For many years I have collected photographs, sounds, and memories of my beloved Ofu Island. Since you are on this website you’ve no doubt seen many of the photographs and possibly experienced my location recordings. In my writings I’ve tried to convey my feelings about Manu’a, but somehow I feel I’ve always fallen short – no matter how lovely the picture, or vivid the sound, or true the word, nothing can completely and perfectly evoke Manu'a. This is my latest attempt to "bring Manu'a home."

There was a dream I had a few months ago which somehow was more vivid than my regular Ofu dreams, and it clung to my waking hours for days. In the dream I am in my apartment in Illinois. The rooms are filled with a strange light, but I cannot tell where it comes from. In front of me I see a door where a door shouldn’t be. I’m on the second floor and opening it would surely lead to a drop to the alley below.

The doorknob is warm to the touch. I turn it and the door swings wide revealing the hot, sun-drenched road on Ofu on the other side. I pass through and spend the dream walking though peaceful Manu’a. Not too exciting, but it is a dream about feelings, not actions.

It took me several days to figure out what this dream required of me, but it became clear: I had it within my means to illustrate my experience and feelings about Ofu with sound, for that is what I’ve always tried to do with my music: sculpt the trembling air with a memory or a dream.

Many weeks were spent in the studio mixing and editing pieces of Ofu sound together to create the (thus far) ultimate collage of what walking along the shore and through the village could be like on a perfect day, or a perfect night.

A door opens and there is the ever-present sound of the sea, the dawn chorus of birds awakening on the mountainside, the sound of a banana tree being cut, palm fronds rustling in gentle breezes, a woman working in her garden, the aitu in a long deserted fale in lonely Sili village, the sound of an serene mountainside plantation, a congregation sings in church, children banging metal drums on New Years Eve as homemade fireworks go off, a coconut tumbles from a treeetop, and my footfalls in the damp sandy roadbed as my canine companion Angel pads alongside. All in all, nearly thirteen minutes of Manu’a pleasure reveals itself over the course of the recording.

So that’s the sound of Ofu, but what about me and the peace that saturates my being when I’m actually there walking around the island? How can I convey the calm that grows within me while visiting Manu'a?

After much thought about how to best express my inner Manu’a peace, and over the course of two lengthy weekend recording sessions, I put down some tracks of drifting synth and piano music, hoping this would add my spirit to the ambience of the island. I improvised my music live as I listened to the sweet Manu'a ambience, playing what the island was telling me to play -– long, slow, and peaceful, like a hot Samoan afternoon.

So, here it is for you to enjoy. Click the title or the picture to left and come to Ofu with me. Granted, at 24-meg it’s a big download, but there is much to share. Manu’a is small on the map, yet somehow bigger than life.

Tofa soifua,

--Terry
Summer 2005