Preston Klik will be the first to tell you he is not the one having the paranormal experiences at his sound sessions. He’s the anchor. People lie down on yoga mats, close their eyes, and fly off into whatever the gongs and crystal bowls unlock — and Preston’s job, as he figured out after years of being a little jealous of his own audience, is to hold the ground they come back to. “My feet are apart and I’m standing on the rock,” he told us, “and you guys have this home to come back to. I am here.”
So the stories come to him afterward, in the quiet part of the evening, and he’s learned to recognize the signal: a woman in the corner rolling up her yoga mat, then unrolling it, then rolling it again — keeping her hands busy until everyone else leaves, because what she has to say is private.
One night that woman — he called her Cynthia — came up with tears in her eyes. The love of her life, her horse, had died recently. During the session, she told him, the horse walked up to her and put his head on her shoulder, and they nuzzled each other. She could smell him. She thanked Preston like he’d handed the animal back to her. His response was the only honest one available: he didn’t create that. He just said okay. As we told him on air — that’s pretty paranormal, Preston. He takes it spiritually. So do we. Spiritual is a form of paranormal around here.
Another night, another mat rolled and unrolled, another woman waiting out the room — this one from Northbrook. She’d grown up not far from where the session was held, and she used to visit her grandmother once a month. During the sound bath, she visited her again: sat at the kitchen table and talked for an hour, the way they always had. Then she got up, said goodbye, walked to the drawer where her grandma kept the good silver, opened it, and touched every spoon, knife, and fork. And where does your grandma live, Preston asked. Oh, no, she told him. Grandma passed away.
She hadn’t just remembered the house. She’d walked its rooms.
Preston doesn’t dress any of this up, which is exactly why we trust him with it. This is a man who has run his own blind tests — six rounds, ten people each, eighteen crystal bowls in random order — and will tell you flatly that the popular claim that a specific pitch heals a specific chakra did not survive his testing. No one-to-one relationship showed up. He doesn’t sell pseudoscience. So when he says the sound unlocked something in these women — hidden parts of the mind and memory, brought together and made alive — he adds the most Preston sentence of the night: “Now, are they alive in another sense? I don’t know. But they’re subjectively alive. And that freaking counts.”
Then he proved the practical side live on our air. Before he plays, Preston says a short prayer, and he read it for our 4,000 listeners: “I connect to the earth. I connect to the cosmos. I connect to these instruments. I connect to this heart. Please allow me to be a conduit for spirit and to play what is needed for whoever needs to hear it.” Then he tapped a crystal bowl and picked up a Native American flute, and yes — it came through beautifully.
The horse came back. Grandma’s silver drawer opened. All Preston did was hold the rock they stood on — and play.
Sessions and schedule are at klik.love — that’s K-L-I-K dot love, no.com. His home base is the Chapel of Sacred Sounds in Evanston.