notes on
Entropy in Six Dimensions
entropy | ˈentrəpē | noun
1 (Symbol: S) Physics a thermodynamic quantity representing the unavailability of a system's thermal energy for conversion into mechanical work, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system.
2 lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.
It’s about time.
Broadly, the album explores the idea of the paths not taken; how a single seemingly inconsequential event or choice can change the course of one’s life.
Specifically, it imagines the alternate timelines created as a result of trying to correct or change past events through repeated time travel.
This is not a new idea by any means, but one with which I’ve forever been fascinated.
The songs serve as vignettes of these different realities. They detail the multiple travels of a man and his machine to undo an event. We see the different lives and identities unfold; we witness the erosion of linear time, the unraveling of coherence, and the determination of love.
Musically, I wanted the album to be intimate and real. The songs stripped to their essentials. A man and his machine.
To that end, I didn’t want this to be overproduced, or have perfectly pristine recordings that are sterile and uninspired. I wanted to capture something akin to phone recordings—that unaffected, raw, honest, impromptu nature—or something similar to a live performance, so I limited myself to 1 or 2 takes, trying to prevent burnout at the point of diminishing returns. A byproduct of this approach is that sometimes things are a bit messy, out of time, out of tune, the lyrics misremembered, the take riddled with noises, pops, and clipping. But I chose to embrace the imperfections, to preserve the human quality. There’s little compression, very little reverb, and no pitch correction. I recorded these songs live in a homemade vocal booth in a closet in my house, the AC laboring in the background, screams of kids playing across the street, horn practice from the other room. I think more than ever, and increasingly, people crave art that is human and imperfect.
Lyrically, I still rely on picture painting and cryptic metaphor. I didn’t set out to be topical or impart any social or political ideas, but living in this world at the time I wrote these songs…it crept in. If there is a theme that persists throughout, it is a plea for kindness, understanding, and tolerance. Imagine a world if we all truly had these three things. There are moments of melancholy, but ultimately there’s hope and optimism peaking through.
I began writing these songs over five years ago, in conjunction with what will be my next album. Though once recorded, I sat on it for about a year and even considered shelving it. There’s more out of tune here than the trained musician in me is willing to accept. And because I have this idea that it’s part of the whole artistic effort, like a painter who stretches his own canvas and varnishes his own painting, I’m unwilling to let anyone else do the recording and mixing—for better or worse. And, it seems, the subject of mortality has increasingly been on my mind, which doesn’t often make for easy listening.
But here it is. I’m happy with the album, and I hope that others will enjoy it.
(This album is the sequel to my forthcoming album The Long Way Around.)