a few bowls and some other instruments. People loved it, but looking back now, I joke that it was terrible by my current standards. It felt like I was just banging on pots and pans. I was nervous and embarrassed, but the audience seemed to enjoy it, so I decided to keep going.
Over time, the setup grew. I added more bowls, chimes, and other instruments, and I started doing small house concerts. People loved these intimate gatherings, and I’d have 10, 20, even 30 people showing up. At that time, I was still one of the only people in Canada doing this kind of work. There were no rules or guidelines—I was making it up as I went along.
Eventually, I made my way out west to British Columbia, where I heard my first gong. It was a revelation. I knew I had to include gongs in my performances. After returning home, I sourced some gongs. The Paiste gongs I use are made in Germany and distributed in North America through Los Angeles. I ordered a few, and when they arrived, I was mesmerized. Most people had never heard anything like them, and they were completely captivated.
Gongs and singing bowls are not typical instruments like a piano or a guitar. They produce pure sound and frequency, which is what makes them so unique. My collection grew to include six gongs and 20-30 singing bowls, and the concerts started getting larger. I began playing in theaters and traveling across Canada—to Ottawa, Toronto, Winnipeg, and beyond. This was in the early 2000s, and again, nobody else was doing what I was doing.
My performances are fully improvised. There’s no set list or expected songs. The energy of the audience, the environment, or even the phase of the moon can influence the performance. Once I start playing, everything fades away, and I just let the music flow.
As time went on, I looked for ways to expand the sound. I experimented with various instruments from around the world—different drums, Indian harmoniums, and other traditional instruments. But nothing felt quite right until the Santoors appeared to me in a vivid dream. I woke up, searched online, and found this Persian instrument. I ordered one from a company in Iran, and when it arrived, I thought, What am I going to do with this? It has 72 strings, and I didn’t know how to tune or play it. But over time, the santoor became a central part of my performances, sharing equal time with the gongs and bowls.
I’ve also added harmonicas to my setup. Today, the Crystal Journey includes 8 gongs, 2 Persian santoors, 6 crystal bowls, and 2 harmonicas, along with other elements. While many people now play gongs and bowls, I can confidently say no one does it quite like I do. I’ve put in over 15,000 hours and traveled extensively to hone my craft.
This isn’t an easy market to navigate, especially in Canada, where the population is smaller compared to Europe or the United States. Despite the challenges, I’ve managed to keep this going. My hope is to eventually bring my performances to the U.S. and Europe, where I believe audiences would deeply appreciate the unique experience I offer.
You mentioned that the tuning of the gongs is based on Pythagorean Cosmology. Could you elaborate on how this philosophy influences the music and its impact on the audience?
Pythagoras is often said to have discovered the frequencies of the planets, though in his time, he was dismissed as eccentric or even crazy. Much of his work was lost over the centuries, much like that of Nikola Tesla. Some speculate that the people who sought to suppress their ideas knew they were onto something profound and wanted to keep it hidden. That perspective resonates with me.
Fast forward to the 21st century, and many of Pythagoras’s findings have resurfaced. Using what remains of his writings, people have been able to recreate and replicate his ideas, particularly in crafting instruments like the gongs. Each gong represents a planet, such as Mars, Venus, Jupiter, or Saturn. There’s nothing quite like their sound—no synthesizer, guitar, piano, or even traditional instruments from places like Russia or China can compare.
When I play, I often feel as though the gongs are communicating with me or even conversing with one another through their frequencies. This phenomenon ties into many teachings about the power of sound and vibration. Some believe that everything has a unique frequency, and there are even theories suggesting that sound played a role in building the pyramids. According to this idea, specific frequencies could have rendered massive stone blocks weightless, allowing them to be moved into place. While it remains speculative, it’s a fascinating alternative to the notion of sheer manpower moving such colossal structures.
For me, playing the gongs transcends sound. It’s not something I hear in the usual sense; it feels more like a vibration or resonance. Sometimes I liken it to tinnitus or a gentle ringing in the ears—it’s present but not intrusive. This unique quality of the gongs shapes my approach to performing. I avoid layering technical explanations onto what I do, as I feel it detracts from the raw experience of the music.
There’s plenty of information out there for people who want to research the science of sound and vibration. My focus is on creating an environment that allows each person to interpret the experience in their own way. For instance, during a New Year’s Eve performance, someone told me they distinctly heard Led Zeppelin tunes in the gongs. Others have reported hearing Pink Floyd, cosmic sounds, or even vivid landscapes.
I believe in leaving the experience open to interpretation, giving everyone the chance to have their own unique journey. The beauty of the gongs lies in their ability to unlock these personal and profound moments without any guidance or explanation from me.
What type of services do you offer?
First and foremost, I’m a musician, and what I provide is a concert experience. While I’ve been asked to do private sessions or one-on-one work, I don’t have any formal training in psychiatry or similar fields. I know some people enjoy that type of work, and they may or may not be professionally trained, but that’s not my background.
What I offer is purely a musical performance—a concert. I believe this approach makes it more accessible to a wider audience. Even people who aren’t into “new age” things often come to my concerts and leave surprised, saying things like, “Wow, I didn’t expect that.”
This formula has worked well for me, and I’ve stuck with it. It keeps the focus on the music and the experience it creates for everyone.
The Persian Santoor has a rich history dating back to ancient Mesopotamia. How do you honor its cultural significance while integrating it into your improvisational performances?
When I first got the instrument, I was very intimidated. How was I going to play it? How would I tune it? What if someone from that part of the world attended a show—which actually happened—and recognized the instrument? Would I be doing it justice?
Ironically, during the very first show I played with it years ago, a family from Iran attended. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. They asked me, “Where did you get it?” I told them, and they were amazed. They asked how long I had been playing, and I admitted, “I’ve never played it before.”
I was sweating with nerves, thinking, “I’m not going to be able to do this.” But as soon as I started playing, everything else faded away. I played reasonably well, I think, because after the show, I asked them what they thought. They said, “You didn’t do bad!” That feedback meant so much to me.
Every concert feels like a practice session in a way. With each performance, the gongs, the santoors, and the other instruments I play continue to evolve as part of the show. The santoor, in particular, has become one of the most melodic elements of the performance. Its strings create a rich and layered sound, with each note supported by four strings. One santoor is tuned to C, the other to D, which allows me to create very melodic and harmonious music.
I tune it to the Western scale rather than the traditional tuning from its country of origin, so it sounds a bit different. Yet, people familiar with the instrument from that region often love how I play it and how I incorporate it with the crystal bowls and harmonica.
When I play the santoor, I feel transported to that part of the world. It connects me to the rich history of the instrument. I imagine a Bedouin in the desert, 2,000 years ago, playing something similar alongside other traditional instruments of that era. Each country has its own version of the santoor. I once had an Indian version, which was beautiful but wouldn’t stay in tune. The santoors I have now have taken years to adapt to Canada’s wet climate, which has been a challenge.
Still, it’s one of the most beautiful instruments I’ve ever played. When I’m performing with it, I feel light, as though the music is coming directly from my heart. Many people who attend my shows mention that the santoor feels like the most playful part of the performance. Even if someone doesn’t know what the instrument is, it seems to evoke a sense of joy and curiosity. That’s the magic it brings to the music.
With the growing stress and hostility in the world, how do you see music playing a role in healing and bringing people together? What do you hope listeners take away from your concerts?
In the beginning, I didn’t really have a clear mission. I just started off green and went with the flow. But over the past 10–15 years, I’ve realized how much music can help people. It always has. During wartime, orchestras and bands played in churches and shelters, even during bombings. Those were places where people gathered to feel safe, to feel a sense of unity.
The world is getting crazier and crazier, and I often think about what people are going to need in times like these. I really hope I can continue my work to provide a safe space for people to relax, to stop thinking about everything happening around them, even if just for a little while. Of course, it won’t make the world’s problems disappear, but we all need a break from the chaos of the world and the stresses of our personal lives, which seem to be getting more and more intense.
I know from my own experience that when I’m playing, I don’t feel the everyday stresses of life. I’m not worried about whether I’m making enough money, whether I’m providing for my family, or whether I’m doing the right thing. All of those concerns fade away. I think that’s why people keep coming to my shows. For those couple of hours, they can let go too.
Some people feel deeply emotional during the show, while others just fall asleep—and I take that as a good sign. It means they’ve completely let go and allowed themselves to be in the most relaxed state possible, even in a room full of strangers. Falling asleep in that setting is a testament to the kind of environment the music creates.
As you mentioned, the world is a crazy place right now. I hope I can continue doing this, whether I’m playing for 10 people, 100 people, or 1,000 people. My goal is to help everyone in that room feel a little better than they did before they arrived.
