20 posts tagged “music”
1. The National and Menomena @ The Moore Theater:
On Friday night, Em and I got to go see Menomena and The National at The Moore Theater here in Seattle. We had a really great time. I thought I’d missed my best chance at seeing The National since they’d been here fairly recently and I was too busy to free up an evening. I was pleasantly surprised when my friend Luke, who also attended, let me know they were coming back, and that Menomena was opening for them, a fact which is an unnecessary but welcome bonus.
As I’ve said before, I love The National more every time I listen to them, and they certainly didn’t disappoint live. Menomena and The National both put on a great show. It was a lovely Friday evening and a well deserving part of this week's five things.
Sadly, much of what once made the Soul/R&B sound great has perished in the wake of the ridiculous pop trends of the late 70’s and beyond. Even greats like Stevie Wonder and The Temptations lost their minds and went the way of overproduced, heavily synthesized silliness. What was once a proud and powerful force in the world of music has for too long been turned into music that is barely fit to listen to in an elevator.
The vacuum left behind by these musical giants after their fall from grace has at times been filled with talented individuals who were able to capture something of the old magic and combine it with current pop sensibilities. Yet, for every moderately talented group, there has been busloads of “no talent ass-clowns” who get paid to make the same song again and again, taking an insubstantial, but dance-worthy, baseline and covering it with mediocre vocal talent and mindless lyrics about sex and romantic relationships which barely reach a junior high maturity level.
For far too long, we've been without the timeless ballads and soulful lyrics of a young Stevie Wonder. The soulful pleas of David Ruffin and the Temptations were nowhere to be seen. The body-moving, soul-lifting power of James Brown could only be found by tuning into an oldies station.
Fortunately, during my lifetime, a talented group of men and women have finally taken it upon themselves to fill in the sizable gap left by past greats. The men and women I’m referring to are those who make up what is known as the Neo-Soul genre. The most popular manifestations of this genre are Alicia Keys and John Legend, but that is merely the tip of the iceberg.
If you are at all interested in this genre but haven’t gotten into it yet, I highly recommend picking up Raphael Saadiq’s new album, The Way I See It, released last Tuesday on Sony BMG. The title of the CD itself sounds more like a Marvin Gaye album than today's typical R&B fare. CD's today are more likely to be called something imaginative like Sweat or Shake That Ass or some other similarly mind-numbing possibility.
Saadiq’s CD is at times the postmodern incarnation of everything that was good about the sound and songwriting of Stevie Wonder or Smokey Robinson, and he moves and carries himself in a way that emanates the effortless sexuality, charisma and charm of David Ruffin or Marvin Gaye. I listened to the CD four times through... and that was just Thursday afternoon.
Some might feel it rests too much in emulation and fails to move forward into anything new, but personally I'm not looking for perfection, just something that seems worth listening to. I recommend checking out the CD, as the very name of the Neo-Soul movement (as well as the genre it points back to) implies, it’s good for the soul!
You can see a music video from the CD here. It isn't the strongest song on the CD, and the video isn't terribly exciting, but it works.
3. Magic Numbers:
For those who don’t know, magic numbers refer to sports standings, and are the numerical representation of how close a team is to clinching a spot in the playoffs. The best way to explain how the number works is to use an example. A team in first place in a division, the Cubs for instance, have a magic number that gets lower and lower as the team moves closer and closer to clinching their division, something the Cubs did over the weekend. Once the magic number reaches zero, it is mathematically impossible for another team in the division to catch them.
Continuing to use the Cubs as our example, a magic number goes down in two ways: when the Cubs win, and when the team closest to the Cubs in the division, in this case the Brewers, lose. So, for every Cubs win, the magic number goes down by one, and for every Brewers loss, the magic number again goes down by one. The magic number can never go up, so it is always the best representation of how close your team is to winning the division, or clinching the wild card.
The equation to figure out what a magic number is can be figured out pretty easily, it is the total number of games in a season, minus the number of wins for the first place team, minus the number of losses for the second place team, plus one. So, if we were to use the Cubs record on Friday, it would be Total number of games in an MLB season - Cubs wins - Brewers losses + 1 = Magic Number!, or, 162 - 92 - 69 + 1 = 2!
I love watching magic numbers, as each draws closer to zero and we see the playoff picture come into clearer focus, my baseball loving heart fills with excitement and anticipation. Also, when a team your rooting for is in first place it is fun to know just how close they are to clinching a coveted playoff spot. So, for me to watch the Cubs (2) and the Dodgers (7) move closer to winning their division is exciting indeed.
I enjoy things even more to see the unexpected success of the Rays this season, it does my heart some good. They’ve never had even moderate success thus far in their short existence, so to look at the standings and see that they've already clinched a spot in the playoffs, and their magic number to win the division is 7 (not counting the conclusion of tonight's games) is stunning!
Anyway, magic numbers are a fun way for a baseball nerd like myself to get deeper into the game I love.
4. My iPhone:
There really isn’t anything that needs to be said. After two weeks with my iPhone, it’s everything I thought it would be. =)
5. Yankee Stadium:
I sit here in my living room as I write this, and watch with a full heart as, on the other side of the country, Yankee Stadium wraps up its storied career as the premier venue in sports.
Plenty has been said about how important Yankee Stadium is, not just to baseball, but sports in general, so I won’t go into great detail about how remarkable it is. What I will say is that it’s been pretty important in my life. You don’t have to know me very well to know about my passionate love for all things baseball, and Yankee Stadium was where I fell in love.
There are so many remarkable moments and memories I have as a lifelong Yankees fan that I will cherish for the rest of my life. My first baseball game was at Yankee Stadium, as Don Mattingly hit one out and the Yankees beat the Royals. I remember my first playoff game at Yankee Stadium, where Scotty Brosius hit the game winning home run and the Yankees beat the Rangers, and where Don Mattingly made an appearance before a screaming, electric crowd, and Mariano Rivera came in for the save to the sound of Metallica's “Enter Sandman”, a key part of what is still the most thrilling ritual I’ve ever witnessed in sports.
I even felt more connected to the games I watched on TV when they took place in the cathedral of baseball I’ve known so well. That trademark bright blue padding surrounding the field, that beautiful aerial view, the short porch in right field. As much as the pinstripes, they were always there to remind me of how special Yankees home games can be, and of all the great memories, frustration, pride, affection and enjoyment I’d found in being a Yankee fan for all these years.
I’m definitely excited about the new stadium, it looks beautiful and classy, carrying over not just the best of this Yankee Stadium, but also what Yankee Stadium was before the refurbishment of the late 70’s. That will become a special place as well in time. New memories will play out there.The fans will create an electric atmosphere again, the organization’s careful attention to tradition and history will make the ghosts feel at home, and the players will still step onto the field wearing pinstripes 81 times a season.
Still, while I've found some peace letting go of the old Yankee Stadium, there is definitely a part of my heart that will always stay in that hallowed place, and that will break when it is finally torn down. The best way I can think to describe it is as if the house you grew up in were torn down. Like your parents or your grandparents moved out of a home you thought you’d be able to visit forever. You thought you would bring your kids back and tell them stories from the house, but now it is gone and your children will never know it, you will never be able to visit the places of memory anymore.
So, with the coming demolition of Yankee Stadium, it’s as if part of myself will be torn down as well.
Goodbye old friend. I’ll always remember you.
So, this week's clip is really only going to be interesting to those who've watched the BBC version of The Office. For those who have, apparently the show's co-creator and star had a brush with the limelight, or at least he attempted to, about a year after yours truly entered the world.
For some reason, the video keeps saying that it is no longer available, only to come back again later. It's worth multiple attempts if it doesn't work today... come back and try again.
Warning, this is both hilarious and horrifying. Check it out:
Thanks to the Burnside Writer's Collective Blog for initially bringing this to my attention.
It took far too long, but I finally got Muse's new live CD/DVD: HAARP.
To celebrate this joyous occasion, this week's clip is a live performance of Butterflies and Hurricanes.
Enjoy!
I miss blogging consistently here on the VOX. Where does my time go?
I figured a good way to blog without considerable effort would be to share some things I'm currently enjoying/being inspired by/appreciating/etc. at the moment.
Literally, right now, I am listening to this CD, and I'm loving it.
Finally, while taking stuff that can be heavy like the film and book listed above, it is nice to have an outlet that is simply pure fun. That's where this comes in:
All this, in addition to the lovely weather all of us are enjoying in Seattle makes for good times. =)
There's finally a new 'untitled music post.' This week it is the music video for "Glósóli" by Sigur Rós.
If you'd like to check it out, and I hope you do, it's over at There's Treasure Everywhere.
Check it out.
Ah, the grad school blogging hibernation comes to an end, at least temporarily. I finally come to the end of the spring term at MHGS, so I will again have a bit of 'writing energy' left over in the absence of pages upon pages of papers due every week. My activity on this site may be a bit lacking in that I am in the process of getting a new blog started, a collaborative blog. At least at first, this blog will largely take its tone from the ever untitled music posts which were its inspiration. The idea for the new blog started out simply enough, it was actually just to offer a place where readers could actually download the songs included in the weekly music posts once they were started back up again, as at times the songs meant something to friends of mine and I actually wanted them to have access to them. This idea sort of snowballed in my head, and picked up added steam in conversations with my wife and several friends, and it became clear to me that I really wanted to go somewhere with this idea, and thus spawned a percolation of sorts throughout the weeks that I've been unable to write due to my school work.
So, anyway, here is the new blog. It isn't too much yet, just the initial post, and I will start by moving the pre-existing music posts over to the blog during the next week or so before new posts commence. The good news is, if you liked any of the songs I've posted so far you will be able to download them off the new site, but hopefully you'll buy them someday and show the artists some love.
I hope you all come check it out.
I realize this blog may be a little lacking in the area of fluidity and it might jump around a bit. I've just been living from deadline to deadline at school this month but I didn't want to miss a week so soon. So, I hope everyone can bear with me, and perhaps it can still work as a means of grace.
I've blogged before about my affection for the often covered, Leonard Cohen penned masterpiece "Hallelujah". Since Cohen originally wrote the song it has taken on a life of its own, for a variety of reasons. As one of the many aspects of the brilliance of the song, one of the reasons for the remarkable cover life the song has experienced would be the reality that over time Cohen continued adding verses to the song, performing the song in different forms throughout the years. Apparently, in total, the song has 15 different verses, and Cohen himself performs only a few at a given time when he plays the song.
This is significant because when an artist covers the song they are able to pick which of the 15 verses they will perform themselves, thus drawing upon what the song means to them so they can truly make the song their own. This is significant with this particular song because, as is often Cohen's tendency, the Biblical metaphors he uses to sing about life and romantic love gives the song layers that make it possible to interpret "Hallelujah" in a seemingly infinite number of ways. I won't go into much more detail about the song's history because, as I said, I've blogged on the song before.
The last time I blogged about the song I included various versions that are among my favorite covers, such as the immortal cover by Jeff Buckley (which is actually what many are covering when they perform the song) and the Rufus Wainwright version. However, as of the time I wrote that blog, I hadn't yet heard David Bazan perform the song, a moment that instantaneously pushed this particular performance to the top of my list.
There are many covers of the song that I love, but none have hit me with the force and depth of David Bazan's, due in large part to his choice of verses (which is actually the original version I believe) along with the desperation and subtle intensity with which Bazan performs.
Bazan's version somehow hits the heart of my faith, or perhaps my consistent lack thereof, as much as any other song I know. I'm sure part of it is the history of what Bazan's other songs have meant to me.
/i heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord/but you don't really care for music do you?/it goes like this, the 4th, the 5th, the minor fall, the major lift/the baffled king composing hallelujah/
I can't recall hearing a version of this song that doesn't begin with this same opening line. This beautiful, poetic description of a baffled King David composing what could only be described as 'Hallelujah'. This idea resonates in me because in a way I relate to it.
There seems to me to be an undercurrent of redemption and beauty under all there is. Often I feel disconnected from this redemption and beauty, and attempting to reach out and touch it by choice is an almost sure way to miss it, but there are countless times when, without expecting it, I have been struck by an overwhelming sense of this beautiful secret hidden in all reality. At times, as with this series of music posts, I try to point out the places where this redemption and beauty appear to me so that I can share it somehow, so that maybe others can experience the feeling I had at unintentionally uncovering buried treasure. Usually these attempts are feeble and misguided, and yet somehow there are times, be it a preaching moment, or when something I've written has been a means of grace to someone else, or even just through a conversation with a friend, when I've been able to be a part of composing hallelujah. There is never a moment, during my part in this, where I could be described as anything other than baffled, and so this understanding of the baffled composing the very essence of hallelujah reminds me that this is the nature of things, it is mysterious and unquantifiable and strange.
/she broke your crown and cut your hair/she tied you to her kitchen chair/and from your lips she drew the hallelujahs/
/you say i took the name in vain/well i don't even know the name/and if i did/well, really, what's it to you?/
And yet, for all of these moments and discoveries, overwhelming doubt is a part of my life as frequently as (and at times, it seems, more frequently than) faith. We've all been crushed and had our 'glory' taken from us. Perhaps it was by those we loved, or by losing that which we cherished, or by pain of many kinds. It's so easy to lose that which makes us feel like ourselves, to forget who we are or to have sudden moments where we realize we never knew. Life constantly seems to throw things at us that break our crown, that leave us powerless, and that take the very hallelujahs from our lips, leaving us empty and without hope.
In these moments, I often rage at a God I feel I hardly know. I kick against the absence and darkness and loneliness that so often seem to be the hallmarks of my relationship with Jesus. And yet at times, it seems that these moments of darkness lead to a brokenness which, while I can't articulate why, I sense may be my only hope for redemption.
/cuz there's a blaze of light in every word/it does not matter which you heard/the holy or the broken hallelujah/
It seems the prosperity gospel most peddle on television and in books speaks of faith as if it is supposed to be an answer to our problems. We'll be happy and wealthy and free from stress and pain, and if not, it just means we don't have enough faith. Once we get rid of that last little bit of sin, once we learn to pray with a heart of faith, all those problems go away. Yet it would seem to me that a life where we were constantly happy and wealthy and free from stress and pain would leave us shallow and empty. Although, even with that said, the pain of this world is unevenly distributed, and to attempt to answer it with a glib "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger" type philosophy on life is full of holes. Pain is a mystery. And yet somehow, the only hope for making sense of it is that somehow it is in fact a part of our redemption. God has never explained to us why we suffer, why we are allowed to continue hurting, why children are allowed to pay so dearly for nothing. And yet, the understanding that Jesus is God means that while God doesn't tell us why suffering happens, he sanctified it as holy by coming down amongst our suffering and questioning and tears, saying to all who hurt, "Me too." I don't know how it works, and I avoid suffering as much as anyone I know, but somehow it really doesn't matter whether or not we hear "the holy or the broken hallelujah," because each is brimming with redemption.
Yet, while I write this, hoping for it to be true, I must admit that my suffering and, even more, the suffering of others, often makes it hard for me to believe. But of all the things that make it hard for me to believe there is truth in the Gospel, none strike a deadlier blow than my own life.
/i did my best, it wasn't much/i could not feel so i tried to touch/i told the truth, i did not come to fool you/and even though it all went wrong, i'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah... Hallelujah... Hallelujah/
The greatest argument I know against the transforming power of the Good News is my own seeming inability to be transformed. I fuck up so constantly. I hurt those I love, I am petty and selfish and lazy, I consistently cooperate with darkness and evil as opposed to Light, as opposed to the Kingdom.
And that is why it often makes me cry when Bazan cries out, with what feels to me as vulnerability and desperation: /And even though it all went wrong I'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah/. Because this is my only hope, that for all the miserable mistakes I make, for all the ugliness I unleash on those around me, for all the times I allow materialism and selfishness to keep me from doing the right thing, that it might be enough when I stand before the Lord of Song to simply cry out "Hallelujah" in my brokenness. To sing out, with my woefully inadequate singing voice, the broken hallelujah.
It strikes me as I write this that perhaps my theology is just a theology of wishful thinking. Maybe I'm just hoping against hope that there might be a place in the Kingdom for someone as screwed up as me. But perhaps it's 'too good not to be true,' to paraphrase C.S. Lewis. Maybe a God who truly knows us intimately understands that while the Gospel is madness, it is even crazier to expect anyone to become a part of the Kingdom if it costs any more than a broken, often half-hearted hallelujah. For my sake, I sure as hell hope that's true; and with the little I've learned about people in my lifetime, I think there's a good chance you do too.
As I continue doing these music posts, there will undoubtedly be artists that have been particularly important to me in various ways who will inevitably end up making appearances multiple times. One example of this would be Tom Waits, who was the subject of the first ever official untitled music posts, and will certainly show up again from time to time.
I bring this up because this week’s band will be towards the very top of the list when it comes to repeat offenders. The band of which I’m speaking being U2.
This week’s song is actually three songs, taken from the recording of a live performance in Boston, Massachusetts. The clip was included on the band’s Electrical Storm single back in 2002, and the concert audio is from the band’s Elevation Tour.
Many who have seen U2 live refer to their experience there as ‘religious,’ and those who know much about U2 recognize that this is no accident. U2 has an uncanny ability to turn a stadium into a sanctuary, to turn an entire arena into an altar, all the while without the false religious theatrics and buzz words that officially “Christian market” bands often utilize. This three song medley of sorts is a prime example of U2 at the top of their game, and while I know that 12 minutes and 28 seconds is a long audio clip, I urge you friends to listen to the whole thing. Do it for me if for no other reason. The songs that make up this 12:28 are “Bad”, a brief piece of “40”, followed by “Where The Streets Have No Name”. Maybe you can open up another window and listen to the song while you read the text, that would probably save considerable time, and I imagine it would enhance whatever you might get out of the post.
As an aside, if it weren’t for Bono’s continued articulations of his faith, this clip alone would be enough to convince me that at the very least he was the unwitting instrument of the hand of God.
/if i could, you know i would/if i could i would let it go/surrender/dislocate/
/if i could/through myself/set your spirit free/i’d lead your heart astray/just to see you break/break away/into the light/
The clip begins with "Bad", which just so happens to be one of my favorite U2 songs (which for those who know me is saying a lot). When it comes to U2 songs, you can't pin them down to mean only one thing, even the most straightforward songs have taken on new meaning when the band performs them in new contexts. Yet, among other things, Bad is a song about addiction, brokenness and sin. It’s about being trapped in a cycle of self-abuse and destruction and being unable to free yourself. And it is also about being unable to free the one you love from their addiction, about finding ourselves ill-equipped to give someone else the strength and courage they need to break out of the darkness and into the light. The song doesn’t end with much hope aside from the reality that we are facing the darkness, we are aware of the deadliness and power of our addictions. We understand our powerlessness, and also how destructive our sin is to ourselves and those who love us. /I’m wide awake/I’m not sleeping/
Then, without hesitation, Bono’s cry of finally being wide awake moves into “40”, taken mostly from Psalm 40, as he leads the audience which has now become the congregation in a desperate plea to know how long we have to sing this song of brokenness and sin. And yet while the chorus they sing from “40” is a desire to know /how long to sing this song?/, the Psalm on which the song is based is a remembrance of God’s faithfulness. There is a shift from the hopelessness of our broken hearts toward a remembrance that God hears our cries and will deliver us from the darkness into new life.
Then Bono’s voice breaks off as the crowd, whether they realize the significance of their words or not, continues to cry out both in desperation, and in remembrance of God’s faithfulness. And they continue to sing, and at first, they are unaware of what is stirring in the background. The music is shifting behind their prayer of remembrance with a shift from “40” to “Where The Streets Have No Name,” a song about the Kingdom of God. “Where The Streets Have No Name” slowly starts to break in, much like the Kingdom it points to. It is subtle at first, and then it begins to take shape, its form taking on greater and greater complexity as it grows. And then the congregation realizes what’s happening. Seemingly as one, the crowd recognizes the song and begins to cheer its arrival. They do the only thing one truly can do in response to the Kingdom, they celebrate. And as the song continues to take its shape the celebration grows in pitch and intensity, until, over their voices, Bono begins to pray.
He prays from Psalm 116, closely referencing the way it appears in Eugene Peterson’s The Message: “What can I give back to God for the blessings he’s poured out on me? I’ll lift high the cup of salvation - a toast to God! I’ll pray in the name of God; I’ll complete what I promised God I’d do, and I’ll do it together with his people.” And by the end of this prayer, the song is in full swing, and the only thing left to do is join the party.
/i want to tear down the walls that hold me tonight/i want to reach out and touch the flame/where the streets have no name/i want to feel sunlight on my face/i see the dust cloud disappear without a trace/
/i’ll show you a place/with no sorrow and there’s no shame/where the streets have no name/
I’m not sure what else to say to articulate the way this moves me. When I listen to this final transition my eyes fill with tears, my heart welling up with a sense of joy it doesn’t normally know. So, in my lack of words I’ll simply point to how Bono closes out the song: “This is all we can do.” Because this is all we can do. All we can do in this world in which we are constantly exposed to darkness, is to celebrate those areas where we see light. All we can do in this valley where the shadow of death threatens to overwhelm, is to throw a party whenever the rays of new life touch our faces, dreaming of the day when finally the dust cloud will disappear and we will see clearly for the first time.
If nothing else, U2 reminds me that we can never forget the power of evil in this world, we can never close our eyes to the pain and suffering and darkness that fills our world. And yet they remind me that sometimes the best way to combat the evil in this world is to get together in as large a number as possible, dance like our lives depend on it (because they do), and sing at the top of our lungs about a day when our tears of sorrow will forever disappear, and shame will be a distant memory.
This is all we can do. Amen.
/if heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied/and illuminate the nos on their vacancy signs/if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks/then i'll follow you into the dark/
So it's time for another music post, these posts that it appears will never have a name. The song I decided to do this week isn't actually on the original list I came up with when I initially brainstormed to see if I could come up with enough songs off the top of my head to make starting the posts worthwhile. The song actually came to mind last night when I was hanging out with my friend Carl, as I told him about these particular posts I was doing.
The song is "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab For Cutie.
/no blinding light or tunnels to gates of white/just our hands/clasped so tight/waiting for the hint of a spark/
[Since I bought the song on iTunes it doesn't work on VOX, so I posted the video instead.]
There are a seemingly infinite number of songs out there about love. This is another one of those songs, but with the quirk that it is also about death. While it certainly isn't the only song about death and love, most songs dealing with these topics are about pain, heartache, loss and angst. Not so with singer/songwriter Ben Gibbard. Instead the song is sweet, and about as hopeful as a descent into utter darkness can be.
We hear Gibbard sing of the approaching death of his loved one, promising he won't be far behind. His promise includes that if by some chance heaven and hell are full and won't let anyone else in, he will follow his love into the darkness. For my money, this is a spot on articulation of what real love is. And when we look at the story of Jesus we see the story of a God who loves a suffering Creation and chooses to join them in their pain.
There is a story in Christian tradition that tells of Jesus going to hell between the time of his crucifixion and his resurrection. He went there to break down the gates and free those trapped there. Now, without getting into a discussion about the existence of hell or any of those issues, I still enjoy the story from the standpoint that Jesus was willing to go to the ugliest place imaginable to set captives free. So, this song makes me think of that same sort of idea, that somehow this mysterious unfathomable God would follow us into the darkness rather than exist without us in the light.
I suppose in the Cartesian world many people think we're still living in, there is no room for a love that can overcome even death. Fortunately, many are finally beginning to catch up to the reality that the idea of a purely material world that can be reduced again and again until we completely understand it all is a myth. There is room for mystery again. I truly hope it is true that somewhere in this mystery, somewhere in this space of nonlinearity and beauty, there really is a love that assures us that we won't be alone. That there truly is a God, who sings to us, who assures us we're understood in our pain and in the fear of our approaching death, and who promises us that we will not be alone and that we will be followed even into the darkest of places.
/the time for sleep is now/but it's nothing to cry about because we'll hold each other soon/
My wife told me after reading this post herself that I should instruct everyone to listen to the song once first, and then again after reading. Since the song is only 1:42 I will take her advice and recommend you do that if you so choose.
This week's song is the old hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” (here titled “This is My Story, This is My Song”) as performed by jazz icon Thelonious Monk. Now, I’m no jazz expert, the little I know about Monk is that he seemed to live a fairly chaotic and tortured life, as many jazz musicians seemed to live. Musically, I know it was common for him to use discordant notes and odd pauses throughout his music, causing some to refer to him as a musical humorist, and we hear that discord and awkwardness in today's song.
The beautiful thing about a master like Monk, and many others in jazz music, is the ability to tell a story with your ability to improvise. One of my favorite things about jazz is how through improvisation multiple artists, and at times the same artist, could take the same song, the same basic chord structure, and tell an entirely different story with it. One’s style transformed the way a song was played and received, reorganizing pre-existing themes to make something new. Miles could play a song with his lyrical, often sparse style and create one sound, and then Coltrane would play the same song with his chaotic “wall of sound” and create something else altogether. Then the two could come together and the extremes played off each other and created something else again, all the while the same base song was being played each time.
There has been plenty of conversation about how the improvisation of jazz is important as we look at theology, at how we approach scripture, about how we understand what the gospel looks like in different times and cultural contexts, being able to embrace the beauty and variety of life without changing the basic chord structure. I love these conversations, but they’ll have to be saved for another day.
I point out the beauty I see in improvisation, with my novice appreciation of jazz, because the way a jazz musician records a song is intentional and is part of how they are telling that particular story, or setting that particular mood, etc. That is what makes this recording of “This is My Story, This is My Song” so beautiful.
Now, let me establish, as is the case every time I’ll make one of these posts, I’m clearly not speaking for the artist or with any authority about the original intent. I’m simply sharing with you my own interpretation of songs that struck me as beautiful and gave me a glimpse of the Gospel in some way that perhaps the artist never even intended.
Monk was a master pianist who could clearly play such a simple song without any effort. Yet here he plays as if struggling through each note. He plays the song slowly, agonizing over each moment. He stutters and pauses in odd spots, he misplays multiple times, he sounds more like an 8 year old at a recital than one of the most important figures in the history of jazz. Perhaps this is just another manifestation of his typical style, but it takes on more significance given the song selection.
This.... is... my.... story. This is.. my song. Praising my.... Sav... ior.... all the day long.
He stutters his way through the song the way we stutter our way through ours; we forget the words, we play the wrong notes, we clumsily strike the wrong keys. At times we feel like we’re getting the hang of the whole thing, only to stumble and trip over ourselves all over again. We play like children, barely making it through each line.
And yet, for all our stuttering and through all of our mistakes the melody is still recognizable. For all our efforts to butcher the delivery, this is still our story of redemption, still our song of salvation. Our assurance rests, not in our clumsy fingers, but in the beautiful Composer, who joys in our feeble attempts at playing the music because it’s The Song that we’re bumbling our way through. The Composer watches with the agony and joy of a mother watching her child in that first awkward recital. This is our Story. This is our Song.
In the end, I’m weak and selfish.
/perfect submission/perfect delight/
I hurt others and live in ways that oppose everything I say I believe.
/visions of rapture/now burst on my sight/
My pride and fear are overwhelming.
/angels from heaven bring from above/
At any moment I feel ready to let go, to give up on belief because the Gospel seems like it can’t fully take hold of me.
/echoes of mercy/whispers of love/
Sometimes I stare at the ceiling in the dark, wondering where the strength will come from to face myself, and the harsh reality of life for one more day.
/this is my story/this is my song/
I doubt and I rage. My heart curses His name.
/praising my savior all the day long/
I scream and I spit. I lick my wounds of abandonment and loneliness. At my fingertips the story seems a lie, the song seems like so much meaningless noise.
/this is my story/this is my song/
And a voice whispers in the darkness. “I am here. You play so beautifully. Take heart child. This is still your story, this is still your song, and it will be until the end of the age.”
/praising my savior all the day long/
Lord, have mercy on these clumsy fingers. Amen.
