I’m a window-seater. No matter how many times I fly, I’ll always beg for the bird’s eye view. There is so much you can learn about a people and a civilization by viewing it from above. In Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot, he described what an alien civilization might assume about earth’s intelligent life from a near-earth orbit. The curiosities they must find looking from this distance is inspiring. From the midwest at 30,000 feet, you see the ever-certain structure of industrial farming carved into the landscape. Endless acres of land designated only by the single ominous conglomerate of corporations that sculpted these perfect squares into the earth for their own capital gains. When our flight finally crossed the northern Atlantic Ocean and breached the islands of the United Kingdom, you finally see how charmless those farmlands at home were. A geometric maze cuts through the landscape with ancient stone walls dividing uncertain shades of oranges and greens and browns; lines drawn before the corporate ownership of this world conquered its resources. The farmland here is a shared commodity. Various families will lead their sheep to pasture and entire communities have been built around these lands for generations. This may be a strange way to introduce the journal of a rock band on its first overseas tour, but the idea of ownership and community is where the struggle lies for every artist. It is a fight that transcends industry and time. When we send our work into the world, is it truly ours or is it now the song of the people who hold it?