Now or Never

Even though I have been writing church music for the last several years, I have not shared much with my current choir. In the hustle and bustling of getting ready week after week and settling in as the director, it was the last thing on the agenda. Original songs would take several weeks of practice to work out the kinks. On some level, I wanted the choir and congregation to accept me in a more substantive way before pushing a lot of strange new music on them—I wanted them to buy into my vision and be willing to go for a ride with me.

I admit that part of the hesitation was my own inhibition about sharing this part of myself. All the other closet artists out there can no doubt relate.

However, we have sung at least 15 original Responsorial Psalms in the last year. At least a good 6-7 were mine. Most of them were originally composed by my cantor Mary. I enjoyed that as it took the spotlight off of me and gave me the chance to focus on the vocal arrangements and chord structures. She is nearly blind, so I have jurisdiction over everything written. That gives me an autonomy while still being a creative partner. She would sing a melody a cappella and the rest was up to me, with her feedback along the way. While it is appropriate to credit her as the songwriter on those, I definitely felt like a co-writer and could really stretch out creatively. It has been a great opportunity to practice arranging for voices, something I had not had a lot of experience with. Responsorial refrains are very short, which was a good opportunity to focus on the details and get them right.

Fast-forward to today.

Most Catholics are aware of what is happening in Advent, 2011: The implementation of the new translation of the English Mass, which includes changes to many of the sung parts.

The “Holy, Holy” is changing by the difference of a single phrase, but other pieces like the “Gloria” are radically different from the current translation. While it is possible to engineer existing music to fit the new words, this is often a questionable exercise. Some pieces just do not work with the different words. Even the “Holy, Holy” has significant troubles. “Lord God of power and might” will be rendered as “Lord God of hosts.” The difference of 3 syllables in a short piece, not to mention ending with an abrupt physical sound like “hosts,” is enough to threaten the very existence of an existing musical setting. Many versions are not going to survive.

Songwriters are like architects. There is a mathematics to it. You want to be creative, but yet all the pieces have to fit into the context, too: Heating vents cannot be covered by rugs or couches. Plants need to have the right amount of light. A house should be an expression of an artist’s creativity, but it still has to accommodate all the practical demands of withstanding the elements and being a functional space.

Songwriting is the same. You have to put the pieces together in a way that meets practical and artistic demands. The left and right sides of the brain are not only both used but they must work together in concert. Every note and phrase must make sense locally and within the whole. The right words need to be accented. Not only does the physical sound have an architecture, but there are the additional concerns regarding the appropriateness for liturgy and fitting with the available instruments, choir members and congregation. All that has to fit while still being an artistic expression.

All of this is to say: Do not be fooled at how “small” some of the changes are, because they will have a dramatic impact on the playability of these songs. This means that the next several months is now or never time. If the numerous Mass settings that I have composed are ever going to see the light of day, the time is now.

This gave me an incentive to pitch this music to the choir. They will sing whatever I ask, but it is important to me that they are with me in spirit. The choir is receptive to giving these compositions a chance. I want to be sensitive, as songwriters have a notorious reputation for holding their congregations hostage to being a dumping ground for their original music. The music has to resonate with the life of the congregation. But we must always remember that the Catholic faith has always inspired people to create art and music. Our faith would be dead if we did not make room for the different gifts people have to offer. I am a writer, and I need to tinker.

I have often had this vision that one day I would just open up my back catalogue of tunes and just start rolling them out as-is. What has happened is probably what is generally more likely: I pick a tune from the past I like, make a couple more to match, add a new piece and rearrange something else dramatically. There are factors which make some songs better options than others, and require still others to be adapted, such as the members of the choir and their respective ranges, the temperament and charism of the parish, and the singability and ease of learning of a piece. What we are rolling out is actually 2 older pieces and 3 brand spanking new ones. The creative process is always in the present tense.

I originally began writing a “Gloria” as I was recovering from cancer surgery back in 2005. Over the next few years I kept adding to it until the piece was complete. I recently added vocal harmonies that I am proud of. The other piece is a “Memorial Acclamation” from around the same time. I liked it so much I decided to use it to fashion a “Holy, Holy” and an “Amen,” since those pieces are a musical trinity. Mary added some significant advice, and we have worked out a finished set. They are simple, singable, and I overall feel good about them. I tried to work out a “Lamb of God,” but as I was tinkering on it one day, Erin started singing a completely new melody to the chord progression, and it turned out to be quite lovely. Her “Lamb of God” is the one we are going with.

Today we unveiled this set, with the exception of the “Gloria” which will still take a couple of weeks of practice. It is hard to debut original music. I always feel that it is never good enough, and I continually find places to make changes. I have come to a place where I do not need people to like it for my emotional well-being. Some will, some will not, and some just need more time and a good performance before they are convinced. But there is no question that this is me revealing myself, and it is so hard to face rejection on thooe terms. When people do reject it, or even reject the whole idea of me sharing my music at all, I know cognitively that they are usually doing it to mask their own insecurities or ignorance, but it still can hurt quite a bit. But I also have grown tremendously by taking the chance to share anyway.

I was happy with how it went today. The choir did a good job and did right by me. We will see how it goes as this music is sung over the next few weeks. A lot of people are just exceedingly happy that we are finally transitioning away from the Latin Mass parts (which we began in Lent). Right now, I am just happy to be sharing this music. I have been working on this music for many years. Aside from some very informal Masses at the Catholic Worker, this has not been played in a Church setting before, so this is a big step for me.

Putting it all Together

If you haven't caught on by now, I like to approach problems in a strategic way. I focus on the overall systems and structures that affect our lives. Some people approach problems tactically; I'd opt for the bird's eye perspective. Many times a decision that seems very noble based on local issues may not be so wise when you take a step back and look at it from a strategic vantage point.

For example, I used to have all sorts of coping strategies to help myself write college papers at night. I took breaks, tried to give myself little rewards, limited social time and did all the things people recommend to do when you are struck. I hated all those ideas and they rarely worked, but they were the wisest things to do given the circumstances. But that's just it: Your ears should perk up at the word "given." Always check your givens and assumptions.

It turns out that the even wiser thing to do was to change the circumstances. Once I realized that I write better in the mornings without a belly full of carbohydrates then suddenly I didn't need those coping strategies anymore. All those little tricks to coax myself would at best help me gain inches (when they worked at all), while changing my overall work schedule helped me gain miles without much friction.

The previous four posts have revolved around goal-setting. I often focus on artistic goals, but these same themes apply to any goal, whether it is for fitness, personal growth or any professional aspiration. Try those ideas on and see if they fit! Each post addresses the topic of goal-setting with an eye for the larger framework that we operate in:

1. Time of Day and the Creative Process. Know yourself. Know your peaks and troughs. Maybe you write better at certain times of the day or seasons of the year. You might be a people-person at night or need a long hibernation in the winter. Build your schedule around that.

2. Artistic Formation through the Public Forum. Have a public outlet for your goal. Get feedback from the larger community. The presentation of art is as big of a task as the creation itself and that takes time to unfold. Get started! Even if your goals are not artistic, having that give-and-take with the wider community makes a huge difference.

3. Goals: How to Achieve Them. Think of any other environmental factors that support you. Don't make a spectacle of your personal self-discipline, but rather find the easiest environment to work in. The task itself is where the difficulty should lie. Don't burn yourself out just getting yourself to the drawing board.

4. Follow-Through. Have concrete goals, performances or other calendar items to force you to finish your work and get 'r done! Deadlines are a blessing.

So, what is the point of this post in particular? It wouldn't make sense to write about strategic goal-setting without having a larger, encapsulating post that covers it all!

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This is part 5/5 of the series "Strategic Goal Setting."

Follow-Through

I enjoy writing liturgical music. I often will wake up in the morning and work out a new tune. I have been doing this for years even though I didn't have a direct outlet for that music. I always figured I'd do something with it at some point in my life, but for the time being it was enough just to create it and save it to my computer.

I mention this only to say that thankfully I haven't had a shortage of motivation on this front for a while. Creative inspiration does have its ebbs and flows, but overall I haven't had a problem applying myself to the task, at least when it comes to the initial song creation (I have had a problem with follow-through and finishing pieces, though).

Still, my recent job has caused a spike in this creativity, even though I didn't think I needed it. In the last 6 months, I wrote at least 40 Responsorials Psalm settings and co-authored about a dozen more. I also put the foundations down for several stand-alone songs. On top of that, I have made a number of new arrangements--especially for guitar but also for piano and voice--of contemporary and traditional hymns.

The reasons for this spike are simple and obvious, when I think about it:

1. I have had a direct occasion to play them. Even though I love writing with no goal in mind, it is so much easier to write when there is a concrete, direct application. Very little of this material would have been created if I didn't have a job where I would directly use this material.

2. The job also helps with follow-through. The Psalms simply have to be ready by the appropriate Mass if they are going to be sung at all. I knew if a didn't get a particular Responsorial together it might have to wait as much as a couple years before it rotates back in the liturgical calendar (Responsorials can be done outside of their designated weeks, but we prefer to stick with the liturgical calendar at my church).

2. I have had a supportive team to work with. The choir has been great with editing out unnecessary fluff. I've also worked with a couple of cantors to co-author pieces. We just generally encourage each other. There have been a couple of weeks where left to my own motivation I wouldn't have done any original music, but the prodding of one of the cantors gave me the necessary push. I've often provided the same push for her, as well.

3. I started writing in 4-part harmony. Why? Because I have a choir that needs it, that's why! In the past, I'd usually sculpt a melody line then pepper in with flutes, clarinets, or whatever. Having a choir that will sing these pieces has forced me to write for the choir, and I had to develop those skills. For some tunes, I simply wouldn't have written a harmony if I couldn't think of one off-hand, but having a choir has forced me to do it even when it isn't easy. On a related note, I haven't written anything for the flute in a while, because we don't have a flautist.
In short, I did these things simply because they needed doing.

A couple of my friends have reported similar findings: They love to write prose and poetry, but after being involved in a local poetry group their creativity has positively spiked--and it didn't take a lot of painful self-discipline to apply themselves to the task. It was a fun environment that was conducive to their creativity.

There is nothing like a deadline to foster creativity. It also helps to be with others who are creative and doing the same things. Even though most artists market themselves as individuals, if you did research on them you would probably find that any artist out there who has had success in their field also has had a team of supportive people around them and an environment that brings out the best in them.

I could opt not do my original pieces at church. However, once that choice is made, there is a natural structure that helps keep me on task. There is a deadline and a certain level of complexity is requiest as there is need for parts for a choir and at least one accompanist. Yes, I need enough self-discipline to commit myself to the task. But once I have committed myself, there is a natural structure and demand for follow-through that keeps me moving along.

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This is part 4/5 of the series "Strategic Goal Setting."

Artistic Formation through the Public Forum

Beatitude Sunday is probably not the best day to play Prometheus. Unless you enjoy tragic irony, that is.

I have a lot of friends who are closet artists of all kinds. One major lesson I have taken from my 6 months as Music Director of a church is how crucial it is to just get out there and put your art in a public setting. This is true for any art form--music, prose writing, you name it.

It has taken the last 6 months--2 Masses each week, practices and a few Holy Days--before I've been able to more fully stretch out on the guitar. If you are counting, that's at least 50-60 live "performances" with at least as many practices either with the whole choir or individual cantors.

I could play all sorts of intricate songs at home, but put me in front of a crowd in a formal setting, expecting me to lead a full choir and congregation through my playing, and all sorts of problems arise: My fingers suddenly have all the flexibility and dexterity of telephone poles. For months, the only thing that has worked was chugging my way through simple chords. It was the only thing I could do that was strong enough and confident enough to actually lead in an adequate way. Folks asked for more intricate intros with the melody so they could follow the tune better, but it was all I could do.

It has only been in the last couple of weeks that I have been able to play more elaborate finger-picking songs at Mass. I've been having a blast coming up with my own arrangements of popular songs, and the congregation has responded to it. The big lesson was realizing how long it took to do something in public that I could have easily done at home.

There's nothing like a public showing of your art to point out where the gaps are. A little hesitation while playing at home may not be noticed until it throws off the entire song at Mass. You also need to be twice as good in private in order to play half as good in public, when you factor in nervousness, crowd distractions, and sound system issues that are all poised to throw you off when you least want it.

Part of the problem was just finding a comfort level with the microphone and sound system. Artists often forget how important it is to navigate the technical doo-dad's and gizmotrons that are part and parcel of their craft. It takes a while to find the right settings and to get comfortable with placement of the mic so that it rings out the way it should. Even purists who abhor electronic amplification still have to adjust to each room they are in and factor in how the temperature, humidity and crowd size can impact the resonation of sound. These lessons are just as important as learning the notes on the page.

The public presentation of art is also crucial for garnering critical feedback. Many original ideas that work well in the privacy of your own living room just can't hold water in public. Some just need slight--but essential--tweaking. In Catholic liturgical music, I would argue that it should be darn near mandatory that all pieces are done at Mass before any attempt is made to seek publishing. Each piece needs to be sung and played and sung back to you by a congregation. They need to be part of the life of the Church, and the people need to be on board.

In addition, a choir needs to give feedback to chop an inflated song down to its essential core. While my choir is experienced enough and technically sophisticated enough to sing just about anything, it is often good when they struggle or wrinkle their noses at a new piece. If a piece can only be done well by the most avant garde ensemble, then it just might be missing something important, especially since I'd rather craft tunes you can whistle while you wash dishes. The public forum can be frustrating, and you have to know when to push for something new and stick to your guns and when to let the masses who are often resistant to new things push back. A lot of "cute" ideas aren't really that cute. A solid church choir won't let you get away with much, and your art will usually be the better for it.

You can put something together that you think has all the t's crossed and the i's dotted, but then an editor takes a look and brings it back to you smothered in red pen. That is not a moment to be discouraged, as the editing process is an essential part of the craft. It is not something that only "bad pieces" go through, every piece should be edited by people far a wide--for technical issues or to discuss the vision. Any good artist has a team of such people--whether formally assembled or otherwise--that serves this role. You should expect that a significant portion of what you create will not leave the cutting room floor (and you can always keep that stuff in the back of your mind to use again later).

Since my guitar playing has been going well lately, perhaps I tried to over-reach this Sunday and make a bit of a show of myself: I originally planned to do the opening song on banjo, the offertory in an open turning, the Psalm and Alleluia on piano and the rest on a second guitar in standard tuning. The problem was that the choir just struggled. No matter how prepared I thought I was, they just couldn't get into the pieces, and I'm still not sure why. I shelved the banjo to try to help, as I was a little awkward with it, but Saturday was still disappointing. We did close out Sunday singing strong, but my lesson had been learned by that point.

I will also admit something unfortunate: I only picked the song for Offertory because I was super-excited about an arrangement I came up with. I borrowed Erin's guitar and had a blast working on it in an open tuning. The problem was that the song had no bearing on this Mass at all. We were talking about the beatitudes, and this was a song about the centrality of the Crucifixion to our faith. As a good theology student, I can build a systematic case as to how and why those two themes are related. "Blessed are the meek" is, after all, not that far removed from the paschal sacrifice--the less becomes more and the sacrifice becomes a gain. Still, I didn't feel comfortable with it and my motives were not theological. Normally, I go to great lengths to pick music that is liturgically appropriate, but this time I let that slide a bit.

I keep getting reminded that slow-and-steady is what will win this race. Yes, it is good to stretch out and reach for more, but I reached too far and got burned this time. I also didn't reach with my feet on the ground, and that is probably the most significant issue. I picked at least one song for the wrong reasons, and probably had my focus off center on some other pieces. As a result, I'm not surprised that it just didn't work. I had too much of my focus on my own playing without giving enough thought to connecting to people through the music.

Seek the Lord all you humble of heart. As this passage from today's readings suggests, being meek doesn't mean we are passive or inactive. We need to seek the Lord, but through humility. We need to seek goodness and seek artistic fulfilment. You see, Prometheus wasn't wrong for reaching for more--he was wrong because of his motives for reaching.

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This is part 2/5 of the series "Strategic Goal Setting."

Thank You, Motter’s Music!

I dread going into music instrument mega stores. I’ll even have an anxiety episode when I walk into a Guitar Center or Sam Ash Music. Those places are set up to attack you and over-stimulate your senses with all the packaging, loud noises and all the rest. People are friendly, but there is an undertone of arrogance and aggressiveness there. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to shop for a guitar at all under these conditions.

So that is why I was so pleased to happen upon Motter’s Music Boardman, which is, strangely enough, in Canfield, OH. It’s a small mom-n-pop shop that I just decided to go into on a whim. As soon as I walked in there, I had a sense of calm, even though the store was also chock full of instruments, books and accessories. That made for quite a pleasant shopping experience.

I browsed through their line of guitars. I saw a nice Yamaha that had potential. I also discovered the brand Seagull Guitars, a make out of Canada I hadn’t heard about before. They sound great! After a bit of trial-and-error, I settled on a beautiful blonde maple guitar, which was, naturally, the first one I tried out. For finger-picking, it's sensational.

For folks who have known my guitar tastes, this one is a new direction that you might not have expected, but I bet you’ll be impressed, as I am, too.

Time of Day and the Creative Process

I've always been an out-of-the-closet night owl, and I have worn that badge with pride. You can imagine that I was shocked and amazed to discover that I'm far more creative and write better in the first few hours after waking up. I was actually in denial about this for a while, because I didn’t even want to think of myself as a morning person!

I had an epiphany when I realized there was a huge time-of-day component to writing, for me. The best times are somewhere after coffee and before breakfast. I naturally sit down to start blogging or work on a song. As soon as I eat a big meal, blood goes to the belly and it’s all over.

Being a procrastinator means that I rarely wrote in the mornings during college. Each day, I took advantage of every distraction until I found myself staring at the computer screen at midnight, attempting to squeeze out a gold nugget or two. I now realize I was always writing during times that were less-than-ideal at best, and absolutely contrary to my body's rhythms at worst (with procrastinitis on top of that)! I was often working against my own grain. Looking back, I remember there were a few times when I wrote pages almost effortlessly in the AM that would have taken true grit later in the day, but I didn't fully appreciate why until much later.

There is a hierarchy to creativity for me, I’ve noticed. The deepest levels of creativity are best accessed in the morning—putting something on a blank piece of paper. It doesn’t matter if it’s writing music or songs. The rest of the day is certainly not extraneous, though, as other forms of creativity take center stage. Editing is perfectly appropriate for later in the day and so is what I call "secondary writing"--tying up loose ends, closing out scratchy paragraphs and adding essential dimension and color.

I actually do much better with music performance and improvisation in the afternoons. For example, I play guitar at Mass much better Saturdays at 4:30 PM than Sundays at 10 AM. I can crank out a better guitar solo later in the day. That could possibly be because my body has had time to loosen up during the day, too. However, any public presentation is better for me later in the day. I'm more jovial and creative in conversations as the day progresses, too. I become more of an extrovert as the day goes on. I'm much more present to people.

I finally had writing papers down to a science when working toward my Masters degree. Even on days when I was running behind and had to make every hour count, I would still subdivide my work in the following way to maximize my output and still work within my body's parameters:

First 3 hours of the day (or as long as the juices keep flowing): Writing!--Especially anything from scratch.

Next: Editing, joining disparate sections, rounding out pieces.

Afternoons: Reading, note-taking and research. Note: Taking notes provides the occasion for any later-in-the-day creativity to come out, as those notes often become the building blocks for later sections in a paper. Summarizing another author's ideas is a good writing exercise for this time of day.

Burning the midnight oil: If I need to stay up late, the best tasks are the most technical--adding citations, sculpting a bibliography, tinkering with layout & graphics.

After midnight? I used to have breakthrough moments sometime around 3-5 AM. I don't do this to myself anymore, partly because it's not kind, and partly because my body simply cannot hang in there long enough for this to happen anymore even if I wanted it to.

By adhering to the above schedule, I make use of my body's peak times. I also spread out the different types of work throughout the day. In a pinch, I can be productive nearly all day, because I don't over-tax any one area of the brain.

You can always go against your grain and attempt to force yourself to operate contrary to your body's natural rhythms. What I have found is that by doing that I would often just end up staring blankly at the screen for several hours, attempting to gather momentum via endless rounds of the latest time-waster games (that meant Minesweeper or Tetris in college; today that means Farmville). These days, if I have time to spare, I don't even try to write if my body won't cooperate. That time is best spent sleeping with the goal of hitting it early in the AM.

Keep in mind that the way I subdivide the day is relative to the individual: "Morning" is the time after waking up, it has nothing to do with the clock. My natural morning is around 10 AM, when I don't have commitments that force me out bed earlier.

Knowing this brings to mind a somewhat sobering fact: I can't do all things at all times. I have limitations. But this also means I have important information to make decisions about my day. I've been endlessly frustrated when working 9-5, knowing I am squandering my best creative hours doing something else. Even when immersed in the world world, I'd often find myself scratching down notes for a blog post or paper in my head, because it was simply in me to do during that time of day. Lately, I've been blessed to have a work schedule that is more conducive to my creative ebbs and flows. If my goal is to write, I have to find a way to orient my lifestyle around that, not give my writing the leftover scraps of weekends or occasional days off.

There are other factors that affect my creativity. Eating a protein-based meal helps significantly, while carbs make me feel more scatter-brained. I also have come to respect and know that creativity often comes in spurts, so when it's there I need to give it free voice and not just assume it will be there at a later time when I want it to be there. This is especially true when conducting research--if a particular passage sparks an idea, I need to write about it right at that moment and not assume I will be able to find that passage later, re-read it and have the same spark to comment on it.

Do you have a natural cycle for creativity like this?

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This is part 1/5 of the series "Strategic Goal Setting."

I Built Your Skyscraper, Now Where's My Dime?

I've always been sympathetic to some of the folk songs from the labor movements of decades gone by. However, I have to admit that sometimes I found their arguments to be less-than- convincing.

I never thought I'd be singing (for real) Brother Can You Spare a Dime? by E.Y. Harburg & Jay Gorney. The Weavers had a great version.

I used to think the song was well-intentioned, but still corny and melodramatic. Now I realize it is the cold, hard truth. Some realities in life we don't fully understand until we go through them ourselves. That is why Dorothy Day and many others have advocated for a lifestyle of intentional poverty, because if we are ourselves poor, vulnerable and at risk we will react differently to injustice. We'll be more urgent and more passionate.

In our current society, many have reasonably-solid health care coverage (or at least think they do), many don't. This divide makes it hard for one side to understand the other.

These words really ring true to me now in a way they didn't, before:

They used to tell me I was building a dream,
and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear,
I was always there right on the job.

They used to tell me I was building a dream,
with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line,
just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, made it run,
Made it race against time;
Once I build a railroad -- now it's done.
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower to the sun,
Brick and rivet and lime;
Once I build a tower -- now it's done.
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once, in khaki suits, gee, we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodle de-dum;
Half a million boots went sloggin' through Hell --
I was the kid with the drum.

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al?
It was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember? I'm your pal.
Buddy can you spare a dime?

Aetna used to call me "Frank." It was "Frank" all the time. When I applied, they told me they couldn't wait until I joined their family! Anthem wanted to be my friend. Now it's "Dear Mister."

My own current insurance company (Aetna) has already refused me once when I attempted to go off the group policy into an individual policy. I'm in the process of applying again. I helped build their skyscraper. The only thing I did "wrong" was get laid off.

It's amazing how we as a nation don't honor the debts of those who have contributed. We take their earnest and naives contributions and leave them out in the cold on some technicality when they are no longer useful.

We do it to our troops. We do it to our laborers.

Insurance companies were glad to take my money when I didn't have a "pre-existing condition." Folks are scared not to have coverage if some tragedy strikes, so they pay in even when they aren't getting paid back. Now they are looking for loopholes to turn me away.

The song may have been crafted to make an argument for social security. Indeed, how do we as a society take care of each other? Are people only worth anything if they are fit and able to contribute? What happens when they grow old, sick or disabled, do we just turn them away? People deplete themselves working to build up our society. Yes, they got their paycheck, but we all benefit from their contributions. Are they only good when they can contribute then left to be cast aside later?

What about soldiers who are done with their service who find their needs still remain? What about laborers who worked to build up our nation who are now too old, sick or disabled to work? Right now, we just provide health insurance for those lucky enough to fall into a sweet benefits package and disregard those who fall through the cracks.

Not only are they our sisters and brothers, but they also helped build up the wealth and the world we live in. We are living off the sweat of their backs. But they're out in the cold, asking for a dime.

So many people try to denounce universal health care and social security as some kind of government "handout." This song helps illustrate the fact that we are inter-connected. If I'm going to risk my life and future in your army, if I'm going to risk my health building your skyscraper, then that demands that we have a longer-term relationship than just paycheck-to-paycheck.

Composed By, But Not Composed

One of the things that is very exciting about my new job is the chance to play some of my original music at church. I've been a closet liturgical composer for years, rarely showing anything to the light of day. I'm very happy to share, and lately I've been burning the midnight oil rattling off a new group of pieces.

Over the years, I've actually worked on several Masses, Psalm settings and other songs.

I'm always uncomfortable unveiling it, though. Today, I printed off an insert for the bulletin with 3 new songs we are introducing, among them being one of my compositions. It felt awkward to put "written by ..." at the top. It seems to put attention in the wrong place. I'd rather folks enjoy it (or not), and let them interact with it naturally. Knowing the person who penned it is sitting at the piano may turn it into a showpiece and get in the way of an authentic experience. Folks might feel pressure to be polite and make a remark to me, and I don't want them to feel any awkwardness around me.

It also seems rather egotistical to put my own name at the top.

However, not putting anyone's name could raise eyebrows as to copyright infringement!

Granted, when I put the name of a fellow choir member at the top of a tune that she had made, I had nothing but pride in announcing it to the world. But when it's for myself, it is another thing entirely.

However, a couple weeks ago we played another one of my Psalm settings. I didn't tell anybody in the congregation, at first. I finally told the cantor a couple days afterwards. It didn't seem humble to guard this information. It felt like I was hiding myself from the people around me. It felt cold and empty.

Perhaps putting my initials at the top and saying no more about it is enough.

It could also be that I just need to take more time to get to know folks more as a person. How can I write something that lives and breathes the life of this congregation without getting to know it better first? And then if folks see my name at the top of a piece, well, our relationship would have more of a foundation and a little thing like a song wouldn't become the focus because we would something else to build on.

I don't want to obsess, but I want to be tasteful and appropriate. Maybe it's just the Midwestern farmer in me. Deciding whether or not to put my name in 8 or 12 point font, just initials or not at all, should not have the equivalency of a moral dilemma, but there is a cost to not being careful here. It is fun to celebrate and receive attention, but art needs to come before the artist. I don't want to get in the way of folks having an authentic relationship with the music or with me as a person.

Maybe all this talk of humility is really just a decoy. Maybe I'm just scared of exposing myself. Sharing my music means sharing a deep part of myself. If the music is rejected or not liked, does that mean I'm rejected and not liked? Can they be separated? And it's not really about rejection, it is really about me saying this is who I am, this is what I bring to the table, I'm happy to share it! Like it or not, this is who I am. I am present and accounted for and not hiding behind a curtain.

Debut

My Sunday debut as Music Director started this way:

A near-complete disaster on the opening hymn!

Seriously, I flubbed my way through the piece missing every other chord, then after two agonizing verses I just stopped, hoping we could just end there. I wasn't even sure I was at the end of a verse or somewhere in between.. The priest led everyone for an accapella verse. Then another . . . Then another! Later, I learned everyone was good natured and laughed through it, but at the time I was too embarrassed to look up.

The rest of the Mass went well, with no major mistakes, just some timing errors and a few better-disguised mistakes. I really had a strong urge to run screaming out the side door at various points. I was hoping that I'd build confidence this weekend and put the stage fright behind me. That may take a little longer.

Looking on the bright side, I suppose this was a true confidence builder as holding myself together and recovering from such a dismal start is an important, if not essential, skill as a performer. All those hours and hours practicing these past weeks helped push me over the hump.

I played for the Saturday Mass yesterday and everything went quite well. Today was merely the first time playing for the much larger congregation with the full choir.

This is a wonderful parish and folks are truly laid-back and accepting. I really don't want to make my own performance such a focus, but when one is nervous it is hard to avoid that. I look forward to times when we can work together to lead the congregation is prayer, celebration and deeper spiritual reflection through music.

The Freedom of Jail

There's a line in a Civil Rights protest song that goes:

"I ain't scared of your jail, cause I want my freedom."

I heard it on the Pete Seeger album, We Shall Overcome: The Complete Carnegie Hall Concert. Great album, by the way.

It is such a simple line that maybe the deeper meaning can be lost if one doesn't pay attention. Isn't it counter-intuitive to want freedom so bad that you risk jail? Isn't jail, like, all about losing your freedom?

It gives insight to the spiritual depth of the Civil Rights movement. Life can be a ledger sheet--you weigh the pro's and con's and try to come up with the best possible solution considering all variables. You live with what you can and try to eek out for yourself the best possible circumstance given all variables.

Then others end up in some place that doesn't make sense to that account sheet. Folks love life so much they are willing to risk losing it. Folks want freedom so bad they are willing to lose it. Folks want the hungry fed so much they are willing to go on a fast.

If you try to hold that up against some standard of measured productivity objectives, it isn't going to be deemed sensible. Yet, the greatest saints and leaders for social change did these very insensible things.

Christianity often comes up with theologies that are all screwed up and they miss the point. There have been strains of Christianity over the centuries that have deplored the goodness of creation, imagining that the human body or sexuality were a bad thing. Others have wanted to follow Christ's passion and death so much that they were not just willing but actually eager to die. But true martyrs die because they love life, not because they are in a hurry to lose it. Some people misinterpret the suffering that many Christians have historically gone through--martyrdom, or the fasting and deprivation that many monastic communities have supported--to be a sign of hating this life or hating the human body or creation.

Martyrdom is the opposite of suicide. A suicidal person thinks they have nothing left to lose. A martyr probably feels that he has everything to lose and everything to gain. As G. K. Chesterton pointed out, Christianity has a bad history when it comes to a lack of compassion on people who commit suicide--yet it loves martyrs. While there should be compassion to suicidal people, particularly now the more we understand about mental illness, Chesterton is at least able to understand why there is such a cold shoulder given: Suicidal people hate life, martyrs love life.

The danger can come in when you follow any strain of theology too far and get too literal with it. It is easy to start off and say that "God is the souce of all goodness" and end up saying that logically speaking, if that is true then all creation must be a totally depraved place with no goodness in it. Well, God said that creation is good, too. Is it good because God flows in and through it, or does it have instrinsic goodness in it? It is hard to say and various theologies take that in different directions. Somehow a love of God is tied to a love of life. Somehow loving God and loving neighbor become the foundation of Christianity, and perhaps they are not two separate guidelines but actually one expression. Somehow charity and good deeds are tied to religion, somehow, deep down, we know this.

ADDED LATER: Another way to look at it is that the person in the song won't let the fear of jail imprison them. Sometimes the very threat of being in jail is enough to paralyze people and cause them to back down out of fear. The person in the song refuses to let their spirit be chained like that--imprison the body if you can, but the spirit will always be free! Hang him on the cross, if you can, but his spirit will rise!

Music Mattters

It is certainly nice when a song has lyrics we can relate to. The words can really hit home and portray our lives really well. We can revel in the nostalgia or remember parts of ourselves in specific ways.

But in some ways, lyrics don't matter a whole lot. All music is getting at the same kinds of things. Different genres just pick different lenses through which to look at life. Those lenses matter, but maybe not as much as we might think.

1950s songs look at life through the eyes of a prom queen and teenage celebrations and woes. Many people today scoff at that, but then throw on their 1960s drug induced psychedelic music--even though they aren't drug users themselves. Country music views life through the family or small town life in the heart of America's rural landscape. That sounds more realistic, but I guarantee most country music listeners don't live "way back in the holler."

While musicians are free to literally write about anything, they tend to work over the same themes that others have introduced. I'm not sure that is a bad thing. Part of what makes music great is that you can see the way one artists handles a theme and then how another one reworks it and builds off of it. Music is a collective experience, not an individual one. It is not about the theme, but the variation one artist brings to it in comparison to another.

I don't need to have ever walked on a New Jersey boardwalk with a carnival backdrop to understand a Bruce Springsteen song. I don't need to be Irish to "get" Van Morrison. The psychedelic era was ultimately about growth, discovery and failure. You don't need drugs to relate to that. My soul is practicelly fused to the song "Born in the USA,", but I am not a Vietnam veteran.

I often worry that people who connect on the superficial levels may actually miss the deeper points of connection. It is nice when a lyric directly resembles specific things in my life, but that is impossible on a regular basis. Everyone else lives a different life than me, so their lyrics will have to be different. Music is not about someone else singing my song, it is about my ability to connect with their song--to see my own life in their song. Even the artists themselves are not always writing literal autobiography--they often communicate through made-up characters and situations.

At first glance, it may be hard to believe how those silly songs about prom queens and Letterman's jackets were part of a cultural revolution. However, the lyrics were only an access point to a deeper message which was about spiritual freedom and integration. Early rock 'n roll helped people reconnect to their body and spirit--to take joy in the body. The music actually moved your body, as evidenced by Elvis' scandalous, shaking hips. This was a revolution in post-Victorian, post-Puritan culture which had denigrated the body and created a fragmented sense of self. The modern holistic movement was sparked in those 1950s songs.

Folk Music

One of the least understood terms these days is "folk music."

People play music on acoustic guitars and tambourines and they call it "folk." There is nothing folk about it. That is just acoustic music, no more, no less.

True folk music is just that--music of the people that is part of the collective songbook of everybody. They are songs you sing while playing childhood games, while people gather to shuck corn or pick cotton. People used to do that all the time before TV and radio--they whistled while they worked and hummed tunes and sang. You would, too, if you didn't have TV, radio and ipods constantly turned on around you. Summer camp is about the only place where this kind of music still exists.

I bet we would all be amazed to go back in time to see what life was like when people had to entertain themselves else ways. This is folk music--you don't know who wrote it and every town has their own verses, like campfire songs that just keep getting passed down from generation to generation, and you can improv some verses yourself when you feel like it, like we all do when singing on top of old smokey or "the littlest worm" or other stupid elementary school songs. Now we just turn on the radio or cd player and just hear some heavily produced number, but often it is the same songs over and over with the same arrangements. I love recorded music and electronic media. Love it. But think of the price we have paid: We stopped singing.

Dont Read the Lyrics

The general rule is this: If you already like a song, don't read the lyrics. There is too great of a risk you'll change your mind.

Case in point is Viva la Vida by Cold Play, which Cathryn recently blogged about (she also has the video and lyrics posted).

I have been enamored with this song for some time. It slowly caught my attention, almost like a mist gradually rising up from the ground and then all of a sudden I found myself immersed in it. I was incredibly drawn to it whenever it would be on the radio, and it would go through my mind all day.

I couldn't understand all the lyrics, but the majestic (I call it heavenly) music coupled with some isolated phrases I was able to pick out created this amazing scene:

This song was about a man who was once a player in worldly affairs, rolling the dice and winning, getting satisfaction from the thrill of victory and reveling in power and riches. I imagined he had some sort of conversion experience in which he lost all that but found a humbler but deeper spiritual path.

In the refrains, there were Jerusalem bells ringing, Roman Catholic choirs singing, and missionaries working abroad. I took the Jerusalem bells to represent the Jewish faith--or even more so--the city of Jerusalem which is a holy city to Christians, Jews and Muslims. In other words, when the church bells of Jerusalem ring, much of the world responds and we are all called back to our ancestral home. It is also our future home, as the "New Jerusalem" has been a Biblical symbol for heaven and our ultimate destiny.

Blending all these images together, it was like the entire faithful of every religion were united in one common prayer--as if the bells in Jerusalem, the choirs of Europe, the daily prayers in mosques and the far and sundry work of missionaries were all heard in heaven as one single, expression of a faithful humanity, like all the sounds of a well-oiled machine and one common effort. Heavenly choirs echoed this hymn as the entire universe was in tune.

And in the middle of this global scene, this one individual man was sure that St. Peter will call his name. In this wild global chorus of millions of people, he as an individual voice has a personal relationship with God. It reminds me of the kind of thing people say when they have a conversion experience--they just know somehow that they are called by God and that they will be welcomed into heaven or into the great mystical union or whatever you want to call it. The image from popular lore is that St. Peter will welcome him into the pearly gates of heaven.

Hearing this song was like waking up from a wonderful, mystical dream.

All this is quite lovely, except that that's not what the song is actually saying.

I got the Jerusalem bells right, but it's Roman Calvary choirs singing. What in the world is that, anyway? Calvary is the hilltop on which Jesus was crucified. Cavalry is an army of mounted soldiers. Perhaps a typo, as Alison pointed out to me? In any case, I don't think the Roman armies had either a cavalry or a choir.

And this man is sure that St. Peter won't call his name. However, it is not as depressing as it sounds: This man was once "king of world" who says he now "sweeps the streets I used to own." When he was king and marched into battle, he was so confident he felt like he had the assurance of God that he wouldn't die. This was a man who was so drunk with power that he felt invincible, but he no longer feels that way. Still, that's a far cry from a mystical belief that God will call him back into his fold when he dies!

I still think it is a great song. It is still about a man who has fallen from worldly graces but who now sees a greater grace. All the contrasting images do create some kind of abstract panorama which inspires the imagination and suggests that song may be about more than just the literal images put together. In my opinion, the song still means what I thought it meant--I like my image so much I just don't want to let it go.

There is a reason why many of the great classical composers were thoroughly against putting words (or even titles) to their pieces. The imagination of the listener can see where a song is going even when the composers themselves can't. It is better not to interfere with this pure expression by putting words in the way. While I am a total lover of words, this is a quite valid point in some circumstances.

Its the Rhythm That's Gonna Get Ya

One of the things that makes Metallica great is that they understand that music is about the rhythm. I respect them from afar, since heavy metal music rarely does anything for me. But I can see why this group is a standout in their field. Their distinctive rhythms really get the body moving in a genre where rhythm is often considered a second-class vocation.

Rock music lost its rhythmic centerpiece in the late 70s. It became increasingly about the melody and the intensity, but lost the groove. Look at all the hair bands of the 80s and on through heavy metal music, and you can see this trend. People today may find it hard to believe that the driving beat was the foundation of rock and roll, not guitar solos or soaring vocals. It had a beat that moved your body.

When you lose the rhythm as the focal point, it leaves you without your primary palette to work on. Without rhythm, your music is like a body without a skeleton--just a pile of flesh and chords on the floor (the manager of Goose Acres Music in Cleveland once told me that).

Without rhythm, the only way to communicate strong emotions (or any emotions at all) is to simply play louder and faster. Harder. Heavier. You have to be more sensational than the last time. There are no other options. This can be fun for a while, but it is a trap. You get put into a box where your only tools for communicating emotion is loudness and speed. There is a limit to how loud and fast you can play, and it doesn't take long to find that apex. It is also incredibly burdensome to be forced to play this way all the time.

Songs That Voices Never Share

"People writing songs

that voices never share

And no one dare

disturb the sounds of silence"

It has only been recently that I have come to appreciate the jaw-dropping brilliance of Paul Simon's "The Sounds of Silence".

This world--this life--this society--the powers that be--the whole kit and kaboodle--convinces us to be ashamed of ourselves. The world pressures us to remain silent with the most sinister manipulation. Keep your art to yourself. Keep your emotions to yourself. Spend your life struggling to love yourself so you don’t spend any energy actually changing the world to the positive. Keep the artists and thinkers second-guessing themselves so they don't actually threaten the powers that be.

Don't disturb the sounds of silence, you are not worthy enough to do so. Sit back in your seat and be quiet.

Keep the woman paranoid about her weight so she doesn't actually realize her power and potential. Keep them scurrying around and reacting, and then when they internalize it you can lay off because they'll spend their life fighting shadows in their mind. Don't buy it, folks!

It pains me to imagine all the beautiful musicians and other artists who have only shared a portion of their creations with a select few. Its pains me to imagine all the people who don't share themselves with the world as the living art that they are. I am profoundly disturbed to say that most of them probably entertain a dream of sharing more widely but don't. The sounds of silence have won.

Many people out there are wildly creative and have wonderful dreams of living according to their passions and sharing art, thought and ideas with the universe. The tragedy is that many, many of them don't do that. Will anyone ever hear their songs? They have succumbed to the sounds of silence. The curse of perfectionism: A feeling of such profound unworthiness that someone never feels like they or what they create are ever good enough. I'm all for taking pride in a job well done, but there comes a time when silence is the only sound that is heard and that doesn't sound like a job well done at all.

They are convinced of their unworthiness. This music not good enough. This painting is not worthy enough. I'm not worthy enough. Silence is somehow better than the sound of my spirit. It would be better that I were not even here at all. Its painful to actually write that out, because my spirit screams from deep down with ever fiber of my being that it is not true, but I'm writing it because that's the message we tell the world when we fall silent. Those are the sounds of silence--everyone's scream of their own unworthiness. Or perhaps their resignation.

Where is the voice of one crying out in the desert? (Luke 3:4) Who is going to stand with me and say: I am worth contributing to this universe! I want to be part of God's creative energy molding and fashioning and coaxing this universe forward! What I have to offer is worth sharing!

Who is going to risk looking silly? You might get mocked, but that's just part of the trap. Don't be like the elephant with a tiny string around his leg who is absolutely convinced it is an indestructible rope.

Of Cars, Friendship and Live Music

I don't know what it is about cars. I am not much of a car fanatic. In fact, I don't particularly like them. I abhor shopping for cars or spending much of any attention on them. They would probably be fun to fix, but I have not spent much time at all attempting that.

But there is nothing quite like listening to music in a car.

I don't know why music comes alive while cruising down the road, stereo blaring, all senses reeling. Maybe because music is motion. Its one of my favoritest ways of communing with friends. Singing to each other, living the music with our whole beings, speaking lines with every drop of expression as the poetry that they are.

The car doesn't even have to be running. (There goes the theory about motion above, but maybe a car--even a parked car--always has that potential of motion, its about being "out there" in the world and not inside a building).

Hats off to Scott Teresi: Its times like this when I realize how rare it is to have a friend who you can just sit and sing songs together with for a spontaneous block of time. We went out to dinner for what I thought would be a quick study break. We ended up parking in the car and just blasting tunes for not just one album cycle but about 6 hours virtually straight! We moved parking spaces occasionally, went for a Taco run and some refreshments.

There aren't many friends with whom who you can literally breathe Lionel Richie and Neil Diamond songs without any drop of weirdness (nor should there be, but society is what it is), or with whom you can run the gamut from funk to folk without noticing any discontinuity.

This time, we started off with a rompin' Victor Wooten album "Soul Circus"--a new found discovery of mine that has gotten me really excited. "Nasty, funky, low-down bass". This album is stunning and wildly creative, and rare to find such a precious gem (its not like high school where mind-blowing albums were discovered one after another after another). Just couldn't get enough funk, so it was Sly & the Family Stone after that, giving way to Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson. We always seem to find our way back to John Hartford's Hamilton Ironworks, one of my favorite albums of all-time (and no doubt one of his, too)--old time, expressive fiddle music interspersed with great stories of John's childhood and early music experiences. A lot of albums that play old time songs make them sound like museum pieces. These songs are the soundtrack of John Hartford's life and he plays them that way. Hamilton Ironworks, yeah.

I Did Not Shoot The Deputy

Okay, here's taking a shot at Bob Marley's "I Shot The Sheriff", assuming there is some sort of coherent meaning to it all:

Its not hard to see why Bob Marley would shoot the sheriff, or at least be accused of doing it. Sheriff John Brown was an instrument of racial oppression, and represented everything white (not brown) in post-colonial Jamaica. He delighted in killing the young seedlings of growth and justice of the impoverished, oppressed black people, before they ever had a chance to blossom and flourish.

But what's all that stuff about the deputy? Heck, he freely admits to shooting the sheriff. The whole point of contention in the song is whether or not he killed the deputy. There's never any question that he killed the sheriff. But it seems he has to account more for shooting the deputy than the sheriff.

I don't know much about Jamaican society, so this is every bit of a hunch as anything: Bob Marley IS the deputy. I don't even know if black people could have been deputies in the society Bob Marley's talking about, but assuming they could, let's explore this:

When the deputy kills the sheriff, people may have said that narrator threw his own life away. Instead of rising up and overthrowing an oppressive force in order to create a new life for himself, he has just wasted his own life as well as the life of the sheriff. Now, he's either going to hang or face prison. But it is the narrator who sees this act as a life giving sacrifice--dare we say Christ-like--in the sense that by sacrificing his life he brings about a renewed life for himself. [I'm not going to say that Christ would have approved of the murder, but just to show the paschal nature of this deed.]

When the deputy rises up and killed off his oppressive ruler, who used him as an instrument to keep his own people down, he truly affirms his own life. By shooting the Sherff he did not--as he was accused--also shoot the deputy. The deputy lives.