Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

The Real "Glee"

So I watched Glee for the first time the other night.  Afterwards I was informed by people who'd know that it wasn't the best episode and probably not a good one to start with. I imagine they're right.  But still - and with all apologies to my "Gleek" friends out there - I'm just not feeling it.  That's okay, though, because you thought I was nuts for getting into Battlestar Galactica, didn't you?  So we're even.

I imagine that a big part of my ambivalence has to do with the fact that I was actually in our school's Glee club.  And in the same way that football players couldn't get into Friday Night Lights or I never found much reason to read the At Home in Mitford series (about a small-town pastor), it's hard to get excited about a fictional situation that bears a striking resemblance to your real life.  You're already "living it," you see, so what's the point?

We actually called ours a "show choir," which I think sounds better than "glee club."  Think of it as a solid choral ensemble meeting Dancing With The Stars.  We worked equally hard to perfect our four-part vocal arrangements as we did the dancing/choreography.  Trust me, it's a lot harder than it sounds.  And it was a big deal in our school, with around 200 kids in three or four ensembles.  "Carolina Spirit" was the top group and involved a significant time commitment.  It was also a pretty well-traveled group.  I'm not talking about the annual appearance at the local mall, either.  Every year we participated in a regional event in Harrisonburg, VA.  There was also a trip to Pasadena, CA my junior year (including a performance at Disneyland), and another one to Chicago my senior year - both national competitions, both in which we placed in the top three.  

All of which looked nothing like what folks see Wednesday nights on Fox.  There was weight training involved - important when the guys were lifting girls in the air and swinging them around (they tend to prefer that you not drop them).  I already mentioned the hours and hours of rehearsals - not just with vocals but with choreography, down to standing in front of a huge mirror to make sure that thirty-some people have their movements perfectly synched.  And unlike the current TV show (at least the little I've seen of it), there was actually harmony with the jocks, and we had some members of the gridiron in our fold.  So there were no purple slushies.

Here, see for yourself - a video of Carolina Spirit doing their thing a few years after my time (okay, more than a few :)

(note: if you're subscribing to this blog via email the video may not show up - so check it out here).

I realize open talk about this sort of thing typically invites some level of ridicule, especially toward the guys.  Go ahead if you must - it's nothing I haven't heard before.  Chuckle at the sequins and stage makeup, at the dancing and the white shoes.  To which I say a heartfelt, "Whatever."  The fact is that I wouldn't trade this time in my life for anything.  I made some of the best friends in my life, many of whom I keep in touch with to this day.  Thanks to this experience the stage is a second home to me rather than a source of anxiety - something that comes in handy doing the music thing these days.  I'm quite at ease in front of groups, which means I'm pretty comfortable behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings (but sorry FPCMA folks - no jazz hands).  And the vocal techniques I acquired in all those years of training have proved invaluable in keeping my singing voice going strong.

So watch "Glee" if that's your thing - I may tune in from time to time.  But forgive me if I don't jump on the bandwagon.  The real thing is a whole lot better.

PS - I know there are a lot of show choir folks out there, including some "Carolina Spirit alum," and I'd love for you to share your stories in the blog comments below.  What are some of your memories?  How has your show choir experience translated to things you do in your adult life?  Let's hear 'em!

What Matters Most

I knew there was a reason we had our porch painted and re-screened last month - for moments just like this.  Saturday afternoon, everyone else taking naps or feigning sleep (end result - a strange and rare quiet); the sound of an afternoon summer shower falling on the trees that surround our backyard.  Aaaahhh.  I needed this, I really did.  It's been a week of ups and downs, and frankly, more downs than ups.

I turned a year older this past week.  If you care to know how much, check out this blog post I made a year ago and do the math.  There was something unique about last year's milestone and I wore it proudly, like a badge of honor.  Kind of like when you hit 18 and achieve "adulthood."  Of course, twelve months later the novelty wears off and you're just another year older.  So sure, I could've come at it in some positive light - blessed with another year and all that. And the family certainly helped with gifts, homemade cards and an incredible strawberry cake.  But honestly, the week I had made it difficult to fully embrace the joy of it all. 

Which leads to my next "downer,"  and it happened around noon on Monday, driving down Main Street in town, at around 35 mph.  Thankfully, no one was injured.  Even the guy's car that I hit showed very little damage.  The same could not be said, though, for my car.  Especially frustrating since the same thing happened two years ago.  And in both instances, the age of the car made repairing it not an option.

There is a powerful bond between a man, his automobile and the privilege of driving.  I've seen it in older men when their declining health makes sitting behind the wheel no longer an option, and the family has to take away the keys.  You can see it in their eyes; that a part of their independence and pride and dignity has been denied.  To some degree that's how I felt those first 48 hours sans car.  And perhaps that was a good thing; a healthy slice of humble pie, repulsive as its taste may have been.

Things continued to go down from there.  Note to self: don't bother walking to work early one morning in the hopes that no one will see you and realize, as you jaunt down Main Street in your office clothes and business bag, that you have no car.  It won't work (although I am grateful to Ben for giving me a lift the rest of the way). Even my birthday had its unsettling moment, as I was (and this is a true story) pulled over by the police because the tags on my rental car had expired.  The rental car!  The overwhelming relief I felt when I realized I wouldn't be held responsible still didn't make up for the sick feeling in my stomach the moment those blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror. 

Sometimes it's easy to get so overwhelmed by the all the muckiness around you that it gets a good grip on your spirit.  And that's when you need a perspective check - and for me, it was Friday.  The wounds from the week's mess were still tender as the family headed off on a hiking excursion - just the four of us.  It was exactly what the doctor ordered - just being with the wife and boys, seeing some cool waterfalls, marveling at the wonders of nature together.  Later that evening I was playing some tunes in Madison, NC for an Acoustic Blend gig. The place was packed and folks stayed until closing time at 10pm to hear our very last song.  That's when you know a gig is going well.

On the drive home I reflected on my lousy week and how humble pie, while sometimes necessary, often comes in portions too large for one's appetite.  I don't like feeling like I've let people down, and I don't like others being negatively affected by my actions.  At the same time I had a moment of clarity that I hope will stick with me long after this week is over.

And that is this: when you get right down to it, when you cut through all the muck that can get in the way, what matters most - to me at least - is my family and friends, my faith, and my music.  Those three, and the people and places and experiences that make them up, are what define me as a human being meandering around this planet.  They are what connect me to something outside myself.  Everything else is dressing - important dressing, sometimes expensive dressing (as my auto insurance agent reminded me this past week), but dressing nonetheless.  Family, friends, faith, music.  That pretty much sums it up.

I'm glad I've have some time to reflect on this as I'm sitting on the back porch listening to the rain make its journey from the heavens down to the earth.  Actually, the rain's starting to die down a bit, and the sun's peeking through.  Thank goodness the same can be said about this past week.  Time to soak up the sunshine and be thankful for the light and warmth of it all.

The day Prince took out Acoustic Blend

Last Friday evening after a nice little Acoustic Blend gig, Ken and I hung out at a local Starbucks and talked about the state of our two YouTube clips from the big Civic Center concert almost a month ago.  Looking it up on my Blackberry we learned that "Ants Marching" had 103 hits, while "Purple Rain" had a whopping 1,232.  It was cool to know so many people were checking them out.

Turns out that would be the last time I'd ever get a hit count on the Prince tune, and the last time anyone would ever get to see it.  Yesterday I got this email from YouTube:

This is to notify you that we have removed access to your video, Acoustic Blend - Purple Rain (Prince cover), as a result of a notification by The Publisher claiming that this material is infringing.  For more information, please visit our Copyright Tips guide.  If you believe this claim was made in error, or that you are otherwise authorized to use the content at issue, you may file a counter notice.  Sincerely, The YouTube Team

Well, at least they were nice about it.  "Sincerely" and stuff....

Seriously, though, what a bummer. And quite perplexing, as videos of people performing covers are quite aplenty in YouTube land.  If I'm trying to learn a tune for Mediocre Bad Guys, YouTube is the place to go to see how folks are playing it.  So when did this suddenly become an issue?

Turns out the issue may be more of "who" than "when."  At band practice last night Jerry reminded me of a blurb in a recent Rolling Stone issue about Prince's longstanding animosity toward his music being covered and posted on YouTube.  It appears that the eccentric (and certainly talented) artist wants to maintain full control over his image, products and music - a stiff challenge in an internet world for sure.  But the dude has a ton of money, which means he can hire an army of folks to do his bidding.  So it appears that Acoustic Blend is just the latest casualty in Prince's quest, and we will certainly not be the last. 

I hate it, if for no other reason than I felt it was a great cover.  Ken nailed the vocals, we had a real live bass player, and how can anyone ever forget Allen rising out of the orchestra pit for the solo!  Now that has been lost from the public eye forever.  So we shall take a moment to mourn the passing of the YouTube clip.......

There, I feel better now.

But have no fear, friends - I will not leave you lacking.  So I'm posting a few extra YouTube clips from the show.  Originals, of course ;-)  Enjoy the tunes.

When technical glitches can be a blessing....

It's funny how things happen, and at first they seem like the worst thing, and then later they turn out to be pretty cool.

So I was playing some music at Foothills Brewing in Winston-Salem - great place to play and listen to acoustic music.  That is, until your amp decides to give out on you.  Which it did, about an hour and a half into the evening.  And not only did it "give out," but it did so with a vengeance, emitting a horrible screeching sound anytime I strummed the guitar or sang into the mic.  It was right after I had kicked off "Meet Virginia."  Perhaps it didn't like me playing that song.

A few folks huddled around the equipment to see if they could identify the problem - a loose cable, a faulty volume knob, something that could be easily fixed.  After a few minutes of observation the collective declared it to be a faulty wire inside the amp.  Translation: no more powered volume for the evening.

This, as I'm sure you can imagine, is an acoustic performer's worst nightmare - more feared than the string that keeps breaking or the woman at the bar persistently requesting a James Blunt song.  I thought about calling it a night right there - it was almost 11:30 and I had played for two hours with a short break.  But the crowd had picked back up a bit and it just seemed kind of wrong to leave all that.  So I did the only logical thing: I unplugged and became the strolling minstrel.

Looking back on this, it's interesting that, in the history of performing arts, plugging in to a sound system is a fairly recent development.  Back in the good ol' days, six-stringers like me (or those with more strings like this jolly-looking fella to the left) would do their thing without the assistance of amplified sound.  And because they weren't tied down to cables and such, they were free to roam.  That's our heritage, and yet we've lost touch with it.  Kind of funny that, on those rare occasions when the sound system goes kaput, we musicians go into shut-down mode.  What, pray tell, can we do without our beloved crutch to lean on?

That was me for a minute or two at Foothills, until I threw caution to the wind.  I unplugged the quarter-inch cord from the base of my guitar and hit the road, playing another six songs around the room.  And the cool thing was that I got to meet and interact with folks in a way I normally wouldn't have be able too.  There was a table of six recent graduates from Salem College, only one of which currently has a job.  I wished the other five lots of luck.  There was a young couple at a nearby table; she recently flipped the tassel at UGA; his father is (how's this for coincidences) a Presbyterian minister.  There was another group of three that consisted of a Wake Forest grad student and her parents who had just made the trip from their home in Ft. Lauderdale.  In between tunes we had a nifty conversation about which Protestant denomination is most closely linked to the catholic church.

None of this interaction would've occurred if my amp had been working perfectly; if I remained behind the comfort of my microphone and guitar foot pedals, letting the sound system do all the work.  There would've been a few nods of affirmation from the distance, maybe a request or two.  But that would've been it.

Don't get me wrong - my amp is going into the shop first thing this afternoon.  I don't plan on making the strolling minstrel thing a habit.  But it was cool when I had to do it - and if, God forbid, the planets should align once again, I won't be as hesitant next time.

That, and the tips were much better.

Listen to (and watch) the Music, Pt. 2

Well folks, you've already seen the pics in the last blog.  And now here it is: Acoustic Blend's entire concert at the Lexington Civic Center - totally free for you to listen to in streaming audio.  Just click on the play buttons below to hear each song (which, as you probably guessed, is in set list order).

It certainly wasn't a perfect show - the usual flub-ups and missed notes.  And the audio below isn't the greatest, although it's really not too shabby for a digital recording device we sat up on the first row of the balcony.  But imperfections lend character to it all, right?  Besides, Ken and I have had the pleasure of making music together for nine years now, and I think this show reflects the fact that we really enjoy what we've been doing all that time.  At least I hope that's what shows.

Highlights of the show, in my humble opinion, were Ants Marching where I get to demonstrate the true genius of a loop pedal (this, by the way, is fast becoming our "signature song").  Also, on Purple Rain, one of the opening acts, Allan Cooper," came out to play with us and laid some pretty awesome licks.  The cool thing was that he was set up in the orchestra pit which rose up when he started playing.  Nice little touch to close the show.  I'm throwing in YouTube clips of these two songs at the end of the post - do check 'em out (thanks to Jerry for the YouTubing).

(incidentally, if you subscribe to this blog via email and don't see the mp3 players to the left of the song titles, go to this post at http://thoughts-musings.com and you'll see 'em there).

CIVIC-MINDED: LIVE IN LEXINGTON 2009

Seasons of Love/Heaven

Ticket To Ride

When the Stars Go Blue

Better Off

Colorblind

Acoustic BLAND

Ants Marching

No One

Presbyterian forms & the Appalachia

Mountains In My Heart

Life talk

Life Is A Gift

Thanks ya'll

Purple Rain

NOTE: Bummer, YouTube removed the Purple Rain clip! Oh well.  You can watch some other videos from the concert here.

Listen to the Music, Pt. 1

Thought I'd share some pics from the Acoustic Blend concert at the Lexington Civic Center this past Thursday. Aapparently the planets aligned for the busiest day in downtown Lexington's history and there was a meeting or event at every church within a five-block radius (one of the few times I didn't want people to go to church).  So while the crowd may not have been large in numbers it was definitely large in spirit.  Besides, any time you have people who pay their good money to come hear you play, you can't complain about that one bit.

There were three opening acts and we hit the stage right around 8pm.  We played for just under an hour, breezing through eleven songs.  We did a few originals but also mixed things up with our standard covers - everything from Dave Matthews to Alicia Keys to Ryan Adams to the Beatles (that's where the "blend" in our name comes from).  I'm working on a YouTube clip as well as some audio clips too and will let you know when those are up (thus the "Pt. 1" in the blog title).

Special thanks to Lee Zehmer from nearby First Presbyterian Church for joining us on bass for a few tunes.  Also thanks to Terri Lamb for taking the great pictures, and everyone who had a part in putting on this show.

Check Acoustic Blend out on the web at our official website (where you can hear some previous audio clips), fan us at our Facebook page, and if you still do the Myspace thing, we're there too.

Enjoy!

A Different Kind of Confession Booth (or, what happens when Christians come out of the closet)

It's Thursday morning and I'm in my second office - a local coffee house with wireless internet.  Getting ready to hit the road, actually, for a big Acoustic Blend show in Lexington at the Civic Center there (pictures and YouTube clips hopefully forthcoming).

But I've been thinking a lot over the past few days about my last blog and both the challenges and opportunities of a post-Christian America.  The opportunity, in my opinion, is for the church to reclaim it's original mission of serving people rather than striving to be a cultural tour de force.  The challenge, though, is that doing this requires a huge shift in thinking and behavior that, sadly, is not all that natural for us anymore.

 That's why I feel the following story is pure genius.  It's an excerpt from Don Miller's book Blue Like Jazz, which was all the rage a few years ago and still offers a unique perspective on Christianity that is refreshing and a tad disconcerting.  Don was involved in a small campus ministry at Reed College, a liberal arts college in Portland Oregon with a reputation of not being terribly welcoming of organized religion. Please give it a read - you won't be disappointed.

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Each year at Reed they have a festival called Ren Fayre.  They shut down the campus so students can party.  Security keeps the authorities away, and everybody gets pretty drunk and high, and some people get naked.  The school brings in White Bird, a medical unit that specializes in treating bad drug trips.  The students create special lounges with black lights and television screens to enhance kids' mushroom trips.

Some of the Christian students in our little group decided this was a pretty good place to come out of the closet, letting everybody know there were a few Christians on campus.  Tony the Beat Poet and I were sitting around in my room one afternoon talking about what to do, how to explain who we were to a group of students who, in the past, had expressed hostility toward Christians.  Like our friends, we felt like Ren Fayre was the time to do this.  I said we should build a confession booth in the middle of campus and paint a sign on it that said, CONFESS YOUR SINS.  I said this because I knew a lot of people would be sinning, and Christian spiritually begins by confessing our sins and repenting.  I also said it as a joke.

But Tony thought it was brilliant.  He sat there on my couch with his mind in the clouds, and he was scaring me because, for a second, then for a minute, I actually believed he wanted to do it.

“We are not going to do this,” I told him. 

“Oh, we are, Don.  We certainly are.  We are going to build a confession booth!”

We met in Commons – Penny, Nadine, Mitch, Iven, Tony and myself.  Tony said I had an idea.  They looked at me.  I told them I had a stupid idea that we couldn't do without getting attacked.  They leaned in.  I told them that we should build a confession booth in the middle of campus and paint a sign on it that said, CONFESS YOUR SINS.  Penny put her hands over her mouth.  Iven laughed.  Nadine smiled.  “They may very well burn it down,” she said.

“Okay you guys.”  Tony gathered everybody's attention.  “Here's the catch.”  He leaned in a little and collected his thoughts.  “We are not actually going to accept confessions.”  We all looked at him in confusion.  He continued.  “We are going to confess to them.  We are going to confess that, as followers of Jesus, we have not been very loving; we have been bitter, and for that we are sorry.  We will apologize for the Crusades, we will apologize for those televangelists who steal people's money, we will apologize for neglecting the poor and the lonely, we will ask them to forgive us, and we will tell them that in our selfishness we have misrepresented Jesus on this campus.  We will tell people who come into the booth that Jesus loves them.”

All of us sat there in silence because it was obvious that something beautiful and true had hit the table with a thud.  We all thought it was a great idea, and we could see it in each other's eyes.  It would feel so good to apologize, to apologize for the Crusades, for Columbus and the genocide he committed in the Bahamas in the name of God, apologize for the missionaries who landed in Mexico and came up through the West slaughtering Indians in the name of Christ.  I wanted so desperately to say that none of this was Jesus, and I wanted to desperately to apologize for the many ways I had misrepresented the Lord.  I could feel that I had betrayed the Lord by judging, by not being willing to love the people He had loved and only giving lip service to issues of human rights.

So we set to work on the confession booth throughout the beginning of Ren Fayre, and people looked at us over the first couple of days with both curiosity and amusement.  The further along we got on the booth, though, the more I began to wonder if our idea was such a hot one.  As we began to put the finishing touches on it, I was in the process of telling Tony that I didn't want to do this.  And then someone opened up the curtain and walked in, saying they were our first customer.

“What's up, man?”  Duder sat himself on the chair with a smile on his face.  He said his name was Jake.  I shook his hand because I didn't know what to do, really.

“So, what is this?  I'm supposed to tell you all of the juicy gossip I've done at Ren Fayre, right?”

“No.”

“Okay, then what?  What's the game?”  he asked.

“Not really a game.  More of a confession thing.”

“You want me to confess my sins, right?”

“No, that's not what we're doing, really.”

“What's the deal, man?”

“Well, we are a group of Christians here on campus, you know.”

“I see.  Strange place for Christians, but I am listening.”

“Thanks,” I told him.  He was being very patient and gracious.  “Anyway, there is this group of us, just a few of us who were thinking about the way Christians have sort of wronged people over time.  You know, the Crusades, all that stuff....”

“Well, I doubt you personally were involved in any of that.”

“No, I wasn't,” I told him.  “But the thing is, we are followers of Jesus.  And we believe he represented certain ideas that we have not done a good job at representing.  He has asked us to represent Him well, and we've failed him in that.”

“I see,” Jake said.

“So there is this group of us on campus who wanted to confess to you.”

“You are confessing to me!”  Jake said with a laugh.

“Yeah.  We are confessing to you.  I mean, I am confessing to you.”

“You're serious.”  His laugh turned to something of a straight face.

I told him I was.  He looked at me and told me I didn't have to.  I told him I did, and I felt very strongly in that moment that I was supposed to tell Jake that I was sorry for everything.

“What are you confessing?”  he asked.

“Well, there's a lot.  I will keep it short.  Jesus said to feed the poor and to heal the sick.  I have never done very much about that.  Jesus said to love those who persecute me.  I tend to lash out, especially if I feel threatened.  Jesus did not mix His spirituality with politics.  I grew up doing that.  I know all of this was wrong, and I know that a lot of people will not listen to the words of Christ because people like me, who know Him, carry our own agendas into the conversation rather than just relaying the message Christ wanted to get across.  So I've not been a good follower of Jesus.  There's a lot more, you know.”

“It's all right, man,” Jake said, very tenderly.  His eyes were starting to water.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “I am sorry for all of that.”

“I forgive you,” Jake said.  And he meant it.

“Thanks,” I told him.

He sat there and looked at the floor, then into the fire of a candle.  “It's really cool what you guys are doing,” he said.  “A lot of people need to hear this.”

“I don't know whether to thank you for that or not,” I laughed.  “I have to sit here and confess all my crap.”

He looked at me very seriously.  “It's worth it,” he said.  He shook my hand, and when he left the booth there was somebody else ready to get in.  It went like that for a couple of hours.  I talked to about thirty people, and Tony took confessions on a picnic table outside the booth.  Many people wanted to hug me when we were done. 

All of the people who visited the booth were grateful and gracious.  I was being changed through the process.  And I think those who came into the booth were being changed too.

*******************

See, I told you it was cool.

This story speaks to me in many ways, but three in particular.  First, I'm struck by how this campus ministry was the minority at Reed - I love that he describes their actions at Ren Fayre as "coming out of the closet!"  Truth is, this isn't all that different from what those first Christians experienced back in ancient Palestine as they were dwarfed by the Roman empire - same thing.  Throughout history the church has thrived when it's been countercultural.  My hunch is that, in a post-Christian America, we will know more and more what it feels like to be that campus ministry group at Reed.  And I think this is a good thing.

Miller's story also shows me that Christians do their best work when they assume the role of the servant, when they take on a stance of humility and grace that feels entitled to nothing, when they meet people where they are rather than demanding others come to them on their own terms.  In a post-Christian America the church simply can't afford to try and do things they way they used to.  That's like sticking a confession booth in the middle of a wild college party and asking everyone to come inside and confess their sins.  That's been done plenty of times, and it's not working anymore. I truly believe that when we approach people where they are out of humility, seeking genuine fellowship and striving only to serve them, the church can regain its mojo and start making a difference in this world again.

And finally, there's absolutely nothing wrong with Christians saying they're sorry.  Because a lot of horrible stuff has been done in the name of Jesus, and they carry that legacy.  Repentance cuts both ways.  The good news is that, thanks to "duder," so does forgiveness.

I'm telling you, it's that easy.  The hard part, of course, is actually doing it.  Time to get to work.

Thankful

It's an overused word, frankly.  And I know that.  But I can't think of a better word that captures the human emotion of gratitude and reflection for one's many blessings.  There's another overused word - blessings.  We throw that word around too casually, sometimes just because we like the sound of it. Nevertheless, this blog is about being thankful for my many blessings.

So, just a few days from the holiday, here are some of the things I'm thankful for.  It's kind of long because, well, I have a lot for which to be thankful.  If you don't want to read all of them, then try choosing five or so randomly:

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I am thankful for coffee.  I'm drinking some right now, actually.  I wish to personally thank the individual who thought grinding up some brown beans and pouring hot water over them would taste good.  They were right.

At the moment I'm thankful for Ryan Adams.  Every time I listen to his music I hear something different I didn't pick up before, and I really like that sensation.  I like it because it stands in stark contrast to the sensation I get when I suffer through the repetitiveness of top-40 radio.  Which is something akin to eating those funnel cakes at the fair - it may taste good on the surface, but you know it's just not good for you.  Ryan Adams is kind of like the homemade ice cream - unique and worth the time and money invested.  That's also why I like Wilco, U2, Death Cab for Cutie, Nickel Creek, Radiohead, and others you don't always hear that much and who rarely get the deserved notoriety.  Which is exactly the point.

I'm thankful for my boys.  I wish they could somehow know how much I love them, but I don't guess that's possible.  I'm not even sure I know how much.  Every time I look in their eyes I see my past, present and future all rolled into one, along with theirs.  It's a humbling, exhilarating feeling.

Likewise, I'm thankful for my wife.  I remember in my single days hearing folks describe their spouses as their "best friends."  I didn't get it - shouldn't you want your husband or wife to be something more than your "best friend?"  Now, having been married for just over nine years, I get it.  And I'm so glad that I happen to be married to my best friend.

I'm thankful for my parents, my brother, and extended family.  My life has taken all kinds of twists and turns in my 40 years, and it's humbling to know they've been there with me through it all.

I'm thankful for the church I serve.  Unfortunately, this realization sometimes comes when I'm in conversation with clergy friends and hear their nightmarish situations.  And then I see that I really have it good.  It's a church that wants to go where the spirit leads; a church that genuinely cares for each other, and a church that puts up with (and even supports) my music and teaching ventures.  Most of all, it's a church that lets me be a real person, and that perhaps is the greatest gift they could ever give.

I'm thankful for the guys I've had the pleasure of making music with - Ken, Jerry, Les, Gary, David and others.  Acoustic Blend is entering its ninth year of existence, and Ken and I never tire of it.  And I'm more than content with being a so-so Mediocre Bad Guy, playing with some of the finest musicians Mount Airy has to offer.

I'm thankful for modern-day prophets like Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis with Sojourners, Brian McLaren, David Beckmann with Bread for the World, Marcus Borg and many others who hit dummies like me over the head with the agonizingly simple message of the gospel.

I'm thankful for blogging.  I'd been trying for years to find a journaling outlet, but I never could bring myself to don a spiral-ring notebook and pen.  I'm too much of a keyboard guy.  Then I stumbled upon blogging, and that's pretty much been it (oh, and I'm thankful to you for reading it!)

I'm thankful for things like Facebook and Twitter.  Call me a geek, but they really are wonderful ways to stay connected with folks all over the place.  Where else can I catch up with that girl who lived down the block from me as a kid, and the friend who happens to be moderator of the denomination I serve in, and my old college professor?  The world really isn't as big as we make it out to be sometimes.

I'm thankful for wireless internet.  Free wireless internet specifically.

I'm thankful for the students in my college classes.  For actually showing up, for one thing, at 8:00 in the morning.  And then listening to me lecture for a solid hour.  They ask questions that keep me on my toes, which is exactly what I need.  And they're a lot of fun to be around too.

I'm thankful for our next president.  I know I wanted Jesus, but I'm happy to settle for Obama.  I really do think he's going to bring the change our country so desperately needs.

I'm thankful for a good workout.  These days my goal is three miles jogging and one mile swimming, 2-3 times a week.  It wipes me out, and it's not taking as much off the waistline as it used to, but it still leaves me with a good feeling afterwards.

I'm thankful that God has never let me stand in the pulpit on Sunday morning with nothing to say.  This is the stuff of nightmares for us ministers, my friends.  I'm not kidding.

I'm thankful for football.  I live vicariously through the guys I watch on TV or read about in the newspaper or Sports Illustrated.  There's something fascinating about the orchestration that goes on between eleven players, all aimed at moving a piece of pigskin down the field; and another eleven orchestrated to stop them.

I'm thankful for that feeling when I drop the Eldest off in the car line at school in the mornings. The teacher opens the door, and I watch him gather his bookbag and any other stuff he's got.  We give each other a high-five.  Every time I tell him I love him and that I'm proud of him.  And I never, ever tire of watching him step out and walk through the school doors and into his big wide world in there.

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Indeed, I'm a thankful guy.  I hope you are too, for many reasons of your own; and I invite you to share your reasons in your comments below.  Happy Thanksgiving, folks!

The Music in Me

It's a Saturday morning at the Lindsley house.  The boys are not up yet but will be soon; the wife is getting some extended sleep after being up most of the night with a strained back muscle.  So I thought I'd take a few minutes to do something I said I would in a previous post - talk about music in my life.  And it's an appropriate day to do this as I have not one but two gigs tonight.  You may find this totally boring, but I've never actually put into words the journey of music I've been on for the past (umm...) 40 years.  So here goes.

I come from what I certainly would label a musical family.  My Dad plays guitar, piano and violin; his mother was a piano teacher.  Dad also has a nice baritone-ish voice.  When my brother and I were little Dad would sit on the foot of our beds and sing us to sleep each night with his guitar (if you've ever wondered whether "House of the Rising Sun" and "Light My Fire" could ever make decent lullaby material, well, they can :).  While Mom didn't play any instruments her side of the family were big singers.  I have many a fond memory of Christmas gatherings around the piano; my mom taking the lead and her younger sister a strong alto counter on the Christmas carols.

At my mother's behest I took three or four years of piano lessons during grade school.  I remember being more fond of my college female teacher then the lessons themselves.  I also remember the point when I realized I could "play by ear;" and as a result I started neglecting my lessons and not focusing as much on learning to read music, which I regret to this day.  Still, I played on.

Dad taught me the basics of guitar.  My first guitar was a hand-me-down from my Dad - he was looking for a newer one but couldn't justify getting a second.  So he gave me his first one and then, you know, had to buy a new one for him!  We both were the benefactors in that transaction.  I did take a year of lessons when I was thirteen, from a guy who went to our church and who had recorded a few albums - which of course meant I thought he was cool.  I also took a semester of classical guitar in college.

I loved to sing as a kid too.  Seared into my brain is a Christmas memory from many years ago (I was five or six) when I opened one present to find this:

Remember these?  You sang into them and it broadcasted the sound through an FM radio frequency.  I totally exhausted the battery out of this thing before Christmas day was over; much to the chagrin of my family who had to listen to me through the family stereo system.  It was an ominous beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.  In high school I sang in our school chorus (it was a show choir actually) and proved to be a reliable second tenor.

I started writing songs around high school, mostly on the piano.  As expected they were nothing to get very excited about - but my family always put up with me banging on the keys and making a bunch of noise.  It wouldn't be until years later that I would hone my songwriting skills to any decent degree; and would have the opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream: release a CD.

Among the Weeds and Wheat was written and produced during my winter term in seminary in Atlanta - I was auditing a class and had basically all day after noon to myself.  I found a guy in town who had a basement studio; he was okay but more importantly he was cheap.   

While I'm Here came out two years later during my first call as an associate pastor.  More importantly, it came before wife and kids, which meant I had both the time and the money to make it happen.  I recorded the second CD with Chris Rosser, a phenomenal singer/songwriter who produced, among other things, a couple of David Lamotte's albums.  Chris lives in Asheville and I would go there every few weeks for a few days at a time, usually crashing at a friend's house nearby.

It was around this time that I ran into Ken Davis in Lexington, NC, where I worked.  Crazy how these things happen.  At the church I was responsible for our Wednesday night programs; and one time I had a speaker bail on me at the last minute.  I recalled a conversation I had with a lady I knew in town; about how her son had just moved back to the area and played music.  So on a whim I called him up and asked if he wouldn't mind filling in for us.  Ken brought his guitar and sang four or five originals; and while I was listening to him I kept saying to myself, "this guy and I need to get together."  Which we did.

And we've been getting together as Acoustic Blend going on nine years now, which truly amazes me.  We do mostly covers, both of us playing guitars and singing; although we do throw in an original or two here and there.  We play pretty much wherever folks invite us to come: coffee houses, wedding receptions, wineries, restaurants, private parties - you name it.  I love the fact that we get together and it's like riding that bike you never forget how to ride, and never want to forget either.  As long as we're in relative close proximity to one another (my move to Mount Airy put us an hour apart but gave us a whole new set of venues to play) I imagine we'll keep doing what we do.

I've found over the years that my songwriting skills have taken a back seat to some of life's other demands: mainly family and work.  I don't have an empty house to sit down in and work out the sketchings of a new tune.  That in addition to the fact that I truly believe my "creative muse" is exhausted every week with my Sunday sermons. So for the time being I continue playing with Ken, as well as recently revisiting the solo scene - which has brought me full-circle in a sense back to the piano too.  In fact, that's the first of two gigs I have this evening: playing at a local restaurant in downtown Mount Airy during the dinner hour.  I'll have both the guitar and piano set up and will play a wide range of tunes, perhaps throwing in a original at some point.

The second gig of the night represents the third manifestation of my musical ventures, as I've recently become an occasional performer with a local band known as Mediocre Bad Guys.  Originally founded as a Jack Johnson cover band, they soon branched out to incorporate a lot of other artists and music.  They really are a phenomenal group of musicians, all located in little ol' Mount Airy, and it's a privilege to play with them.  I'm the occasional keyboardist, called into service as they need me (which I guess makes me a "so-so mediocre bad guy"), getting to have some fun on a Hammond organ and a Yamaha stage piano.  Just as playing with Ken has helped me expand my vocal range, playing with the Bad Guys has forced me to really apply my listening skills beyond simple chord structures and pay attention to the intricacies of the music itself.

Which leads me back to the whole songwriting thing: have I truly lost that forever?  I sense that I haven't; that instead it's just been on hiatus for a few years and perhaps on the verge of resurfacing again.  Next week our oldest will start kindergarten (and you can pretty much expect a blog post on that momentous event) and our youngest will begin preschool - which hopefully will result in some free and uninterrupted time in the living room with the guitar and paper & pen.  And who knows, perhaps another foray in the studio in the years to come.

For the time being, music in my life is manifest in Acoustic Blend, Mediocre Bad Guys, and the occasional solo gig.  Although I will say that my favorite (and most important) gig takes place right here at home.  Every night my wife and I sing to the kids before they go to sleep; and I continue the tradition my Dad started as I sit on the boys' bed and strum a few tunes.  Both of them, by the way, have really taken to music on their own; and it is not uncommon for them to grab their guitar and drums and put on a dinner concert for their mother and me.  We may not be able to hear a word the other says, but I promise you, we're smiling.

And why wouldn't we?  It's truly rewarding to see music come alive.  It's an awful lot like breathing: I don't really know how not to do it.  In some form or fashion it will always be there.