From the EP "Songs From Anguilla 2026," Cary Morin This collection of songs was recorded in Anguilla, British West Indies, in February 2026, following four months of preparation. The project was conceived as a collaborative effort between a U.S.-based artist and Anguillan musicians, serving as a model for future partnerships at AMA Recording Studio while helping promote the nonprofit AMA Center on the island.

The result is a diverse collection: two Americana tracks infused with reggae rhythms, a traditional reggae piece, and a dance reinterpretation of a song originally written in the 1990s. For years, I’ve been passionate about blending Caribbean rhythmic sensibilities with blues influences, and this project marks the first time I’ve fully realized that vision in collaboration with Caribbean artists.

This experience was both creatively and culturally enriching. It offered an opportunity to learn a distinct production style and bring that knowledge back to my own work. The songs reflect my perspective on current social and cultural dynamics in the United States within a broader global context. As a Native artist, I often draw parallels between my own heritage—rooted in a not-so-distant nomadic past—and the deeply rooted cultural traditions of others.

Recording in an island environment added a unique dimension to the project, echoing the spirit of many recordings that have long inspired me. I hope this collaboration is the beginning of an ongoing creative exchange rather than a one-time experience.

This song wades into buyer's remorse and the strange sensation of watching our own lives play out like a reality show. With the current state of things in this country, I've slowed my restless movement — fewer miles, more intention. Celeste and I have put down roots in Colorado in a way we never quite managed over the past few decades.

The songs are shifting too. What started as simple blues ideas are opening up into something with more to say — social commentary creeping in at the edges. The more time I spend building songscapes, the more directions I feel pulled. I want to paint something you can place yourself inside, something that speaks to where you are and what surrounds you. To do that well, I need to understand you better. That's the work.

The feel of this one reaches back to Sade — her music had taken up permanent residence in my head during production and simply refused to leave. The lyrics came out fast, almost frantic, then got rethought entirely once the track was laid down. I gave the song room to breathe after that, let it sit and settle, and that patience paid off. Melodies emerged from the quiet — guitar lines and other elements that only revealed themselves once I stopped forcing it.