1: Hoping Tomorrow Never Arrives 67:04
2: The Sun, The Moon, And Talia 50:52
3: Strength Through Joy 65:36
4: The Mystique Of The Event 67:17
5: 70 Years 60:55
Total Time 5:12:22
All selections composed, arranged, performed, recorded, manipulated, treated and produced by Oenyaw. Recorded January - July, 2006. Equipment and software used: Epiphone Sheraton, DanElectro Black Licorace Distortion, Morley Volume Pedal, Line 6 Modulation Modeler, Line 6 Delay Modeler, Lexicon Omega Desktop Recording Studio, E Machines T2542 Computer (RAM upgrade 768), Cubase LE, Polderbits Sound Editor, All Audio Converter V1.50, Windows XP.
The cover photograph was taken by Carol Higgins. It's me, standing at an abandoned gasoline station in Greenville, FL. I picked it to go with the title. It's just a matter of time before these stations, this industry, and this way of life become history.
The title of this album carries a dual meaning for me. My view of the difference in my own music is that it is just a matter of time. I do long pieces. Oenyaw is about letting go, and allowing the music itself to take control of the situation. I have, for a very long time, been discontent with the 3 minute 30 second, verse-chorus-verse-chorus-diddle-in-the-middle-verse-chorus-repeat-chorus-and-fade song. The idea of cutting the music short to fit within the time constraints of commercially produced media is a travesty. While in Italy, I saw a painting in a museum which, at some time, a buyer of the painting had cut a section of the painting out so that the painting could fit in a particular room in his house, as in next to a door frame. I was horrified, and I feel that so much music is treated this way. Some of my music takes a long time to develop, and sometimes I allow the pieces to fade out on their own. The second meaning is a bit more personal and egotistical. I feel that it is just a matter of time before my ideas catch on. I really don't believe that I will ever be the mainstream, that kids will ever be "on the lookout for that new Oenyaw album, but I am very slowly receiving compliments as well as advice on how to keep this thing going. I'm just glad I have a reasonably good day job.
Hoping Tomorrow Never Arrives
An improv piece recorded New Years Day, 2006. Due to the holidays, I had just spent two wonderful extended weekends with my wife at home. The next day was the day to return back to the normal dirge of everyday life at work. I didn't want the day to end.
The Sun, The Moon and Talia
I was looking for the right title for weeks. A title to encompass a dream, wonderland, fairy tales and fantasy. I had the composition and theme down to the finish with the sound of an alarm clock awakening the dreamer. I picked up an old book from the shelf that I bought at an antique book store a few years ago. "The Uses of Enchantment" by Bruno Betelheim. I read the section on The Sleeping Beauty and found the story of Sun, Moon and Talia.
Strength Through Joy
A construction piece. The piece is composed of 112 chords played in 1792 measures. The original progression is 28 triads, which become sevenths, which become ninths, and then become all the notes of the key signature. The idea for the basis of the composition is a demonstration of the Nazi Propaganda tool "Strength Through Joy", developed to keep the workers happier by providing group vacations. The idea was that the workers would be more productive if they were alloted group vacations paid for by the state. It turned into a large bureaucracy that spend more money on itself than on the mission. The musical illustration of the idea is that one is listening to a happy tune which is based on a systematic progression. As time progresses, the chords, signifying the stress to the listener, become a greater weight until the listener is eventually listening to every note, or performing every task. The happy melody becomes an over bloated, unbearable, cacophonic chore. To date, this piece is the longest I've worked on. A year after I had completed it, I found software that enabled me to accomplish the original intention. This version 8C.
The Mystique of the Event
The original idea was a sarcastic one. The disgruntled musician, unhappy with the role taken in an ensemble
situation. As with all of my work, I like to write (or not), perform, record, mix, produce and then leave alone for a time before listening. This piece was very difficult to accomplish. The primary theme in the music became a struggle of a single note to be recognized by the whole of the composition, the piece itself became an illustration of the situation. The single note is forced to be part of the composition, but is unhappy with it's role. That note not only wishes to be heard, but heard alone in its own idiom. The suppression of the note breeds discontent within itself to the point of making the composition uncomfortable. At the end the challenge is made, and the note is heard. After the note is allowed, the composition returns to its original, but more relaxed state. A piece that symbolizes turning uncomfortable emotions into emotions that bring total contentment with one's self.
70 Years
In memory of my father. I was watching a video of the Alice Cooper Billion Dollar Babies Tour and remembered my parents taking me to my first two concerts. They didn't attend, they just dropped me off, went to see a movie, and then waited for me after the show. The first concert was The Guess Who, the second was Alice Cooper. Watching the movie brought back thoughts of my dad. So I plugged in and did an improv in a minor key. I called it 70 years, due to the length of time he spent in this worldly existence. He was a baptist minister who spent most of his life spreading the gospel and taking care of people. Though I was raised in a religious family, my parents are responsible for my politically liberal views of which I will not alter because of any other forced opinion. Anyway, my dad was a good one, and I feel fortunate to have had him for a father (even though he didn't let me grow my hair long when I lived at home.)
All selections copyright 2006 David Wayne Higgins.
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