America loves war. A statistic you’ve probably encountered is that in its 243-year history, the US has been at war about 225 years (give or take, depending on when you may be reading this). That’s more years than baseball, motion pictures, or most other American pastimes have existed. War has always been our thing.

When we run out of countries to devastate, we declare war on other things or ideas. There’s a War on Drugs, a War on Terror, a War on Crime, a War on Poverty. and so on. It’s a brilliant strategy for those who profit from war. There will always be poverty; crime will never surrender or sign a treaty. These wars, therefore, may last decades, centuries, or forever.

For some time, culminating in the infamous year 2020, it’s become increasingly clear that there is a War on Oxygen. I don’t know if this war has ever been officially declared, but clandestine aggressive operations, especially in the United States, are not unusual. In this country, it is tradition that the Powerful control, manipulate, and oppress the Powerless, usually without their knowledge, by any means necessary. We’ve seen this year how a powerful few have maintained control by deciding who gets to have enough oxygen—who gets to breathe—and who doesn’t.

Industry pollutes the air to a degree that “air quality warnings” are often issued. Our most significant natural oxygen producers, such as forests, are also under attack—deforestation and fire, exacerbated by climate change—are primary weapons.

This has been happening for a long time, but this year, the War on Oxygen has escalated significantly on the ground level. Military police deploy riot control agents—which serve to inhibit breathing, among other potentially lethal effects—against peaceful protesters, particularly (almost exclusively) on those who protest against the Powerful. Other weapons include rubber bullets, which, despite not being a chemical weapon, can cause a victim to stop breathing permanently.

The most brazen incidents in the War on Oxygen are those in which so-called “law enforcement” officers deliberately use techniques like the “choke hold”, or simply a knee pressed against the throat, to deprive a “suspect” (too often a person of color) of oxygen altogether. Like the tactics mentioned above, this isn’t new, but it hasn’t been well-documented until nearly 2020. The objective of the Powerful has been made clear: no oxygen for the uppity.

Finally, consider the defining event of this year of the War on Oxygen, the COVID-19 Pandemic. Never before have the Powerful shown how little they care about the Powerless. This disease, which makes breathing difficult or impossible, is the ideal weapon for Anti-Oxygenists, and indeed, they weaponized it almost immediately. It wasn’t even hard. A few simple lies, coupled with an intentional mismanagement of medical equipment, caused thousands of preventable deaths in the United States alone.

As I watched some friends get sick and some die, feelings of despair became inevitable. Those with the power to help, to soothe, to remedy, and to reassure chose instead to exacerbate and mock the crisis, and when this wicked noise reached its near zeniths almost at its peak, I caught COVID myself. For weeks, I literally felt that I might not live. I’ve mostly recovered, but even now, months later, there are times when breathing is a struggle. In my country alone, there’s no telling how many have suffered even worse, and how many actually died. I can’t imagine many more agonizing ways to die, but many treat it like a joke anyway. And things could easily become even worse.

Some of this album is music of protest, especially the pieces that were produced when the violence and death started to become alarming. Those produced later are mostly laments. Even though this music is wordless, abstract, and largely aleatory, each piece became an emotional reaction to what was happening both near me and worldwide. Every day the news became more insane—such cruelty and apathy! At the same time, such heroism, as in any war. My son works in an assisted living facility and is exhausted every day, working long hours to cover for those out sick, and performing extra duties to keep residents safe. My daughter is forced to attend school virtually and, in addition to the difficulties inherent in that, struggles to deal with being separated from friends and teachers. My wife does part-time work as a hospital chaplain, and besides seeing victims of COVID, she also comforts many families who’ve been affected by it in various ways.

As for me, I miss making music with others. My usual cohorts and I don’t know when we’ll see each other again, let alone play. Almost everyone I know is in a similar situation, regardless of the field they work in.

In the final months of this year, there’s been talk of a possible civil war. But I believe it’s been going on for a while, perhaps longer than any of us know. It’s just not a covert operation anymore, and the casualties are dying before our eyes. I have not lost hope, but I feel this war is far from over, and difficult times lie ahead. Still, we carry on. We love, we care, we create. Some of us still find ways to sing and play.