When I returned to the Perfect Harmony Tea Room in Hilo, I wasn’t sure how it would feel. Would I be able to recreate what happened when I composed my debut album, Perfect Harmony, at the same venue just a year prior?

At the same time, I reflected on my journey and saw how this entire new path of making music was never really about recreating something. Not even about creating something perfect. It was about tuning into the present moment and accepting it as it is.

When I arrived, I found myself welcomed warmly, and just entering the space filled me with joy. Throughout the year, I had come here many times to sit, sip delicious tea, and reflect on life. The room was much quieter than the busyness of the streets in downtown Hilo. Yes, one could hear traffic from time to time through the door in the back, but the gentle music, wonderful incense, and occasional ring of the front store’s doorbell felt like a calming blanket, allowing for a moment of grounding.

I also enjoyed meeting travelers there, occasionally getting lost in deep conversation with a stranger before returning to a book or typing up ideas on my laptop. That same slowing-down sensation entered my body when I walked in with my instruments to set up. After a brief soundcheck, I started greeting guests and slowly made my way to my spot. As always, I put down a carpet, placed my instruments and pedals all around me, and this time, I also brought lights to fill the space with purple ambient illumination.

I always name my albums and tracks during the mastering process, after the concert, because I have no idea what is going to happen before I create the first sound. Everything happens in the now. Everything is as it is, and somehow finds its way onto the final recording.

The concert went well, and I really enjoyed the new vibe. One amazing element of offering live sounds to a group of people is the instant feedback in the present moment. I play with my eyes closed for the most part, but occasional glimpses down toward my pedals, or moments of switching to a different instrument, allowed me to peek into the room and see with my eyes what I already felt with my heart.

Alien Origins came to me as a title while I was editing the recording into individual tracks. I was reflecting on my life, my existence, and this experience on Earth. Around that time, I had started describing myself as an alien in a human space suit. After migrating from Austria to the U.S., I was assigned an alien registration number, and whenever I had to file paperwork, I was reminded that I was, legally speaking, an alien.

I found this both funny and strangely resonant. At the same time, the separation of origins through words can contribute to keeping distance alive instead of helping us grow closer together.

What kind of species are we? And why do we think of our shared planet as a ball with a to-be-artificially-fragmented surface, flying through space with mind-blowing speed while spinning around an incredibly hot, much larger ball? The sheer imagination of this image should make us enjoy this joyride together, value each other’s existence, and embrace the beauty that surrounds us, no?

As the title of the album manifested, I thought of the incredible fun I’ve had in my life, but also the suffering I endured throughout childhood, adolescence, and later on. Putting oneself into perspective can quickly make us diminish our own suffering. We may think that other people’s suffering is worse, or much worse, and therefore our own pain should not be seen as important or significant. Yet the stress response in our bodies can be very similar, no matter the stressor, and in the moment, the mind does not always distinguish threat levels from a big-picture perspective while they unfold.

My entire life, I have been trying to “find my tribe,” as they say. Living in Hawaiʻi taught me a great lesson about tribal thinking in our modern day and age: how wonderful it can feel in times of seeking connection, and how quickly tribalism can become destructive, limiting creative thinking and binding people to the limits of a tribal tribune or an all-controlling guru.

So where was I when I composed this album?

Musically, a misfit. Economically, a misfit. Educationally, a misfit.

Always trying to fit in while sticking out — often unconsciously. In that way, the word “misfit” and the word “alien” started speaking to the same feeling from different directions: one from within, one from the outside.

This alienation within what felt like an alien nation made me reflect night after night in the jungles of Puna, while listening to the coqui frogs. In 2019, however, I already lived in Kamuela, and my life had changed significantly. A couple of years prior, I met a human being who showed me that the alien in me was as welcome as anybody else. This human accepted me completely as I was, and that encounter became one of the important creative sparks that opened my path as a live composer.

Alien Origins is a piece of audible artwork that everyone present helped paint with their presence, their listening, and their soul on the canvas of my instruments. And even though I have felt like an alien from time to time, that night I felt welcome, once again.

This new way of live performance — unpredictable, unrepeatable, and one of a kind — is created in a state of interbeing with the present moment, our beautiful planet, the universe, and all its entities.

Alien Origins Live Composition on 5-string Electric Violin, Didjeribone, Voice, Percussion 7 Pieces | 1 Hour 34 Minutes Recorded at Perfect Harmony Tea Room, Hilo, Hawaiʻi Artwork by Markus Mars UPC 194171626081 ℗ & © 2019 Markus Mars