brazen. simple.

release 3 march 2017
producer AIMUA EGHOBAMIEN
co-producer BEN ZWERIN
executive producer DAVID QUINTAVALLE
QML006
℗ & © 2017 QUAESITOR MUSIC

sounds




tracks

01 lit / solus
02 iye (mother)
03 erha (father) / a love poem
04 what do I have
05 going home
06 threnody
07 undying / winds adrift
08 johnsburg, illinois
09 terminal four
10 taton
11 water

album description

Aimua Eghobamien’s third album, Brazen. Simple., with exquisitely crafted songs and poetry draws from influences that include his Ẹdo heritage, jazz, blues, classical and folk music. Brazen. Simple. creates a non-linear memoir that exposes once private thoughts and shares significant periods in his life. His style can only be described—if it must—as post-beat urban contemporary jazz.

lyrics

poem
lit
I stand, leaning against the lamppost—
at the top of the crescent
the lamp, lit and ordinary, observes—
whilst creating shadows
I’m waiting for you; hoping
it’ll be better than the last time
the sky’s orange fades from fire to dusk to dark
the lamp’s light, at once, important
and useful

song
alone! on my own
in a sea of people
swimming up and downstream

the feeling is known
in the way that does
not need an educated theme

alone! on this road
in a scene of actors
that are drifting downstage

I shoot and reload
no one dies, no one
is wounded, I cannot engage

you ask nothing of me
‘cause you do not exist
in this time and in the this place
where I dream and sleep all day

I ask too much of me
when walls start closing in
thinking I would be okay
if I write myself a way

the coffee is cold
and the magazine
is tear-stained and unreadable

the mouse becomes bold
she forgets herself
and tries to fly as an eagle

you ask nothing of me
‘cause you do not exist
in this time and in the this place
where I dream and sleep all day

I ask too much of me
when walls start closing in
thinking I would be okay
if I write myself a way

the wall painted blue
neither hides the pain
from loss of love nor music’s tone

why do I miss you
you were never born we
never kiss or share a loan

alone! on my own
alone! on this road
alone! on my own

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

for my mother—Rosaline Nekpenekpen Eghobamien (1936–2015)

she holds in the rain
she dances and hums in tune
she plays her refrain
she takes in the rising sun

when she is grey
she starts again
steely, gentle
she lives again

she sits on her throne
she rules with authority
she is not alone
she stands with her family

when she is grey
she starts again
steely, gentle
she lives again

she thought-provokes me
she does not hold back
she even wrestles
with demons on my behalf

in blue she writes love
in red she draws strength
her arms and brown eyes
engulf me in tenderly

she walks through the fire
she blazes with confidence
her grace in the light
in darkness is visible

when she is done
she starts again
steely, gentle
she lives and lives

and lives

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

for my father—Thomas Edomwadekhoe Eghobamien (1935–2015)

song
I promise you, father, that I will never leave you
beside you, always, I am here
in the daytime, through the dark pine
when time moves slowly and you are lonely

father, I will stand beside you now
father, there’s a furrow in your brow
father, the pain is impossible
father, she would have stayed if she could

the thumping in your chest is loudly real
echo becomes pain and does not heal
will you be treated or let it be
maybe drink water and catch the next train to dream

father, I will stand beside you now
father, there’s a furrow in your brow
father, the pain is impossible
father, she would have stayed if she could

she loves you for ever and a moment
your story does not end when it’s silent
the symphony of roaring thunder repeating to
the rivers flowing in your mem’ry unending so

father, I will stand beside you now
father, there’s a furrow in your brow

she holds your hand and lights the trail that winds
through seasons, lessons, reasons and your moonlit minds

father, the pain is impossible
father, she would have stayed if she could

poem
a love poem
you breathe in
I exhale
a single brushstroke
paints you—paints me

song
erha, she would have stayed if she could
erha, she would have stayed if she could

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

the sea, the ocean breeze
the waves with a mind of their own

whitewashed over sandy memories
of a life we no longer know

brazen and strong
I will overcome
the joys and the storms

what did I do
to lose this round
in a war of whys

I’m here and you’re not there
this fight won’t be won with despair

profit and loss
go hand in hand
I’m told to believe

what do I have
except the loss
of you and me

the sea, the ocean breeze
the waves with a mind of their own

whitewashed over sandy memories
of a life we no longer know

brazen and strong
I will overcome
the joys and the storms

what did I do
to lose this round
in a war of whys

I’m here and you’re not there
this fight won’t be won with despair

profit and loss
go hand in hand
I’m told to believe

what do I have
except the loss
of you and me

© 2014 poured gently music—bmi

could it be my home is here
planted feet span my breadth
from that moment to the next
know that home isn’t there

from there to here it winds like snaked grass
my left behind the right staggering
high and low then high again
—the terrain

with travel routes that include my past life
with boys and girls I may not
remember anymore
—so what for

could it be my home is here
planted feet span my breadth
from that moment to the next
know that home isn’t there

the empty cup with leaves to read aloud
will only need to be washed away
in the light of day
—so why pay

predictions and visions have lost the way
just like the space you lose
just beyond the fog
—on and on

going home in this place I stand
poised at first and contemplation
waiting here! standing still here! going home!

could it be my home is here
planted feet span my breadth
from that moment to the next
know that home isn’t there

could it be my home is here
planted feet span my breadth
from that moment to the next
know that home isn’t there

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

another day begins with
everyone arming with the
weapon of her choice
love, lips or the voice

raising her children in this
magnificence and longing
caught up in the war
casualty of gore

armour of melanin and
sheer will may not prevail in
this world of today
unlike yesterday
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

buying bread on a grey day
darting home through the melee
waiting for the rain to fall
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

elysian fields elude her
though she is covered in myrrh
this was not her choice
does not have a voice

what will the little ones do
create and hope it comes true—
the end of the war
bloodshed and its cause

curly smokes dissipate and
shortly so will the hate now
that this day is done
future will be borne
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

duck and hide in a doorway
holding on refusing to pray
and implore the rain to fall
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

in the city, it rains redder
we all live here, oils and water
drawn on pavement, lines dividing

buying bread on a grey day
darting home through the melee
waiting for the rain to fall
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

duck and hide in a doorway
holding on refusing to pray
and implore the rain to fall
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall
sunshine, rainbow, shadowed wall

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

poem
undying
breezy, slowly finding the path to the top
bridging earth, air and leaves—no lines
leaving clothes behind in a gentle tornado
red and lilac and something between electric and

blue petals open now revealing dew
tormented by bliss—kissing spring
skin fading, turning from death to
sparkles floating; skating; vapours vanishing

amorphous and silent songs
bleeding into roots and veins
keeping the dark soil cool and warm and cosy

song
the force of the wind this night
inevitably gets to us
just as all hope
is lost

it washes away the dirt, the past
bad confrontational relations
breathing smiles and laughter
like children in fields

the force of the wind this night
creates the wounds that leave happy scars
a reminder of the good and bad we have
frown and laugh and tan lines

the wind steals us to and from
endings and the start of everything
moment by moment
by moment

rainfall on a sunny day
leaf turns to autumn’s wind
bead of sweat on the nape
that cools

with winds that drift
then wrap and sweep
an ordinary person’s life
and ordinary paper turns in—
to an aeroplane and

flies, flies, flies
flies, flies, flies

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi

I’m amazed
at what you can do with nothing
I’m amazed
at what you can lose with something

she is sophisticated
he falls asleep on his head
the baby gurgles and smiles at me
I sip on a cup of burning hot coffee

it is cold
although it is burning out there
it is cold
oh, that you pretend she’s not here

for whom are you waiting
delays are unending
she runs into his arms with abandon
he smiles and cries and kisses his son

here’s a thought
a tableau vivant in motion
who’d have thought
that colours of skins would notion

red velvet rope keeps you apart from the crowd
your bronzéd skin hides all that you are
I check a bag and hold back a tear
and sip on a cup of burning hot coffee

© 2017 poured gently music—bmi

I’d love to have
an early morning conversation
with my mother

I’d love to feel
her warmth and her embrace
on days when I am only

the boy she knows
in places even I
have not become acquainted

I’d love to tell
her everything that’s happened
since the last time we spoke

I’d love to sing
a song of gratitude and
loving with my mother

I’d love to hear
the lullabies and folk songs
that she knew all her life

watch the sunrise
and listen to her laughter
as she tells her story

I’d love to walk
then sit down in the park and
share thoughts till the sun sets

sleep little baby
don’t dream of bad things
I’ll be here when you
call and the phone rings

sleep little baby
don’t dream of bad things
I’ll be here when you
call and the phone rings

I’d love to have
an early morning conversation
with my mother

I’d love to drink
the water flowing from within
her to remind me

I’d love to have
an early morning conversation
with my mother

© 2016 poured gently music—bmi