Fairyland

 

“There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth they must dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.”
― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl

Dead Ringer

Marc Martel has just released a new album and is presently on tour with music from the album entitled, wait for it, Impersonator. Yes, the former Freddie Mercury impersonator has something to say and he says it well. Using just his surname for this new band, he has given us twelve songs about being an Impersonator, a Dead Ringer, a Ringo Starr and several more themes. His wife thinks that he may have too many identity crisis songs on the album but he assures reporters that this is a good portion of what is happening right now.1 Some would say he has something to prove; that he is just another Freddie Mercury sound alike; that he is only a cover band king; that he doesn’t have his own sound; that Freddie’s memory should be left alone.

Those of us who know Martel’s music from his previous days as the lead singer and creative genius behind the band downhere have a different story. He has already proved who he is, what he sounds like, and that he is so much more than a really good “Wedding Singer.” Albums like Ending is Beginning and songs like “How Many Kings” and “Coming Back Home” were played to church youth groups and on radio stations across Canada and the USA long before he became a singer for one of the most famous bands in the world. Downhere received five Juno Awards over a ten year span and attracted a solid following of fans.

In “Dead Ringer,” Martel sings about “the face he was given when he was born” and “the sound he makes when he opens his mouth.” With great irony, “Dead Ringer” argues that he just happens to sound and look like Freddie Mercury and that he is just trying to be himself. This is the argument he sings even as he crafts and performs a song designed to mimic the lead vocals and style of Queen to a tee. Here are the lyrics and a link to the audio.

Dead Ringer (listen to it here)

Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I know you’ve seen this face before
It’s just the one they gave me when I was born
I’m not puttin’ it on make no mistake
When I open my mouth that’s the sound I make

It’s on the tip of your tongue
Gives you chills just to think about it
Though you say nothing new would get that sound
But let me tell you that that I beat you to it

Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I just try to be myself
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
Cause I can’t be no one else
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I've got to be myself
Lord let me be myself

Bought yourself a ticket to the County Zoo
Be careful what you say cause it could happen to you
Finger in a socket and a double take
Pick your jaw off the floor; give your heads a shake

I’m on the tip of your tongue
Gives you chills just to think about it
Oh you say nothing new under the sun
Let me show you that there’s nothin’ to it

Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I try to be myself
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
Cause I can’t be no one else
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I got to be myself
Lord let me be myself

Just like that

Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer

Anyone ever tell you you’re a

Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I just try to be myself
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
Cause I can’t be no one else
Dead ringer, dead ringer, dead ringer, dead
I got to be myself
Lord let me be myself

“Dead Ringer” is the quintessential personal identity song that works so well for Marc Martel. There are other songs on the album that are less personal and just as good. Take for example “Paradise.” It is a bluesy, rocky, electronic anthem about a world that “chews us up, spits us out, and leaves us locked up in paradise.” A song worthy of many accolades but perhaps it is enough to simply say, poetic and operatic.

The recording closes with a song that sounds more downhere than Queen; and more Marc than Freddie. “The Remake” is about how we can have “high hope” in the way in which God will do his remake and make all things new. The metaphor calls us to something higher and reminds us that there is more to life than just what we see.

So is the new Martel music deserving of a wide audience? Check it out for yourself. I would suggest buying the recording and singing along. Perhaps you too can find your own voice.
 

1 http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/music/2014/09/03/marc-martel-paradise-premiere/14996237/

Coming Back Home

One of my favourite bands is Downhere. They write great songs with smart lyrics and always challenge their listeners to think about relationships with God and with others. "Coming Back Home" from the Ending is Beginning album is a song about repentance. Here are the lyrics.

"Coming Back Home"
(Performed by Downhere) (Listen while you read.) 

After the longest exile
Trying to make it on my own
Aching for my home
I've been astray for much too long
Knowing I've done you so much wrong
Just makes me feel that much more alone
But in my sadness I hear you calling 

So I'm coming back home to build what I tore down
Left my world in shambles
Only this time I'll let you wear the crown
Woah Oh
Coming back home to build what I tore down
If you will forgive me
You won't fail me
You won't let me down
Woah Oh Woah Oh Woah Oh 

I've been afraid of what I'll find
I open the door to what's inside
I'm back but all's not right
'Cause there is still a mess to clean up
There are wars to fight and be freed up
But if you're there with me I will have no reason to fear
'Cause in this madness You are my solace 

So I'm coming back home to build what I tore down
left my world in shambles
Only this time I'll let you wear the crown
Oh Woah
Coming back home to build what I tore down
If you will forgive me
You won't fail me
You won't let me down
You won't let me down
Coming back home to build
Coming back home to build 

Into Your arms this wayward son is 

Coming back home to build what I tore down
Left my world in shambles
Only this time I'll let you wear the crown
Woah Oh
Coming back home to build what I tore down
If you will forgive me
You won't fail me
You won't let me down
Woah Oh Woah Oh Woah Oh
Coming back home to build
Coming back home to build 

Written by Marc A. Martel, Jason Ronald William Germaine; Published by © Music Services, Inc.

I love the part of the chorus that says, "I'm coming back home to build what I tore down, left my world in shambles. Only this time I'll let you wear the crown." That is a great description of repentance. It is turning around and repairing what has been broken. It is turning around and saying, "I have messed this up; and so, God, I need you to be the King of my life. I need you to take control."

Inland

I discovered a great new album last night: Inland by Jars of Clay. Released in August of 2013, this collection of songs sounds as good as previous albums like Who We Are Instead (2003) or Much Afraid (1997). The lyrics are mysterious, poetic, and haunting. They speak to the condition of every human soul. They speak of angst, pain, loneliness, depression, joy, and love. Here is a sample of the album; the song is called "Loneliness & Alcohol."

"Loneliness & Alcohol"
Written by Dan Haseltine, Charlie Lowell, Steve Mason, and Matt Odmark
(listen to it here) 

The sound of television creeping through the halls
Left in the wild like a tree pulled from the dirt
You fill the sky with burning arrows from your heart
Throw your bottles out to sea and watch them float away 

Tell me of the world you’re leaving
While you’re swinging like a wrecking ball
You bury all your love in secrets
And loneliness in alcohol 

Hide your diamonds in the dirt in careful rows
Let your doubt unravel all their, all their pretty bows
‘Cause your heart is broken by the things you love
And your light, it carries but it’s not enough to change the weather 

Tell me of the world you’re leaving
While you’re swinging like a wrecking ball
Bury all your love in secrets
And loneliness in alcohol 

You get buried under all these lines, all this light, all these lies
You get buried under all these lines, all this light, all the time 

Tell me of the world you’re leaving
While you’re swinging like a wrecking ball
Bury all your love in secrets
And loneliness in alcohol 

Tell me of the world you’re leaving
While you’re swinging like a wrecking ball
Bury all your love in secrets
And loneliness in alcohol

Other songs on the album are equally strong and I find it hard to choose favourites but certainly "After the Fight" and "Human Race" are in the running; but how could I leave out "Reckless Forgiver." You will have to choose favourites for yourself. Check out the whole album at their website: www.jarsofclay.com.

Wide Eyed

I have often been intrigued by the words of the song "Wide Eyed" sung by Nicole Nordeman.  The lyrics and the melody are beautiful; yet I have often found it difficult to understand what the song writers are trying to say. The lyrics are written below and there is a link you can click to listen to Nicole Nordeman's performance of the song while you read the lyrics.

Wide Eyed
Performed by Nicole Nordeman on her 1998 album, Wide Eyed
(Written by Derald Daugherty and Steve Hindalong; © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.)

When I met him on a sidewalk
He was preaching to a mailbox
Down on 16th Avenue
And he told me he was Jesus
Sent from Jupiter to free us
With a bottle of tequila and one shoe
He raged about repentance
He finished every sentence
With a promise that the end was close at hand
I didn't even try to understand

He left me wide eyed in disbelief and disillusion
I was tongue tied, drawn by my conclusions
So I turned and walked away
And laughed at what he had to say
Then casually dismissed him as a fraud
I forgot he was created in the image of my God

When I met her in a bookstore
She was browsing on the first floor
Through a yoga magazine
And she told me in her past life
She was some plantation slave's wife
She had to figure out what that might mean
She believes the healing powers of her crystals
Can bring balance and new purpose to her life
Sounds nice

She left me wide eyed in disbelief and disillusion
I was tongue tied, drawn by my conclusions
So I turned and walked away
And laughed at what she had to say
Then casually dismissed her as a fraud
I forgot she was created in the image of my God

Not so long ago, a man from Galilee
Fed thousands with His bread and His theology
And the truth He spoke, quickly became the joke of educated
Self-inflated Pharisees like me

And they were wide eyed in disbelief and disillusion
They were tongue tied, drawn by their conclusions
Would I have turned and walked away
And laughed at what He had to say
And casually dismissed Him as a fraud
Unaware that I was staring at the image of my God

The first verse speaks of a person we might find on any inner city street corner: he seems to be delusional and lost in his addiction to alcohol. He is so incredible and his claims so outlandish that we miss the value of the person underneath the addiction; yet, just like me, he has a mother and was once someone's little boy. He was created in the imago dei and, like a coin, still retains the image of God stamped upon him no matter how worn and damaged the coin may be. He has something to teach us even as we look at the wreckage of his life and wonder what we could do to help him.

The second person met in the song is a woman in a bookstore who is searching for answers in her life. The singer of the song wishes her well in her search but seems to not engage her in a conversation that might direct her to the image of God in which she was created. The singer has a preconceived notion that this woman would not be interested; but this does not change the fact that the woman in the bookstore also has the image indelibly stamped upon her whether or not she attends to it.

The singer begins to wonder what her response to Jesus might have been had she lived in the time when he walked and spoke in Galilee. Would she have been too well-educated to accept the teachings of this local carpenter's son who fed people with bread and fish and theology? Would she have casually dismissed him as a fraud and missed the fact that he was the very image of our God?

The song reminds me that I want to be aware of the people who cross my path and what I can learn from my interactions with them. I want to look for any glimmer of the imago dei in those I meet. I want to be wide-eyed and aware, looking for opportunities to speak words of truth and right theology based upon the teachings of Jesus of Galilee and trust that his words will be sufficient for all of our lives.

Tennessee

Sandra McCracken and Derek Webb released a short collection of songs (EP) called TN & EP. On that EP is a marvelous song called "Tennessee" (listen to it here). I could not find the lyrics anywhere on the web so I transcribed them myself and checked with McCracken's staff to confirm a line or two. Here are those beautiful words. Enjoy this tribute to Scottish roots and the music of Tennessee.

Tennessee
Sandra McCracken and Derek Webb

Long before the shell became the sand
Before the hour-glass
Time sinking fast contains the man
Contains the moment

Down from Scottish soil
And mountain paths
Across an ocean
Father, son, oh hand me down at last
Here on the grass of Tennessee

One, she found the one
And there were two who followed from them
Three and then four counted their days
Among the names in Tennessee

Long before the shell became the sand
Time sinking fast contains the man
(Contains the moment)
Long before the shell became the sand
Time sinking fast contains the man
(Contains the moment)

It's Me Again

In the song, "It's Me Again," I have never been quite sure whether Wayne Kirkpatrick is addressing the lyrics to a friend or to God. I suspect that it may be both. Kirkpatrick tends to do this with his songs. Regardless, from my time spent coaching others, and from my own life, I am convinced that many of us will be able to relate to these words of weakness and trust. In the liner notes, he says this about the song.

There is a great line in the movie Broadcast News where Albert Brooks says, "Wouldn't this be a great world if insecurity and depression made us more attractive?" If that were so, we would have a world of incredibly beautiful and appealing people. I should be so lucky.

The song is an insight into a mind that is being honest with God and admitting that he is not as strong as people believe he is, or even as strong as he believes he is. Yet, the songwriter knows where to turn. He is well aware that he has been here before. He keeps on turning to the same person who will save him from the poets and the poltergeists. He keeps on turning and returning, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah . . . . me again.

"It's Me Again"
Lyrics and Music by Wayne Kirkpatrick

From the Album, The Maple Room.
© 1997 Warner Chappell/Sell The Cow Music/BMI

Okay
Maybe I'm not as strong as I pretend to be
Okay
Maybe I'm just as insecure as everybody else

But I tell myself, maybe
I can work it out alone
And no one else will ever know

You there
Watching and waiting with the patience of a saint
While I
Wallow in self-indulgent, paranoid philosophies

But I'm no Socrates, baby
And in the end it's like a marathon
I'm running straight to you

I can't seem to take this ride with ease
I can't see the forest for the trees
I'm coming undone
Hello, it's me again
It's me again

Tonight
While all the world is sleeping I will roam the halls
Consumed
With the obsessions of a terminal insomniac

Under attack, save me
From the poets and the poltergeists
Playing in my head

I can't seem to take this ride with ease
I can't see the forest for the trees
I'm coming undone
Hello, it's me again
Yeah, me again

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Me again

So you tell me not to worry
But I'm a frightened little child
With a strong imagination
That can always be found
Running free and wild

I can't seem to take this ride with ease
I can't see the forest for the trees
I'm coming undone
Hello, it's me again
Yeah, it's me again

Follow-up to Robert Burns Day 2013

One stanza from "To A Louse" by Robert Burns:

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!

My English translation:
Oh, if only God would give us the power
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would free us from many blunders
And foolish notions:
What presumption of fashion and posture would leave us,
Even pretentious prayers would be gone.

Valdy MM-MM-MM-MM

Paul Valdemar Horsdal, known professionally as Valdy, is a Canadian folk musician who has been writing songs and performing for more than forty years. I remember discovering his "Country Man" album in the seventies and the couple of times I saw him in concert I was amazed with how this one man and his guitar could keep an audience engaged for hours. He is also one of the original artists who spoke out against the damage humans were causing to our environment.

His song entitled "MM-MM-MM-MM" is all but forgotten now (perhaps partly owing to the strange title) but has a great message of warning. The song envisions a future in which air pollution has reached such extremes that the people of earth have never seen the sun in the sky. In 1972 this was a vision that was easy to imagine. Due to the work of environmentalists and folk singers, air quality in such cities as Los Angeles has vastly improved since the seventies but air pollution is still a major health concern in rapidly developing cities such as Ulan Bator, Mongolia.

Valdy's words are still an important warning to the people of our planet. I looked for these lyrics online and could not find them so I offer them here in this blog.

MM-MM-MM-MM
(Listen to the song here.)
Valdy (from the album "Country Man," 1972; also released as the B side of the single: "A Good Song.")

And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm
That's not the way things oughta be
And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm excuse me
I'm on the outside being free

Run to your houses and dally no more
Close up your windows and lock your doors
The sunlight is comin' the sunlight is comin'
Close all your curtains and lie on the floor

They had never seen the sunlight before they were sore afraid
They had never seen the sunlight before so they all obeyed

And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm
That's not the way things oughta be
And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm excuse me
I'm on the outside being free

Why, the last time the sun came out in full
Four men were trapped out on the moors
Now they've all four gone stir crazy
Cause they won't come back indoors

They say the sky is gonna break and turn some colour of blue
They're all nuts they said the trees looked green
Do you want that to happen to you?

And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm
That's not the way things oughta be
And I'll say mm-mm-mm-mm excuse me
I'm on the outside being free

Waiting In The Weeds

The last few days of August always make me think of the lyrics of this song. It is a beautiful masterpiece of lyric and melody on the Eagles Long Road Out of Eden album. It is a song of longing, loneliness and loss. Perhaps it is also an indictment of the music industry and culture in general with its references to crows and sparrows, peacocks, flavor of the week, and the darling of the chic.

Waiting In The Weeds
(written by Don Henley and Steuart Smith)

It's coming on the end of August.
Another summer's promise almost gone.
And though I heard some wise men say that every dog will have his day,
He never mentioned that these dog days get so long.

I don't know when I realized the dream was over.
Well, there was no particular hour, no given day.
You know it didn't go down in flames,
There was no final scene, no frozen frame,
I just watched it slowly fade away.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for my time to come around again.
And hope is floating on the breeze,
Carrying my soul high up above the ground.
And I've been keeping to myself,
Knowing that the seasons are slowly changing.
Even though you're with somebody else,
He'll never love you like I do.

I've been biding time with the crows and sparrows,
While peacocks prance and strut up on the stage.
If I knew love was just a dance, proximity and chance,
You will excuse me if I skip the masquerade.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for the dust to settle down.
Along the back roads, running through the fields,
Lying on the outskirts of this lonesome town.
And I imagine sunlight in your hair
You're at the county fair - you're holding hands and laughing,
And now the Ferris Wheel has stopped,
You're swinging on the top, suspended there with him,
And he's the darling of the chic - the flavor of the week is melting down your pretty summer dress
Baby what a mess you're making.

I've been stumbling though some dark places,
And I'm following the plow.
I know I've fallen out of your good graces
It's all right now.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for the summer rain to fall.
Upon the wild birds, scattering the seeds,
Answering the calling of the tide's eternal tune,
The phases of the moon, the chambers of the heart, the egg and dart.
A small gray spider spinning in the dark,
In spite of all the times the web is torn apart.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for my time to come around again.
And hope is floating on the breeze,
Carrying my soul high up above the ground.
And I've been keeping to myself,
Knowing that the seasons are slowly changing.
Even though you're with somebody else,
He'll never love you like I do.

Don't Miss Your Life

The perfect Father's Day song.

Don't Miss Your Life
(Phil Vassar and Charlie Black - Listen to it at http://www.philvassar.com/)

On a plane to the west coast
Laptop on my tray
Papers spread across my seat
A big deadline to make
An older man next to me said,
"Sorry to intrude
Thirty years ago, my busy friend
I was you
I made a ton of money
And I climbed up the ladder
Yeah, I was Superman
Now, what does it matter"

"I missed the first steps my daughter took
The time my son played Captain Hook
In Peter Pan, I was in New York
Said, 'Sorry, son, Dad has to work'
I missed the father-daughter dance
The first home run, no second chance
To be there when he crossed the plate
The moment's gone, now it's too late
Fame and fortune come with a heavy price
Son, don't miss your life"

Funny you should say that, I was
Sittin' at the gate
My daughter called, she made straight As
And they're off to celebrate
Scrollin' through the pictures of my little family
My daughter with her mom and friends
Not a single one with me
They know I love 'em, I know they know I care
The truth is half the time, I'm not even there

I missed our fourth and fifth anniversary
Our girl was early by a week
Her sister had to hold her hand
I was in L.A, she said, "I understand"
I missed her first day of school
Man, what kind of crazy fool
Lets such a precious moment pass
We all know time goes way too fast
Hold on tight 'cause it don't happen twice
Don't miss your life

When I get off this plane
I'll buy a turnaround ticket
Saturday's her eighth birthday
And I'm not gonna miss it

There'll be balloons and birthday cake
And I'll clean up the mess they make
My mom and dad are drivin' in
I haven't seen them in God knows when
My wife will proudly say to me,
"I thought you were supposed to be
In Portland for a few more days"
I'll take her in my arms and say,
Heard some words that hit me hard last night
A man said, "Don't miss your life."

Watch the video here.

Learning From Artists

My friend, Andrew, is blogging once again and invited some interaction with his thoughts about Christian music. You can find his thought-provoking, original, blog here.

His blog got me thinking about some of my opinions about what gets labeled “Christian” music. There is plenty of good worship music out there that can be used to praise God in a corporate setting. We could talk about that another time. But then there is all of that stuff that gets the moniker, Christian, or Spiritual, or Inspirational, or Gospel. We often get into trouble when we seek to put labels on who is “inside” and who is “outside” of the camp. We say this artist speaks from the perspective of “us” while this artist does not. I learn much from artists with whom I disagree. Their art is likely pointing to something I need to hear.

I remember listening to U2 in the early 80s when the only place you could buy the “Boy” album was in small Christian record stores. They had been given the label of alternative Christian music. Fortunately they spoke to a broader audience than that. Their music was prophetic and was not “safe.” Would they be viewed as a Christian band today?

Steve Taylor has a reputation as a satirical/sarcastic song writer but many of his songs are prophetic. I have written here about his song, “I Manipulate.” You could listen to songs like “We Don’t Need No Color Code,” “Baby Doe,” “Drive,” or “Meltdown at Madame Tussauds.” Most of these songs obscure the lines between “Christian” and “Secular.” Andrew pointed out to me that Derek Webb has said that “the word ‘christian,’ when applied to anything other than a human being is just a marketing term.” Both Andrew and I would agree with this. Derek Webb is another artist whose music is too prophetic for “Christian” radio and too "Christian" for mainstream radio.

Bob Dylan at one time made a profession of Christian faith. Evangelical Christians heard this and the headlines which proclaimed his newfound faith nearly ruined his career and livelihood. Other Christians pointed out flaws in his theology and his lifestyle expecting him to graduate to maturity instantly.

The fact is we can learn much from artists who do not follow Christ. Don Henley’s “Frail Grasp On The Big Picture” is a prophetic voice to North American culture. Listening to Dallas Green (City and Color), I am awestruck by his spiritual themes. I have no misconception that the man is a Christian but I certainly learn from this artist. I will seek to humbly learn from Christian and non-Christian artists. We must take “every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5) even if that thought arises from within the camp.

The Face of Christ

My friend, Mike Charko, and I wrote a song about seeing Jesus on the train. It is a poetic, imaginative piece that suggests that we should seek to love others around us as Jesus would love them. Mike found an interesting blog about someone else who imagined an encounter with "Jesus" on a train. Check out the blog by John Jensen about an experience he had about seven years ago. It made me think of the lyrics to a song written by Chris Rice. Here are the lyrics to "The Face of Christ."

He shares a room outside with a dozen other guys
And the only roof He knows is that sometimes starry sky
A tattered sleeping bag on a concrete slab is His bed
And it's too cold to talk tonight, so I just sit with Him instead and think

How did I find myself in a better place
I can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face
Cause when I stoop down low, look Him square in the eye
I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing with the face of Christ

After sixteen years in a cold, gray prison yard
Somehow His heart is soft, but keeping simple faith is hard
He lays His Bible open on the table next to me
And as I hear His humble prayer, I feel His longing to be free someday

How did I find myself in a better place
I can't look down on the frown on the other guys face
Cause when I stoop down low, look Him square in the eye
I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing with the face of Christ

See you had no choice which day you would be born
Or the color of your skin, or what planet you'd be on
Would your mind be strong, would your eyes be blue or brown
Whether daddy would be rich, or if momma stuck around at all

So if you find yourself in a better place
You can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face
You gotta stoop down low, look Him square in the eye
And get a funny feeling, you just might be dealing

How did I find myself in a better place
I can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face
Cause when I stoop down low, look Him square in the eye
I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing with the face of Christ

With the face of Christ
With the face of Christ, yeah

With the face of Christ, yeah
With the face of Christ
(written by Chris Rice © 2000 Clumsy Fly Music admin. by Word MusicInc/ASCAP)

Grand Optimist

Okay, I will confess, I am obsessed with a song. I have listened to it dozens of times in the last few days. Ever since I saw it performed on the Juno Awards I have been obsessed with Dallas Green's song, "The Grand Optimist." Dallas Green who performs as "City and Colour" won the songwriter of the year award for work on the "Little Hell" recording. Here are the lyrics to "The Grand Optimist." Listen to it here.

I fear I'm dying from complications
Complications due to things that I've left undone
That all my debts will be left unpaid
Feel like a cripple without a cane
I'm like a jack of all trades
Who's a master of none

Then there's my father
He's always looking on the bright side
Saying things like "Son, life just ain't that hard."
He is the grand optimist
I am the world's poor pessimist
You give him burdensome times
And he will escape unscarred

I guess I take after my mother
I guess I take after my mother

I used to be quite resilient
Gain no strength from counting the beads on a rosary
Now the wound has begun to turn
Another lesson that has gone unlearned
But this is not a cry for pity or for sympathy

I guess I take after my mother
I guess I take after my mother
(2011, City and Colour Inc. Under Exclusive License to Dine Alone Music - CA) 

As I read the words of this song my heart immediately began to make some interpretations. My mind sees allusions and references to generations and societal influences and begins to paint a picture of what the artist is saying. We must interpret a song carefully, but at the end of the day the song speaks to us with the images it conjures in our minds. Brian Walsh, who wrote an entire book in which he interprets the songs of Bruce Cockburn, has this to say about interpreting songs:

Let me put it this way: while I wouldn't give the artist the final word on any matter of interpretation of his own work, I am interested in knowing what I can about what the artist might think about a piece of his own work. So yes, the artist has some interpretive authority over his work. But not final or exhaustive authority. Artists can say more than they mean. They can make allusions without intending to do so. But the allusions are "really there!" Or at least they are there if you have eyes to see.
Let me be clear that I am not saying that "anything goes" when it comes to my interpretations of Bruce Cockburn's songs. Any interpretation needs to have merit in relation to the work being interpreted. Interpretation needs to be faithful to the art under discussion. We could say that interpretation itself is an act of performance.*

The images conjured in my mind as I listen to "The Grand Optimist" are those of generational differences. I think of the differences between my father and myself. I think of the differences between my children and myself. I think of more general societal differences between the modernist generations and the post-modernist generations. I think of gender differences.

The father and son are quite different. The son is full of fear and worry. He worries about things that may never happen and, at one level, may not matter. The father is stoic and remains unbothered by difficult times. The singer speaks of how his father is an optimist and that if "you  give him burdensome times" "he will escape unscarred." But not so the singer. One senses that, for good or ill, he is scarred by burdensome times. In this regard, he does not take after his father; he takes after his mother. He and his mother are both scarred. Should one be scarred by "burdensome times?" We are left with that question. Perhaps every generation takes after their mother rather than their father.

The artist recognizes a change in himself. He "used to be quite resilient." He did not need rosary beads to gain strength. But now, his wound, that will eventually scar, "has begun to turn;" perhaps fester; perhaps hurt; and so the lessons go unlearned. Yet, there is a hardness in him, for he will not cry out "for pity or for sympathy." He sees his wounds and his scars; he sees the difficult times; but he internalizes the pain and will not let others see this pain. And so, with or without a rosary, he will cry out to no one. He has learned how to hold things in and bear up under such conditions; he takes after his mother.

*Walsh, Brian J. Kicking at the Darkness: Bruce Cockburn and the Christian Imagination. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2011, p. 32.

Wayne Kirkpatrick

A few years ago I was headed out on a long road trip and grabbed several CDs from my collection as "music for the road." Yes, it was CDs at the time. I had not yet made the leap to an iPod that allows one to take almost all of their musical collection along for the ride. I loaded the multi-player with the maximum six CDs and started out. A few hours into the drive I realized that five of the six albums I had loaded into the car stereo had a direct connection to Wayne Kirkpatrick. You may not think you know this name but chances are you have heard his music.

Wayne Kirkpatrick is a singer songwriter with an extensive collection of songs he has written. Most of his songs have been recorded by other performers and the list of those who have used his songs is very impressive. He co-wrote the Grammy award winning song "Change the World" with Gordon Kennedy and Tommy Simms which was recorded by Eric Clapton (1996)1. He received a Dove award for producer of the year in 1994 2 and his songs have been recorded by an eclectic group of artists: Garth Brooks ("Wrapped Up In You" and "You Move Me"), Susan Ashton ("You Move Me," "Blind Side," "Body and Soul," "Crooked Man," "Spinning Like a Wheel," "Lonely River," and "Love Profound") Eric Clapton ("Change the World"), Garth Brooks in his Chris Gaines persona ("Lost In You," "It Don't Matter to the Sun," "Unsigned Letter," "Main Street," "White Flag," "Digging For Gold," and "My Love Tells Me So"3), Faith Hill ("Love Will Always Win"), Amy Grant ("Lead Me On," "House of Love," "Lucky One," "Takes a Little Time," and "Straight Ahead"), Martina McBride ("Anything and Everything"), Trisha Yearwood ("Love Will Always Win"), Little Big Town (all songs on the "A Place To Land" album and all but one song on the "The Road To Here" album), Kathy Mattea ("Grand Canyon"), Wynonna Judd ("What the World Needs Now is Love"), Bonnie Raitt ("Silver Lining" and "Slipstream"), Casting Crowns ("God is With Us"), and Michael W. Smith ("Place in This World" which won a Dove award for song of the year)4.

Have I convinced you that you should know this man? Despite all of the success and awards, Wayne Kirkpatrick remains relatively unknown. He is the man behind others; the man in the wings. If you saw him back-stage and asked him who he was he might simply answer with the title of a song he wrote for Little Big Town . . . "I'm With the Band." Few speak of the genius of Kirkpatrick. Paul Zollo's massive book, Songwriters on Songwriting 5 makes no reference to him. It would seem that Kirkpatrick is quite content to be the man in the background and leave the lime-light of performing and the fame of song-writing to others.

One of the best ways to get to know the man behind the mystery might be to simply listen to the music he has written and particularly the songs he has saved for his own performances. See if you can find his little known album "The Maple Room." Wayne Kirkpatrick wrote, produced, and performed the songs on this album (released in the year 2000). The songs offer us a window into the life of this amazing songwriter. The liner notes for the song "Window In That Wall" offer this explanation about the song: "I've never been able to put a face with this song but I feel as though I have come in contact with this person. Sometimes I wonder if I wrote it about myself." The lyrics to the tune follow.

Window In That Wall

Isolation-self-imposed
I can't read you
That book is closed
But aren't you lonely
In your cell
Share a secret
I won't tell

And you don't have to bare your soul
Or find your tears and lose control
You don't have to scale your fortress or let it fall
Just put a window in that wall

Do I know you?
Yes and no
There're places you won't let me go
But maybe time will help you see
That you can put your trust in me

And you don't have to let me in
Or throw your caution to the wind
You don't have to open up and expose it all
Just put a window in that wall

'cause you sit along the side and hear the music play
But you fear the dance
Well, you may learn to love it
If you'd give it half a chance

I'm not asking to be a part
Of every fragment of your guarded heart
I'm just asking for a place to begin, that's all
Just put a window in that wall

© 1997, Warner Chappell/Sell The Cow Music/BMI 

Ah, there we have it, the self-isolated artist who has created a fortress to guard his soul. Yet, he will give us a window that allows us to see inside. His music, his lyrics, his art are that window that allows us to get to know this man. I encourage you to get to know Wayne Kirkpatrick.

I leave you with one last thought. The first page of the liner notes for "The Maple Room" contains a few words from Vincent Van Gogh. ". . . I want to progress so far that they will say of my work: he feels deeply, he feels tenderly - notwithstanding my so-called roughness or perhaps even because of it." These are worthy words by which we all might live.

Footnotes:
1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Change_the_World
2 http://www.doveawards.com/history.php?x=artist
3 http://music.aol.ca/album/garth-brooks/in-the-life-of-chris-gaines/350647
4 http://www.doveawards.com/history.php?x=artist
5 http://www.amazon.ca/Songwriters-Songwriting-Expanded-Paul-Zollo/dp/0306812657/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1333132997&sr=8-1


Websites used in this research:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Kirkpatrick
http://www.allmusic.com/artist/wayne-kirkpatrick-p94252/biography
http://www.answers.com/topic/wayne-kirkpatrick?curtab=2340_1
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Change_the_World
http://www.doveawards.com/history.php?x=artist
http://www.allmusic.com/artist/wayne-kirkpatrick-p94252/credits
http://music.aol.ca/album/garth-brooks/in-the-life-of-chris-gaines/350647

Skyscraper Soul

I had a surreal experience tonight. I had just finished a day of work and I was waiting on Maureen as she was walking home from her job. I was sitting in our condo on the 14th floor of a 27 storey skyscraper watching the sun go down and the people bustling home from work. I turned on a previously recorded television show of Jim Cuddy performing his Set List in Studio One at Corus Quay in Toronto. He was singing Skyscraper Soul and the words flowed over my consciousness. It was like he was in the room with me describing the sights and feelings of my day. Oh yes, I've got a skyscraper soul and I'm scraping up against the sky!

Skyscraper Soul (words and music by Jim Cuddy)
© JimCuddy.com 2006 - 2011

Everyone knows it, try not to show it,
This city can bring you down
I’m a believer some days are hard, but
I couldn’t leave this town

I got a skyscraper soul
Like a flower that comes where the sun never goes
Skyscraper soul
Filling my heart where there once was a hole

Look out my window
Watching the sun go down
On the crowds below
I know the struggle,
Weaving through trouble
Life can be hard, I know

I got a skyscraper soul
There’s mud in my veins and there’s steel in my bones
Skyscraper soul
Building it all up from water and stones

Look through the market stalls
Over broken walls
To this hollowed ground
Looks are deceiving
There’s a heart beating
Here in this battered town

Cause I got a skyscraper soul
Like a flower that comes where the sun never goes
Skyscraper soul
Filling it all up with water and stones

I’ve got a skyscraper soul
There's mud in my veins and there’s steel in my bones
Skyscraper soul
Brushing the rust off and losing control

http://www.jimcuddy.com/Music/Songography/default.aspx?songid=12cce866-fd61-4653-86d0-17f5e8d9c129

Mortality

I was listening to some of Michael W. Smith's music today and heard "Live and Learn" from the I 2 (Eye) album. The beginning of this song quotes the last stanza of the William Knox poem, "Mortality." In an attempt to make the entire poem more accessible I present it to you today.

Mortality
(aka "Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud")
(Written by William Knox)

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, the low and the high,
Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie.

The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved;
The husband, that mother and infant who blessed;
Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure - her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep,
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

The saint, who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

So the multitude goes - like the flower or the weed
That withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes - even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.

For we are the same that our fathers have been;
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, we feel the same sun,
And run the same course that our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling -
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.

They loved - but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned - but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved - but no wail from their slumber will come;
They joyed - but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

They died - aye, they died - we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

'Tis the wink of an eye - 'tis the draught of a breath -
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 

(This is commonly referred to as Abraham Lincoln's favourite poem.)

Problem With the World

"The Problem"
Written by Marc Martel and Jason Germain
Copyright 2008 Centricity Music Publishing/Germain and Martel Publishing/ASCAP

There's got to be some reason for all this misery
A secret evil corporation somewhere overseas
They're pulling strings, arranging things
It's a conspiracy

Or what about the ones who shape the course of history
What if we petitioned for one grand apology?
I'll write to my prime minister
You, write your president

Everybody's wondering how the world could get this way
If God is good, and how it could be filled with so much pain
It's not the age-old mystery we made it out to be
Yeah, there's a problem with the world
And the problem with the world is me

Some will say the devil and his legions
They put us in a headlock of submission
But they lost all power over me
A long, long time ago

And since I was a kid you know I've caused a lot of hurt
And no one ever taught me how to put myself first
It came so very naturally
But I'm not a prodigy

So I will look no further than a mirror
That's where the offender hides
So great is my need for a redeemer
That I cannot trust myself
No, I cannot trust my self
I dare not trust myself
So I trust in someone else

The sooner you can sing along
The sooner you can sing this song
The happier we'll be
The problem with the world is me

Sometimes the poets say it better than all of the philosophers, scientists, and politicians. This time the guys from the band "Downhere" have said it well, "the problem with the world is me."

(Of course, an astute reader will recognize that the boys from "Downhere" are quoting the great G. K. Chesterton. Chesterton was once asked by a London newspaper to join other authors and thinkers to address the weighty and important question of "what's wrong with the world." His response:
Dear Sirs,
I am.
Sincerely yours,
G.K. Chesterton.)

The Fiddling Wood

I came upon this powerful poem a few days ago. Take the time to read it slowly. It is a master-piece.

The Fiddling Wood by Stephen Vincent Benet

Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron,
Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked
Over the rough crest of the hairy wood
In angry scorn; the grey road twisted, kinked,
Like a sick serpent, seeming to environ
The trees with magic. All the wood was still --

Cracked, crannied pines bent like malicious cripples
Before the gusty wind; they seemed to nose,
Nudge, poke each other, cackling with ill mirth --
Enchantment's days were over -- sh! -- Suppose
That crouching log there, where the white light stipples
Should -- break its quiet! WAS THAT CRIMSON -- EARTH?

It smirched the ground like a lewd whisper, "Danger!" -
I hunched my cloak about me -- then, appalled,
Turned ice and fire by turns -- for -- someone stirred
The brown, dry needles sharply! Terror crawled
Along my spine, as forth there stepped -- a Stranger!
And all the pines crooned like a drowsy bird!

His stock was black. His great shoe-buckles glistened.
His fur cuffs ended in a sheen of rings.
And underneath his coat a case bulged blackly --
He swept his beaver in a rush of wings!
Then took the fiddle out, and, as I listened,
Tightened and tuned the yellowed strings, hung slackly.

Ping! Pang! The clear notes swooped and curved and darted,
Rising like gulls. Then, with a finger skinny,
He rubbed the bow with rosin, said, "Your pardon
Signor! -- Maestro Nicolo Paganini
They used to call me! Tchk! -- The cold grips hard on
A poor musician's fingers!" -- His lips parted.

A tortured soul screamed suddenly and loud,
From the brown, quivering case! Then, faster, faster,
Dancing in flame-like whorls, wild, beating, screaming,
The music wailed unutterable disaster;
Heartbroken murmurs from pale lips once proud,
Dead, choking moans from hearts once nobly dreaming.

Till all resolved in anguish -- died away
Upon one minor chord, and was resumed
In anguish; fell again to a low cry,
Then rose triumphant where the white fires fumed,
Terrible, marching, trampling, reeling, gay,
Hurling mad, broken legions down to die

Through everlasting hells -- The tears were salt
Upon my fingers -- Then, I saw, behind
The fury of the player, all the trees
Crouched like violinists, boughs crooked, jerking, blind,
Sweeping mad bows to music without fault,
Grey cheeks to greyer fiddles, withered knees.

Gasping, I fled! -- but still that devilish tune
Stunned ears and brain alike -- till clouds of dust
Blotted the picture, and the noise grew dim --
Shaking, I reached the town -- and turned -- in trust - Wind-smitten, dread, against the sky-line's rim,
Black, dragon branches whipped below a moon!

Caught in the Middle

Poets are often better at expressing concepts of the heart. The music group "Casting Crowns" has a song called "Somewhere In The Middle." Here are the lyrics.

Somewhere between the hot and the cold
Somewhere between the new and the old
Somewhere between who I am and who I used to be
Somewhere in the middle, You’ll find me

Somewhere between the wrong and the right
Somewhere between the darkness and the light
Somewhere between who I was and who You’re making me
Somewhere in the middle, You’ll find me

Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control

Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense
Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle
With eyes wide open to the differences, the God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His or are we caught in the middle
Are we caught in the middle

Somewhere between my heart and my hands
Somewhere between my faith and my plans
Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves

Somewhere between a whisper and a roar
Somewhere between the altar and the door
Somewhere between contented peace and always wanting more
Somewhere in the middle You’ll find me

Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control

Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense
Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle
With eyes wide open to the differences, the God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His or are we caught in the middle
Are we caught in the middle

Lord, I feel You in this place and I know You’re by my side
Loving me even on these nights when I’m caught in the middle*

Wow, Mark Hall has captured how I feel many days. I am a "fearless warrior in a picket fence" with "deep water faith" that plays around "in the shallow end." I want to go deeper, I believe I can go deeper, and yet I am caught in the middle. Lord, Jesus, help me to be a true warrior who ventures into the deep end.

*Written by Mark Hall
© 2007 My Refuge Music/Club Zoo Music/SWECS Music (BMI) (admin. by EMI CMG Publishing). As published at http://www.castingcrowns.com/album_aatd.htm