Wake up and take notice! My new blog address will be:
"roots-n-shoots" with the rest of the address the same--blogspot.com
I'll make the switcheroo in a couple of days, allowing those people who subscribe via a reader to download this post.
I think that Google will let me just rename the URL of this entire website in one fell swoop, and eventually after a period of time it will a little more difficult to find this blog using my name in Google searches.
I make this switch with a little bit of unease. It is mostly for professional considerations. Some of my opinions might not go over too well and might be a barrier to positions I may want to hold. I worry about a culture where there is fear and repression of opinions and the free exchange of thought. But I also know that people in leadership and ministerial capacities can exert an unfair influence on others. There is a time and a place for sharing opinions, and the internet is simply too broad and clumsy to adequately distinguish or in any way filter that out. There is no filter, in fact.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Emotional Responsorial Psalms
Fr. Pat said something in his homily at the Catholic Worker that has stuck with me. He said that the Responsorial Psalm is a time to reflect emotionally on themes found in the other readings. That day it was particularly true of the first reading, as the hopeful Psalm was a much needed answer to the burden of the Jeremiah reading.
Along the same lines, there is in line in the GIRM (General Instructions of the Roman Missal), which states that the Responsorial Psalm "fosters meditation on the word of God." (Yes, it really is pronounced like "germ.")
If the goal is to foster meditation on the word of God and reflect emotionally on the other readings, are we actually doing that?
I have to admit that most Reponsorial interpretations I have heard have left me empty. We usually have a melodic refrain and the verses are done in a kind of plain song. Plain song is a way of singing that is less rhythmic and chant-like. This is where you sing a single note for most of each line and the last few syllables you either ascend or descend to the next chord change. You would think this would give the cantors the freedom to let the words drip from their mouths like poetry. However, it seems that all too often the cantor is more focused on just getting the syllables right, knowing when to bring it back to the ending notes or such. Many cantors get too strict on the technicalities, and the notes seem to rise or fall regardless of which words are involved.
To my ear, cantors simply jam the words of the psalm into the plain song motif whether they fit in an emotional sense or not.
Hearing someone chant the Psalms in plain song is a beautiful thing to hear. What I mean is: It is a physically beautiful sound, and the sound itself has atmosphere, drama and depth. However, it is often detached emotionally from the words, for me. It can be a great way to get a whole congregation singing that hasn't had time to practice together. People can chant the Liturgy of the Hours together with no preparation. However, if the chant melody enhances the words of the Psalm it is almost purely by accident. Often, it is downright awkward. They could be chanting "blah blah blah" and the effect would probably be the same.
I suppose in my heart of hearts I'm a folk singer. I approach music the way a folk singer would. What that means is that the "holy trinity" of melody, words and chords needs to be in equal balance. Each compliments the other and they all feed into the essence of a song. The melody has to fit the words and the chordal structure, and none of them is arbitrary. That is in sharp contrast to the approach of plain song chants.
I enjoy "plain songing" the psalms in a kind of folk style. This involves using chord changes that are more modern, and I often try to keep a steady rhythm. This means that the plain song starts to sound more and more like a distinct melody, and it requires rehearsal as each line needs to be interpreted slightly differently. Many of the chant features are still present, though. It is my way of making the Psalms real to me and letting the words resonate through me.
In planning the music for Masses, I wanted to give my choir not just a list of songs but some sort of direction or focus for each liturgy. I thought about having a one-line theme. I debated whether this was appropriate to do or whether the words of the liturgy should just speak for themselves. I reasoned that there are many who interpret the liturgy, such as the words of the homily, the selection of music or the intentions, and even the decor of the surroundings factors in, so I decided it is not misleading to suggest a focus this way. A music minister is, after all, a minister and as such should be a guide.
Actually, it is in discussion, reflection and hearing others' interpretations that I feel the "communication" that is meant to happen in liturgy actually happens for me. Simply hearing someone proclaim the readings often doesn't do much for me, until I sit back and try to reflect or discuss them with someone afterwards. I feel very connected to the liturgy in planning the music, because that, of all things, surely fosters meditation! I see how the pieces of each Mass fit together, and I am often just amazed. It can all whiz by me so quickly during Mass that it is easy to miss how well put together each Mass is.
What I discovered is that in nearly all circumstances, the Responsorial refrain is the best one-line theme for each Mass that I could think of. There is rarely a need wrack my brains to try to scope out the essence for a Mass. If you need to boil a Mass down to a one-line theme, look no further.
I later learned that a former professor of mine holds this same opinion, so whether I heard him say it or whether I came up with this on my own, I don't know. In any case, this is powerful enough and obvious enough (once I saw it) that I'm sure many folks have made the same connection time and again.
I am often amazed at how modern the Psalms can sound. Sure, there are times when too-literal translations or archaic references can cause a distancing. Quite often, though, I find myself saying that these words could have just as easily come from Woodie Guthrie or Jim Croce as from some psalmist 2,500 years ago. They just as easily could have come from me or you. We should sing them as if they do.
Perhaps this is just a matter of personal genre preference. Maybe there are many out there who are emotionally moved by the way Psalms are typically done in Catholic churches. I find them to be very beautiful, which can be moving in a certain way, but if the goal is to be emotionally moved by the words which cause a deeper meditation, then that's not happening. I'm much more likely to be emotionally moved by the stand-alone songs (which are often based on the Psalms), but rarely through the Responsorial interpretation. I bet I'm not alone in this.
It would seem that there could be more variety from parish to parish to appeal to people who connect in different ways, in much the same way that we do for the other songs we select for Mass. We freely select songs that match the age, culture and temperament of the congregation. It would seem that the Responsorial Psalm could and should be handled the same, ESPECIALLY since it plays such a strong role in the Mass itself.
The Psalms are deeply moving. Their words are as true today as they were when they were written. The Responsorial is a cornerstone for the Mass. It should be sung in a way that brings this out more to the congregation. It is the job of the music ministers to take those words from 2,500 years ago and show that they are alive and present now.
Along the same lines, there is in line in the GIRM (General Instructions of the Roman Missal), which states that the Responsorial Psalm "fosters meditation on the word of God." (Yes, it really is pronounced like "germ.")
If the goal is to foster meditation on the word of God and reflect emotionally on the other readings, are we actually doing that?
I have to admit that most Reponsorial interpretations I have heard have left me empty. We usually have a melodic refrain and the verses are done in a kind of plain song. Plain song is a way of singing that is less rhythmic and chant-like. This is where you sing a single note for most of each line and the last few syllables you either ascend or descend to the next chord change. You would think this would give the cantors the freedom to let the words drip from their mouths like poetry. However, it seems that all too often the cantor is more focused on just getting the syllables right, knowing when to bring it back to the ending notes or such. Many cantors get too strict on the technicalities, and the notes seem to rise or fall regardless of which words are involved.
To my ear, cantors simply jam the words of the psalm into the plain song motif whether they fit in an emotional sense or not.
Hearing someone chant the Psalms in plain song is a beautiful thing to hear. What I mean is: It is a physically beautiful sound, and the sound itself has atmosphere, drama and depth. However, it is often detached emotionally from the words, for me. It can be a great way to get a whole congregation singing that hasn't had time to practice together. People can chant the Liturgy of the Hours together with no preparation. However, if the chant melody enhances the words of the Psalm it is almost purely by accident. Often, it is downright awkward. They could be chanting "blah blah blah" and the effect would probably be the same.
I suppose in my heart of hearts I'm a folk singer. I approach music the way a folk singer would. What that means is that the "holy trinity" of melody, words and chords needs to be in equal balance. Each compliments the other and they all feed into the essence of a song. The melody has to fit the words and the chordal structure, and none of them is arbitrary. That is in sharp contrast to the approach of plain song chants.
I enjoy "plain songing" the psalms in a kind of folk style. This involves using chord changes that are more modern, and I often try to keep a steady rhythm. This means that the plain song starts to sound more and more like a distinct melody, and it requires rehearsal as each line needs to be interpreted slightly differently. Many of the chant features are still present, though. It is my way of making the Psalms real to me and letting the words resonate through me.
In planning the music for Masses, I wanted to give my choir not just a list of songs but some sort of direction or focus for each liturgy. I thought about having a one-line theme. I debated whether this was appropriate to do or whether the words of the liturgy should just speak for themselves. I reasoned that there are many who interpret the liturgy, such as the words of the homily, the selection of music or the intentions, and even the decor of the surroundings factors in, so I decided it is not misleading to suggest a focus this way. A music minister is, after all, a minister and as such should be a guide.
Actually, it is in discussion, reflection and hearing others' interpretations that I feel the "communication" that is meant to happen in liturgy actually happens for me. Simply hearing someone proclaim the readings often doesn't do much for me, until I sit back and try to reflect or discuss them with someone afterwards. I feel very connected to the liturgy in planning the music, because that, of all things, surely fosters meditation! I see how the pieces of each Mass fit together, and I am often just amazed. It can all whiz by me so quickly during Mass that it is easy to miss how well put together each Mass is.
What I discovered is that in nearly all circumstances, the Responsorial refrain is the best one-line theme for each Mass that I could think of. There is rarely a need wrack my brains to try to scope out the essence for a Mass. If you need to boil a Mass down to a one-line theme, look no further.
I later learned that a former professor of mine holds this same opinion, so whether I heard him say it or whether I came up with this on my own, I don't know. In any case, this is powerful enough and obvious enough (once I saw it) that I'm sure many folks have made the same connection time and again.
I am often amazed at how modern the Psalms can sound. Sure, there are times when too-literal translations or archaic references can cause a distancing. Quite often, though, I find myself saying that these words could have just as easily come from Woodie Guthrie or Jim Croce as from some psalmist 2,500 years ago. They just as easily could have come from me or you. We should sing them as if they do.
Perhaps this is just a matter of personal genre preference. Maybe there are many out there who are emotionally moved by the way Psalms are typically done in Catholic churches. I find them to be very beautiful, which can be moving in a certain way, but if the goal is to be emotionally moved by the words which cause a deeper meditation, then that's not happening. I'm much more likely to be emotionally moved by the stand-alone songs (which are often based on the Psalms), but rarely through the Responsorial interpretation. I bet I'm not alone in this.
It would seem that there could be more variety from parish to parish to appeal to people who connect in different ways, in much the same way that we do for the other songs we select for Mass. We freely select songs that match the age, culture and temperament of the congregation. It would seem that the Responsorial Psalm could and should be handled the same, ESPECIALLY since it plays such a strong role in the Mass itself.
The Psalms are deeply moving. Their words are as true today as they were when they were written. The Responsorial is a cornerstone for the Mass. It should be sung in a way that brings this out more to the congregation. It is the job of the music ministers to take those words from 2,500 years ago and show that they are alive and present now.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Liberals and Conservatives in the Church
Liberal and conservative trends in the Church often have a yin/yang relationship. One can give rise to the other.
Some liberal communities have a tendency to dissipate. The freedom to experiment is at first wonderful. People search for an authentic interaction rather than something scripted. But soon enough, things lose meaning. People go separate ways down undefined paths and end up just floating along. What are we about? People get mad at repressive policies in their church, so they leave and end up going to no church whatsoever. The baby can get thrown out with the bathwater.
Conservatives have a tendency to hyper-focus. Put a bunch of conservatives together and suddenly you have 10 pages of rules and a cult-like atmosphere. There is a need to breathe. God is bigger than your little rules. There's a lot of ugliness mixed in to the message, but at least there is a message, and the wonderful Good News of the Gospel can be passed along to the next generation, perhaps even unbeknownst to the messenger, in the most clumsy way possible.
There are all sorts of ways of finding God. Some seek God through the amazing freedom and radical justice promised in Scripture. Others seek God in stability, the Rock, the Cornerstone you can build on, also promised in Scripture. Our large Church can hold all of this together.
It is my belief that as long as liberals lose focus and throw the baby out with the bathwater, we will be continually cursed with subsequent generations of conservatives to bring the baby back, along with all the toxic bathwater.
Chesterton argued that Medieval Europe was not ready for the nature-loving Francis until it had deeply purged the essence of paganism from its psyche. Once people got the right relationship of God and nature, then the beautiful love of Creation could flower. We weren't worshipping nature, we were seeing the Revelation of God in and through nature, which is also wonderful and praiseworthy but it's not the same thing as actually worshipping nature. You can't go around talking about "brother sun and sister moon" until you know what you mean by that. The problem is that in order to establish this, Europe paid a hefty price. It wasn't a pretty sight re-orienting once-pagan Europe, and people did some very un-Christian-like things to encourage this to happen. A lot of good things got repressed in order to get this one idea across. I'm not sure why they couldn't have found a better method.
Some liberal theologians, activists and leaders may be ready to move the Church along. Some, however, think they are ready, but they aren't. In any case, the rank and file congregants may not be ready, and so we have to wait. The Catholic Church has a strong intellectual tradition, but we are not a church solely of intellectuals. We are a whole people, which is one of our most attractive features.
Liberals have in some ways let the Church down. Granted, conservatives have made it unquestioningly difficult for them. But at the end of the day, you can't blame someone else for why you have no faith. It's not good to have an answer for no reason. But it's not very attractive to just have questions, either.
I don't think liberal Christianity (of any denomination) has a message right now, which is why out-dated fundamentalism is so strong--when the choice is between having a clumsy, out-dated fundamentalism or having no faith at all, many choose the former. Perhaps they intuitively understand that it is better to have a faith with some very rough edges than to have no faith at all. For lack of a better term, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. (Or maybe it's a question of frying pan vs. fire, but that's not a better metaphor, either!)
I do think Vatican II-era Catholicism was still in the sweet spot, but it perhaps broke down too many walls without giving enough clues as to what the alternatives can be. As Raymond Brown argued, you can give all sorts of well-founded reasons why some Bible stories may not be literally true, but if you don't offer at least some morsel of direction as to how you can still have faith in light of that, you will be doing a disservice to your audience. Something like that unintentionally happened in the fallout from Vatican II. However, I do think if the Church just kept the conversation going we would have gotten there.
Everything has a history. You can't understand the experiments of the 60s and 70s (beer and pizza Mass) without knowing the stagnant repression that it came in response to. And you can't understand the tightening of the reigns of modern times without admitting that in some important ways the experiments may be at risk for losing the baby with the bathwater. And so the powers that be clamp down--this is an exercise in fear, but maybe it is more than just fear? Maybe it is just an amazingly clumsy way of addressing the fact that something deep and important is at risk. I would like to think there were a better way of addressing this risk, but for whatever reason this seems to be what happens.
The logical, intellectual mind can move faster than the heart. You can intellectualize your way out of your faith before the rest of you has time to catch up. Whenever the Church as a whole does this, we run the risk of being smacked back two steps to try again.
If the pendulum swings too far one way, we can expect it to swing back eventually in the opposite direction. Perhaps this should be a warning to both liberals and conservatives.
Vatican II is to us what Francis was to Medieval Europe: The doors and windows swung open with a tremendous breath of fresh air. We recovered something important that we had previously lost. But if we can't move forward without unraveling something important, some people will come along (such as the modern young conservatives) to tighten up the clamps once again until we get it right.
Some liberal communities have a tendency to dissipate. The freedom to experiment is at first wonderful. People search for an authentic interaction rather than something scripted. But soon enough, things lose meaning. People go separate ways down undefined paths and end up just floating along. What are we about? People get mad at repressive policies in their church, so they leave and end up going to no church whatsoever. The baby can get thrown out with the bathwater.
Conservatives have a tendency to hyper-focus. Put a bunch of conservatives together and suddenly you have 10 pages of rules and a cult-like atmosphere. There is a need to breathe. God is bigger than your little rules. There's a lot of ugliness mixed in to the message, but at least there is a message, and the wonderful Good News of the Gospel can be passed along to the next generation, perhaps even unbeknownst to the messenger, in the most clumsy way possible.
There are all sorts of ways of finding God. Some seek God through the amazing freedom and radical justice promised in Scripture. Others seek God in stability, the Rock, the Cornerstone you can build on, also promised in Scripture. Our large Church can hold all of this together.
It is my belief that as long as liberals lose focus and throw the baby out with the bathwater, we will be continually cursed with subsequent generations of conservatives to bring the baby back, along with all the toxic bathwater.
Chesterton argued that Medieval Europe was not ready for the nature-loving Francis until it had deeply purged the essence of paganism from its psyche. Once people got the right relationship of God and nature, then the beautiful love of Creation could flower. We weren't worshipping nature, we were seeing the Revelation of God in and through nature, which is also wonderful and praiseworthy but it's not the same thing as actually worshipping nature. You can't go around talking about "brother sun and sister moon" until you know what you mean by that. The problem is that in order to establish this, Europe paid a hefty price. It wasn't a pretty sight re-orienting once-pagan Europe, and people did some very un-Christian-like things to encourage this to happen. A lot of good things got repressed in order to get this one idea across. I'm not sure why they couldn't have found a better method.
Some liberal theologians, activists and leaders may be ready to move the Church along. Some, however, think they are ready, but they aren't. In any case, the rank and file congregants may not be ready, and so we have to wait. The Catholic Church has a strong intellectual tradition, but we are not a church solely of intellectuals. We are a whole people, which is one of our most attractive features.
Liberals have in some ways let the Church down. Granted, conservatives have made it unquestioningly difficult for them. But at the end of the day, you can't blame someone else for why you have no faith. It's not good to have an answer for no reason. But it's not very attractive to just have questions, either.
I don't think liberal Christianity (of any denomination) has a message right now, which is why out-dated fundamentalism is so strong--when the choice is between having a clumsy, out-dated fundamentalism or having no faith at all, many choose the former. Perhaps they intuitively understand that it is better to have a faith with some very rough edges than to have no faith at all. For lack of a better term, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. (Or maybe it's a question of frying pan vs. fire, but that's not a better metaphor, either!)
I do think Vatican II-era Catholicism was still in the sweet spot, but it perhaps broke down too many walls without giving enough clues as to what the alternatives can be. As Raymond Brown argued, you can give all sorts of well-founded reasons why some Bible stories may not be literally true, but if you don't offer at least some morsel of direction as to how you can still have faith in light of that, you will be doing a disservice to your audience. Something like that unintentionally happened in the fallout from Vatican II. However, I do think if the Church just kept the conversation going we would have gotten there.
Everything has a history. You can't understand the experiments of the 60s and 70s (beer and pizza Mass) without knowing the stagnant repression that it came in response to. And you can't understand the tightening of the reigns of modern times without admitting that in some important ways the experiments may be at risk for losing the baby with the bathwater. And so the powers that be clamp down--this is an exercise in fear, but maybe it is more than just fear? Maybe it is just an amazingly clumsy way of addressing the fact that something deep and important is at risk. I would like to think there were a better way of addressing this risk, but for whatever reason this seems to be what happens.
The logical, intellectual mind can move faster than the heart. You can intellectualize your way out of your faith before the rest of you has time to catch up. Whenever the Church as a whole does this, we run the risk of being smacked back two steps to try again.
If the pendulum swings too far one way, we can expect it to swing back eventually in the opposite direction. Perhaps this should be a warning to both liberals and conservatives.
Vatican II is to us what Francis was to Medieval Europe: The doors and windows swung open with a tremendous breath of fresh air. We recovered something important that we had previously lost. But if we can't move forward without unraveling something important, some people will come along (such as the modern young conservatives) to tighten up the clamps once again until we get it right.
Friday, September 17, 2010
My Guitar
I have always said that there no possessions that I would really miss if I ever lost them--except my guitar.
The loss of the sum total of all my childhood mementos would probably be an emotional hit, but I wouldn't fret so much over the loss of too many individual items--except maybe my world class newborn photo. Being out on the streets, cold and penniless would be very bad, but I don't have to be in that house, those clothes or that furniture.
From the moment I first played it I knew. I just knew. It was the most magical sound. I loved playing it just to hear that sound. I could just sit there and strum the same chord over and over just to hear that sound. However, I didn't expect, or even want that guitar be "the one."
It arrived on Christmas morning sometime during college, maybe I was 20 or 21. Out from nowhere my mom and dad brought out a new Yamaha acoustic guitar. They said they shopped around quite a bit and had a salesman try out numerous models while they sat and listened. Knowing them, they probably gave that salesman quite a workout! They said it wasn't even expensive, but they liked the sound.
I met that salesman later, a big black guy who told me, "you know, your parents really love you."
I had been putting off buying a guitar for some time. The only guitar I had was a $5 garage sale special that Andy dropped off one day. It was dusty and clunky, couldn't make a sound beyond the 7th fret, and it had a strange smell. It was a good starter guitar, though, I learned on it and once it served its purpose I handed it off to the next generation, the brother of a previous girlfriend--perhaps it is somewhere in western Pennsylvania right now or maybe Minnesota. Buying my own guitar was an intimidating process--I wanted it to be just right, and it was such an agonizing process that I just kept putting it off.
I had some expectations for the guitar--it just had to have a knob to attach the strap around the drum. I didn't want to tie it around the neck. I didn't like how that looked and thought it would be awkward to play or damaging to the guitar.
My parents were more than happy to exchange it and go shopping with me for another. They just wanted something for me to open on Christmas morning. I always feel guilty when they make a large purchase like this, and even more so I felt it was wasted effort because I know how picky I am about the sound of a guitar. I felt it was silly for them to be spending to much time and energy on a near-impossible mission. On top of that, when I opened it up and saw that it didn't have a knob for a strap, I immediately ruled it out. "Ah, this one will have to be thrown back for sure," I said to myself. They are pretty comfortable with just having fun shopping without expectations and don't see making exchanges as being negative, but still I didn't want to hurt their feelings.
Then I played it.
I couldn't believe that sound. It was just magic.
Later, I have come to understand that the sound of that guitar has color. That seems to be rare in guitars, especially acoustic. I think that many guitar players even prefer it that way with a plain, grey, almost harsh sound. I'm not talking about a superficial, flashy sound, but rather a color with depth. That is rare. Other folks who have played it have also remarked that there is something special about that guitar, a real good sound.
I also learned that tying a strap around the neck isn't such a bad thing at all, and I got used to it. It might not be the best for the wood of the guitar, but it wasn't a really big issue at all.
That guitar and I went everywhere. I took it to the inner cities and mountains on mission trips. I stayed up endless nights playing it, sleeping beside it. I played it in churches, in basements, for friends and family, on hot afternoons and gentle nights. It is soaked in my sweat from nervous performances and as I vented every emotion you can think of alone in my basement. To this day, it is sprinkled in my blood. I know it is cliche, but truth be told I literally would play until my knuckles bled and there are still splattered droplets on the inside of the drum. It is covered with paint marks on the outside as I would often clumsily bump into walls, "like a goofy dog with a big ole tail" as Leah recently told me.
In many ways, the sound of a guitar improves with playing. Every reverberation goes through the wood and leaves a trace of itself. There is something fuller and richer about the sound of a guitar that has been played over and over for years. You just can't buy that, it must be earned. The sound of the wood deepens and you can hear the echoes of every song that has come before. It is like the difference between a well worn favorite pair of pants compared to something new and stiff from the store. The good news is that I liked the sound of this guitar in all its phases--from the newness of Day 1 to the depth as it got played more and more.
I originally bought a deep blue Tye-dye guitar strap at Woodsy's, thinking it would be the perfect accompaniment to my blue paisley electric guitar--but together they clashed, what do I know about putting colors together? It was, however, a perfect fit for my wood acoustic.
I didn't always treat that guitar the best, and it has periodically lost some of the quality of its sound and has needed adjustments. But that was part of the magic of this guitar--I didn't baby it. It was appropriate for either top-notch performances or campfires. It could be banged around and played with every emotional expression--bent and twisted, wrenching every note out of it, or softly strummed in the gentle quiet late at night. It wasn't the kind of guitar to be left on a shelf and admired from a distance or played with white gloves. This one could go the distance, wherever I was or whatever I was going through.
I wrote hundreds of songs on that guitar, in fits of euphoria and utterly gut wrenching, sobbing expressions. It was there through it all. I purged every emotion on that guitar--good, bad and everything in between. I've even been bored with that guitar and sometimes wouldn't play it for months--and even that was important as this was a very full and authentic relationship that ran the gamut of emotions.
It wasn't a showy piece, it was a tried-and-true, every day and special day guitar. For a brief moment I had a flirtation with some Larivees--their sound was charismatic and catchy, but after a while I realized they were too strong for me. My ear would get tired of their flashiness. My guitar didn't have a dull sound, either. It was just right. It was like a favorite cassette tape that you could listen to for hours and hours, days and weeks and years, and never grow tired of it.
For a guitar with this history, it may be sad to know that it didn't go out with a bang. I simply left it on the trunk of my car while dumping recyclables and didn't remember to put it back in as I drove away. A man told me he saw it fall off my car and saw someone push it to the curb, but when I went back to that area it was long gone. I've been to some pawn shops, had some signs up, but no trace of it. My parents have the model number but not the serial number (the latter pawn shops can trace).
Since then, I've had all sorts of offers and gifts of guitars. Our neighbor Jean gave me her 30-year old nylon stringed guitar. The case was mildewy but the guitar sounds just fine. Leah from the church told me I could "borrow indefinitely" her like-new Fender acoustic. It has beautiful wood and a strong, clear and warm sound. Mary from the church also offered her classical guitar. Like before, I don't look forward to making a purchase, but I feel that will come in time.
Guitar: I wish you well! I hope you find your way to the hands of someone who will cherish you as much as I have. I hope you don't end up abandoned in a closet. I've been all around, I've heard lots of guitars, but I've never heard any one quite like you. I can choose to be sad, and I am, but I can also choose to take this moment to celebrate a really wonderful relationship I have had with a really wonderful instrument!
The loss of the sum total of all my childhood mementos would probably be an emotional hit, but I wouldn't fret so much over the loss of too many individual items--except maybe my world class newborn photo. Being out on the streets, cold and penniless would be very bad, but I don't have to be in that house, those clothes or that furniture.
From the moment I first played it I knew. I just knew. It was the most magical sound. I loved playing it just to hear that sound. I could just sit there and strum the same chord over and over just to hear that sound. However, I didn't expect, or even want that guitar be "the one."
It arrived on Christmas morning sometime during college, maybe I was 20 or 21. Out from nowhere my mom and dad brought out a new Yamaha acoustic guitar. They said they shopped around quite a bit and had a salesman try out numerous models while they sat and listened. Knowing them, they probably gave that salesman quite a workout! They said it wasn't even expensive, but they liked the sound.
I met that salesman later, a big black guy who told me, "you know, your parents really love you."
I had been putting off buying a guitar for some time. The only guitar I had was a $5 garage sale special that Andy dropped off one day. It was dusty and clunky, couldn't make a sound beyond the 7th fret, and it had a strange smell. It was a good starter guitar, though, I learned on it and once it served its purpose I handed it off to the next generation, the brother of a previous girlfriend--perhaps it is somewhere in western Pennsylvania right now or maybe Minnesota. Buying my own guitar was an intimidating process--I wanted it to be just right, and it was such an agonizing process that I just kept putting it off.
I had some expectations for the guitar--it just had to have a knob to attach the strap around the drum. I didn't want to tie it around the neck. I didn't like how that looked and thought it would be awkward to play or damaging to the guitar.
My parents were more than happy to exchange it and go shopping with me for another. They just wanted something for me to open on Christmas morning. I always feel guilty when they make a large purchase like this, and even more so I felt it was wasted effort because I know how picky I am about the sound of a guitar. I felt it was silly for them to be spending to much time and energy on a near-impossible mission. On top of that, when I opened it up and saw that it didn't have a knob for a strap, I immediately ruled it out. "Ah, this one will have to be thrown back for sure," I said to myself. They are pretty comfortable with just having fun shopping without expectations and don't see making exchanges as being negative, but still I didn't want to hurt their feelings.
Then I played it.
I couldn't believe that sound. It was just magic.
Later, I have come to understand that the sound of that guitar has color. That seems to be rare in guitars, especially acoustic. I think that many guitar players even prefer it that way with a plain, grey, almost harsh sound. I'm not talking about a superficial, flashy sound, but rather a color with depth. That is rare. Other folks who have played it have also remarked that there is something special about that guitar, a real good sound.
I also learned that tying a strap around the neck isn't such a bad thing at all, and I got used to it. It might not be the best for the wood of the guitar, but it wasn't a really big issue at all.
That guitar and I went everywhere. I took it to the inner cities and mountains on mission trips. I stayed up endless nights playing it, sleeping beside it. I played it in churches, in basements, for friends and family, on hot afternoons and gentle nights. It is soaked in my sweat from nervous performances and as I vented every emotion you can think of alone in my basement. To this day, it is sprinkled in my blood. I know it is cliche, but truth be told I literally would play until my knuckles bled and there are still splattered droplets on the inside of the drum. It is covered with paint marks on the outside as I would often clumsily bump into walls, "like a goofy dog with a big ole tail" as Leah recently told me.
In many ways, the sound of a guitar improves with playing. Every reverberation goes through the wood and leaves a trace of itself. There is something fuller and richer about the sound of a guitar that has been played over and over for years. You just can't buy that, it must be earned. The sound of the wood deepens and you can hear the echoes of every song that has come before. It is like the difference between a well worn favorite pair of pants compared to something new and stiff from the store. The good news is that I liked the sound of this guitar in all its phases--from the newness of Day 1 to the depth as it got played more and more.
I originally bought a deep blue Tye-dye guitar strap at Woodsy's, thinking it would be the perfect accompaniment to my blue paisley electric guitar--but together they clashed, what do I know about putting colors together? It was, however, a perfect fit for my wood acoustic.
I didn't always treat that guitar the best, and it has periodically lost some of the quality of its sound and has needed adjustments. But that was part of the magic of this guitar--I didn't baby it. It was appropriate for either top-notch performances or campfires. It could be banged around and played with every emotional expression--bent and twisted, wrenching every note out of it, or softly strummed in the gentle quiet late at night. It wasn't the kind of guitar to be left on a shelf and admired from a distance or played with white gloves. This one could go the distance, wherever I was or whatever I was going through.
I wrote hundreds of songs on that guitar, in fits of euphoria and utterly gut wrenching, sobbing expressions. It was there through it all. I purged every emotion on that guitar--good, bad and everything in between. I've even been bored with that guitar and sometimes wouldn't play it for months--and even that was important as this was a very full and authentic relationship that ran the gamut of emotions.
It wasn't a showy piece, it was a tried-and-true, every day and special day guitar. For a brief moment I had a flirtation with some Larivees--their sound was charismatic and catchy, but after a while I realized they were too strong for me. My ear would get tired of their flashiness. My guitar didn't have a dull sound, either. It was just right. It was like a favorite cassette tape that you could listen to for hours and hours, days and weeks and years, and never grow tired of it.
For a guitar with this history, it may be sad to know that it didn't go out with a bang. I simply left it on the trunk of my car while dumping recyclables and didn't remember to put it back in as I drove away. A man told me he saw it fall off my car and saw someone push it to the curb, but when I went back to that area it was long gone. I've been to some pawn shops, had some signs up, but no trace of it. My parents have the model number but not the serial number (the latter pawn shops can trace).
Since then, I've had all sorts of offers and gifts of guitars. Our neighbor Jean gave me her 30-year old nylon stringed guitar. The case was mildewy but the guitar sounds just fine. Leah from the church told me I could "borrow indefinitely" her like-new Fender acoustic. It has beautiful wood and a strong, clear and warm sound. Mary from the church also offered her classical guitar. Like before, I don't look forward to making a purchase, but I feel that will come in time.
Guitar: I wish you well! I hope you find your way to the hands of someone who will cherish you as much as I have. I hope you don't end up abandoned in a closet. I've been all around, I've heard lots of guitars, but I've never heard any one quite like you. I can choose to be sad, and I am, but I can also choose to take this moment to celebrate a really wonderful relationship I have had with a really wonderful instrument!
Thanks for many good years and many, many good memories!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Why the Garden is My Happy Place
Don't garden with a condom, folks! A medical study states that microbes in topsoil have been shown to boost serotonin levels in humans. This is simply through contact with the skin, so take off those latex gloves!
Perhaps this is why the garden is my "happy place." Low serotonin is linked with all sorts of health issues, including depression, anxiety, etc.
While I don't profess to judge the scientific validity of this study, it doesn't surprise me in the least. In fact, it supports something I've been hypothesizing for a while.
Right now, there is a mad dash among nutritionists and amateur foodies to figure out the so-called "paleo diet." This is the holy grail of human nutrition. Based on the theory of evolution, it purports that the diet and lifestyle that humans beings experienced through most of our history would be the healthiest for us. This would be the diet and lifestyle we evolved around and are therefore best adapted to. For a number of reasons, most people are looking at the paleolithic era for the most representative diet and lifestyle.
I see no reason to limit this to merely food or exercise, though.
It is amazing to ponder the effects on human health from simply living out in nature--touching trees and grass regularly, drinking "dirty" water, breathing fresh air. The human body is much more permeable than we think--so much gets absorbed through the skin and lungs.
We try so hard to secure "clean" drinking water nowadays. Certainly, excessively dirty water can lead to all sorts of disease, especially in our extremely congested cities. But our ancestors regularly drank river water, pond water, water in puddles. To think that we somehow improved upon human health when we started sterilizing water might be an overstatement. What did we lose?
To our paleolithic ancestors, insects and microbes were everywhere and got into everything. Insects "dirtying" food also brought in beneficial vitamin B-12 and protein, the very items you need to sustain yourself on a mostly vegetarian diet. Modern methods of food processing often strips those factors out. We reduce the risk of disease, but are we also reducing essential components for health? Vegan who lived quite well in India develop nutritional deficiencies when they moved to England, as "improved" food sterilization stripped out essential components of their diet.
I am sure there are numerous environmental factors that affect our human health and happiness. They may impact not only nutrition but also metabolism. Too often, we in America think that diet just relates to the simple intake of chemicals into the body in the form of vitamins, minerals, calories, fats and oils, proteins, you name it. Other cultures intuitively understand that the way food is eaten and the environment in which it is eaten can affect the quality of a meal. Those may not simply be incidental or mere ambiance--if they affect metabolism, they have a real chemical impact on food and may affect the quality of digestion (hence the nutrients we are able to extract).
In other words, if you frantically buy up everything at Whole Foods, go home and stuff it down in isolation in a desperate attempt to ward off cancer, you may offsetting the very gains you are trying to get! Your body may process the foods better (and thus get more nutrition out of it) in a relaxed atmosphere among friends and laughter.
People in Crete love a good seafood meal. People in Crete also believe that a seafood bake on the beach in the company of good friends is the best way to experience it. This is perhaps a component to the Mediterranean diet that gets overlooked.
The French say that in America "the cheese is dead!" This refers to the way we sterilize cheese and pack it in airtight plastic wrap, thus killing off all the beneficial microbes. It makes you wonder when you consider that obesity is much lower in France, despite the diet rich in carbs and cheese. And even so-called lactose intolerant Americans often do very well on a diet of French cheese.
We are only beginning to understand human nutrition itself and have only barely begun to even speculate about things like the way food is prepared, the containers in which it is stored, and how it is processed and sterilized. The role of a good feast or fast (common among human history) probably also has some huge role to play. Just like fires are a part of the essential life cycle of a forest, I would also imagine there is a role of occasional fasting on human health, as well, especially since our ancestors experienced cycles of feast and famine on a regular basis.
People often think about the toxicity of the modern environment--toxins from upholstery, industrial exhaust fumes, plastics, pesticides, you name it. But not only have we added potential health hazards, but we may have also taken away other health benefits--the microbes and chemicals we used to be in contact with but now aren't. I believe there's going to be a lot of research into this in the future.
It is easy to see why there is a focus on the health effects of food right now. When we take something entirely into our body, it would seem to have a more dramatic effect than simply touching something with maybe trace amounts permeating the skin. However, if working in the garden can elevate one's mood, then perhaps the impact is far greater than we would otherwise think.
Think of all we touch--clothing with trace amounts of detergent, perfumes and deodorants (I don't wear any commercial deodorant), carpeting and tabletops with traces of soap and polish. They may be having a far greater impact on our physical and emotional health that we might otherwise think.
Perhaps this is why the garden is my "happy place." Low serotonin is linked with all sorts of health issues, including depression, anxiety, etc.
While I don't profess to judge the scientific validity of this study, it doesn't surprise me in the least. In fact, it supports something I've been hypothesizing for a while.
Right now, there is a mad dash among nutritionists and amateur foodies to figure out the so-called "paleo diet." This is the holy grail of human nutrition. Based on the theory of evolution, it purports that the diet and lifestyle that humans beings experienced through most of our history would be the healthiest for us. This would be the diet and lifestyle we evolved around and are therefore best adapted to. For a number of reasons, most people are looking at the paleolithic era for the most representative diet and lifestyle.
I see no reason to limit this to merely food or exercise, though.
It is amazing to ponder the effects on human health from simply living out in nature--touching trees and grass regularly, drinking "dirty" water, breathing fresh air. The human body is much more permeable than we think--so much gets absorbed through the skin and lungs.
We try so hard to secure "clean" drinking water nowadays. Certainly, excessively dirty water can lead to all sorts of disease, especially in our extremely congested cities. But our ancestors regularly drank river water, pond water, water in puddles. To think that we somehow improved upon human health when we started sterilizing water might be an overstatement. What did we lose?
To our paleolithic ancestors, insects and microbes were everywhere and got into everything. Insects "dirtying" food also brought in beneficial vitamin B-12 and protein, the very items you need to sustain yourself on a mostly vegetarian diet. Modern methods of food processing often strips those factors out. We reduce the risk of disease, but are we also reducing essential components for health? Vegan who lived quite well in India develop nutritional deficiencies when they moved to England, as "improved" food sterilization stripped out essential components of their diet.
I am sure there are numerous environmental factors that affect our human health and happiness. They may impact not only nutrition but also metabolism. Too often, we in America think that diet just relates to the simple intake of chemicals into the body in the form of vitamins, minerals, calories, fats and oils, proteins, you name it. Other cultures intuitively understand that the way food is eaten and the environment in which it is eaten can affect the quality of a meal. Those may not simply be incidental or mere ambiance--if they affect metabolism, they have a real chemical impact on food and may affect the quality of digestion (hence the nutrients we are able to extract).
In other words, if you frantically buy up everything at Whole Foods, go home and stuff it down in isolation in a desperate attempt to ward off cancer, you may offsetting the very gains you are trying to get! Your body may process the foods better (and thus get more nutrition out of it) in a relaxed atmosphere among friends and laughter.
People in Crete love a good seafood meal. People in Crete also believe that a seafood bake on the beach in the company of good friends is the best way to experience it. This is perhaps a component to the Mediterranean diet that gets overlooked.
The French say that in America "the cheese is dead!" This refers to the way we sterilize cheese and pack it in airtight plastic wrap, thus killing off all the beneficial microbes. It makes you wonder when you consider that obesity is much lower in France, despite the diet rich in carbs and cheese. And even so-called lactose intolerant Americans often do very well on a diet of French cheese.
We are only beginning to understand human nutrition itself and have only barely begun to even speculate about things like the way food is prepared, the containers in which it is stored, and how it is processed and sterilized. The role of a good feast or fast (common among human history) probably also has some huge role to play. Just like fires are a part of the essential life cycle of a forest, I would also imagine there is a role of occasional fasting on human health, as well, especially since our ancestors experienced cycles of feast and famine on a regular basis.
People often think about the toxicity of the modern environment--toxins from upholstery, industrial exhaust fumes, plastics, pesticides, you name it. But not only have we added potential health hazards, but we may have also taken away other health benefits--the microbes and chemicals we used to be in contact with but now aren't. I believe there's going to be a lot of research into this in the future.
It is easy to see why there is a focus on the health effects of food right now. When we take something entirely into our body, it would seem to have a more dramatic effect than simply touching something with maybe trace amounts permeating the skin. However, if working in the garden can elevate one's mood, then perhaps the impact is far greater than we would otherwise think.
Think of all we touch--clothing with trace amounts of detergent, perfumes and deodorants (I don't wear any commercial deodorant), carpeting and tabletops with traces of soap and polish. They may be having a far greater impact on our physical and emotional health that we might otherwise think.
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