Kani ka ʻōpala

A song from my Peace Corps Thailand album (2008), featuring a drum kit clobbered together from junk. Lyrically about overdoing it on the fundamentalist values and oaths we affirm.

A song inspired by PhD comics and the whole soul-sucking grad school experience (worth it nonetheless!); musically, I’m trying for an island-style-inspired reed ensemble using a balloon oboe.

Busted out the ukulele-fiddle for this, my most country-esque of songs for this album. Lyrically speaking, this is the post-doc ballad that logically comes after the PhD process and serves as a narrative of sorts outlining this whole Kani kaʻōpala project’s trajectory (and the people that made it happen).

In August 2024 I applied for an artist-in-residency exhibition focused on sustainability and waste management on Oʻahu. This song (and accompanying video) was the proof of concept pilot that would serve as the aluminum cans portion of the exhibit.

One of my first ever homemade instruments was this repurposed wooden frame from Goodwill. This is the only instrument used in this song: plucked, strummed, bowed, and beaten to produce a guitar, zither, orchestra, and percussion section. The lyrics, while open to interpretation, predate any modern American political figure or movement, just FYI.

Reviving another Peace Corps-era song, this time composed by Lisa. One of my (and her Omkoi students’) favorites. A few pedal effects have been added to the acoustic tea box guitar shown here.

The zip tie ukulele makes its one and only appearance on this album here as I revive another Peace Corps-era song (many of these songs were written in the jaded, end-of-second-year-portion of service. I did eventually get a second wind toward the end, though). Referenced at the end is this perhaps cliche quote:

You cannot change the world; but you can change the world for some.

A rendition of the Irish Glountane barn dance, performed on instruments made from invasive guava wood (read more on the collaborative project here)

Debut recording of my fishing line cigar box lute. The smooth neck on this instrument is a salvaged picture frame. It ended up having a surprising clawhammer banjo-ish sound to it that inspired the structuring of the song.

Dusted off a quick ditty from my office job children’s album of 2006 to showcase some bamboo saxophone sounds. Who’s hungry?

Another one of my favorite songs by Lisa, written during our post-Peace Corps Waikiki days. We were learning to let go, recover, and imagine different futures we might explore together.

Originally written as a barbershop quartet-kind of song for my Peace Corps album, this retake draws inspiration (loosely) from Quadrille. Lyrically it’s about a not-so-trustworthy man brought home for a family gathering.

The Banyan Tree ukulele returns for an Franco-Romantic seaside pondering of a budding relationship.

A rewrite of a song from my 2010 album, back then written for my first nephew…with apologies, I’ve rewritten with lyrics about Charlie. Thus there were two challenges with this song:

1. Finding words that rhyme with “Charlie” (I resort to a few non-English texts)
2. recording the song using only the guitar shown here.

Showcasing a new instrument not heard on the previous albums (fretted 4-string baritone cigar box guitar). I wrote this song in 2010 after the passing of my Grandpa Stu.

I built this instrument with my students in my SP2025 “Ecomusicology Workshop” course taught at Hawaii Pacific University (dubbed the “eco-lele”). The song is for my neurodiverse son, or really anyone who feels the world we’ve been told is normal and should just put up with is maybe not so good for us. Reconnecting with nature might just be the better medicine.

I used this guitar a lot for this album…this is a remake of one of my favorite songs by Lisa, one where we celebrate but also kind of distrust nostalgic reminiscence.

A remake of a children’s song from my Raiser’s Edge / windowless office days, written shortly after watching Inconvenient Truth. Re-recorded here using ukulele, guitar, and bass, and a trio of tenor vocals inspired by Keauhou (whom I could never match in talent).

Sometimes I lean McCartney; other times, I’m more Lennon-inspired. And, every now and then growing up, I’d write a song that made my parents worry about me just a little bit. But trust me, I’m fine! This song (a layering of over 40 homemade orchestral instruments) came about as I was reading a book about planets to my son and got an ever-so brief glimpse at geological time. It’s nearly impossible to comprehend with the human mind just how fleeting our existence is: on this tiny rock in a vast universe, a speck in a 4.5 billion year timeline with emptiness before and nothingness after. It’s tempting, when you ponder how impossible it is that we exist in what is a mostly uninhabitable cosmos, to conclude that it’s all meaningless. But meaning exists because (and only if) humans create it–with our thoughts, words, actions, love. That counts for something.

I dug way back into the archives for this one, to my first album recorded in college (2004?). It was a song about getting dumped over email. Good times!