Chris Oledude: Between The Choice and The Burden of Free Will

The individual choice might be the biggest gift humanity ever had since creation. A dangerous gift, too. Give a human being a mouth, a flag, a book, a god, a piece of land, a little fear, and suddenly the whole planet starts sweating. We choose love, then ego. We choose peace, then noise. Wisdom on Monday, then acting like absolute donkeys by Thursday. That’s where The Choice by Chris Oledude comes in.

Chris Oledude comes from New York. I spent a minute with his story and I found that his roots spread wider than a city block, reaching deeper than any tidy artist bio can hold. Chris Owens, a Black and white-Jewish Puerto Rican-born songwriter, grew up inside a creative family where classical, folk, pop, funk, and protest music did everything. His mother, Ethel Werfel Owens, taught him music first. His father, Major R. Owens, moved through public life with books, ideas, and service.

Back in the 1980s, Chris played on the streets of New York, performed in dance bands, and worked alongside his brother Geoffrey Owens. His cassette Anyone’s Revolution already gave voice to the frustration of the Reagan years, and Pete Seeger himself encouraged him to keep writing with that peace and justice in mind. Life then dragged Chris deeper into civic and political activism for decades, before grief and time pulled him back toward music. First came the death of his father. Then came the death of his wife, Sandra Dixon. He returned in 2020 as Chris Oledude, with a mission and a stronger sense of purpose in the old human sense of the word: say and do something, before the lights go out.

Folk roots, river ghosts, and a sermon with teeth

The story behind The Choice is also meaningful. Chris Oledude found the idea while travelling along the Hudson River. He was staring at the Palisades, the greenery, the blue water, and all the history buried in that view. He thought about Pete Seeger, the Clearwater movement, and the fact that rivers do not clean themselves just because people hang around looking poetic. People act, decide, then live with the choice.

That thread weaves through the lyrics. From couples trying to build a life together, to groups and nations fighting for land, to the planet gasping for air. “Open your heart choose wisely and choose well” sounds like a warning and a prayer at the same time. Then Chris Oledude talks about love, hate, land, and peace. And honestly, I see this man watching the boat split in half while still trying to keep the deck all together.

Musically, the whole thing draws from folk tradition. But it also comes from the larger dramatic instinct of a “big sound” composer shaped by Beethoven, Jethro Tull, Kansas, or Emerson Lake & Palmer. Even the decision to reshape the “O, Come, O, Come, Emmanuel” shows nerve. I like that move. There’s some holy smoke and plenty of street in it, like someone just took a candle from church and walked straight into a protest.

The Choice: Face it or leave it

Chris Oledude has already did a body of work with strong political and social nerve. George Floyd: Say Their Names to Orange Blues 24, No Crowns For Clowns, and now the wider road toward PREACHER MAN – VOL. 1. The Choice falls naturally into that story, while also opening a broader conversation about human survival and the madness of treating the earth like a disposable ashtray.

I hear this song as a challenge, to be honest. People have to choose tenderness. Or communities to choose peace. Around Earth Day 2026, Earth Month, and National Parks Week, that message comes at the right time and says what needs to be said.

The Choice looks you in the eyes and asks what sort of person you plan to be while the world burns, heals, bends, and waits. That’s the thing, Chris knows it, and thankfully, he sings about it.

Stay close to Chris Oledude and keep an eye on what The Choice is doing – Facebook, Instagram, the official website, YouTube, all there if you want to keep up.

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