Perhaps you’ve seen me at the Callicoon Farmers’ Market—or maybe you caught my recent performance at the Arts Nest in Narrowsburg, hosted by the ever-gracious Kathy Geary of WJFF Radio. I’m the one with the UFO-looking object that sounds like a cross between a harp, a piano, and something celestial. The instrument is officially called a handpan (or hangdrum, depending on who you ask), but I’ve renamed it the Sound Saucer—because that’s exactly what it is—a flying saucer of sound.

When people see me play and sing, they usually have two reactions: first, a puzzled expression (“What is that thing?”), and second, a soft sigh once the notes and voice blend together in the air. There’s something hypnotic about it. Children stop mid-cookie bite. Farmers pause mid-transaction. Even the honeybees seem to hover more slowly.

Because so many of you have asked about the mysterious Sound Saucer, I decided to go straight to one of the most respected builders of these instruments - Rebecca Dancyger, founder of Spirit Handpans in Asheville, North Carolina. She’s part craftswoman, part acoustical alchemist, and entirely devoted to the art of coaxing song from steel.

Rebecca discovered the handpan when she was sixteen, watching a street musician online. “It immediately became the focus of my life,” she told me. “I felt an absolute need to be close to this instrument.” By twenty, she had launched Spirit Handpans, and nearly a decade later she’s crafting some of the most finely tuned instruments in the world.

Each one is born from high-quality stainless steel—materials with poetic names like Ember and Dolomia. These aren’t just fancy metals; they determine whether the sound will be warm and oceanic or bright and bell-like. Rebecca describes her process as “teaching the metal to sing.” Through a mixture of hand hammering, heat treatment, and something she calls “tension memory,” she shapes every note until it hums with its own character.

This isn’t fast work. A single handpan can take over a month to make. “Every note is tested and retested until it resonates perfectly,” she said. The precision borders on obsessive—but it’s that devotion that makes her instruments sing with both clarity and emotion.

Her philosophy leans toward sustain—that shimmering sound that hangs in the air, vibrates your very being, and refuses to disappear too soon. “I often hear that my instruments have a feminine touch,” she told me. “A nice sustain and a sensitive response to touch.”

For now, I don’t own one of her instruments, though I certainly dream of it. Mine is a different brand, but it still speaks in the same cosmic tongue. And because I sing while I play, my performances take a nontraditional turn. The human voice intertwines with the metallic overtones like smoke wrapping around moonlight—half earth, half ether.

Of course, these celestial saucers don’t come cheap. A Spirit Handpan starts around $2,400, though Rebecca’s upcoming Dream Series, launching next year, will begin closer to $1,600. “I want to make them more accessible,” she said, explaining that she offers discounts to schools and nonprofits. Her mission is simple: “To help people find peace, joy, and an intuitive connection to music.”

And really, that’s the essence of this odd, mesmerizing instrument. When I play and sing, I’m not performing in the traditional sense. I’m creating a pocket of calm, a pause between the chatter of commerce and the rustle of vegetables. It’s the opposite of rock ‘n roll.

Sometimes I imagine Rebecca in her Asheville workshop  surrounded by hammers, presses, and glowing sheets of steel, shaping invisible vibrations into form. And then I look down at my own Sound Saucer and realize I’m holding something that bridges her world and mine—the union of craftsmanship and song, steel and soul.

If you can’t catch me live, visit my Instagram @therealramonajan or check out Rebecca’s work and playing at spirithandpans.com.