Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Why I am against Amendment One

I imagine it's been obvious, for anyone who's followed me on Facebook or Twitter the past few weeks, that I am opposed to Amendment One - the proposed change to the North Carolina state constitution that would read as follows:

Marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be validated or recognized in this State. 

This amendment, a staple in pretty much every other Southern state, was put on the ballot by our state legislature and has garnered tremendous attention over the past few months leading up to the May 8 vote.

Yet I realized the other day that, while I've done a pretty good job of expressing my opinion on the matter, I haven't really explained why.  And while there are many reasons why I oppose it and voted against it in early voting last week (see picture above), there really is only one true reason why I oppose Amendment One.

Amendment One is poorly worded and, in its attempt to prohibit gay marriage, would create all kinds of legal messiness for those who don't fit the narrowly-defined  "only domestic legal union" equation - namely, unmarried couples, domestic partners, children of those partnerships and even domestic violence victims.  It's bad that these folks have been unwittingly dragged into the fray, but it is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
Amendment One is 100% unnecessary, as there is already a law in North Carolina prohibiting gay marriage.  Proponents of the amendment say it will prevent "activist judges" from overturning the law at some point in the future.  This kind of flawed logic suggests that we need to create constitutional amendments to back up all "important" state laws, much the same way my Time Capsule backs up my Macbook every hour.  The latter is completely necessary (as evidenced by the demise of my computer harddrive last week); Amendment One is not.  But that is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
Amendment One is discriminatory.  Again, defenders balk at the use of this word because, in their mind, they are simply defending "traditional marriage."  And yet, the word "discriminate" means: "to make an unjust or prejudicial distinction in the treatment of different categories of people or things, esp. on the grounds of race, sex, or age."  This is precisely what Amendment One does for gay and lesbian persons - it deprives them of something everyone else has.  Besides, constitutions are about guaranteeing people's rights, not restricting them.  And yet this is still not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
I have a cousin who is gay and currently in a loving and committed relationship (that in no way, I might add, adversely affects my marriage or endangers my two children, as some insist).  They've surrounded themselves with friends and family who love and support them, including mine.  Still, I know they are subjected to ridicule and scorn by those who can't see the person beyond the orientation.  Amendment One has the feel of kicking someone when they're down, heaping more burden on a population that has suffered enough already; almost to the point of cruelty.  But that is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One. 
 
No, the primary reason I oppose Amendment One is because of my Christian faith. 

I know, that sounds strange, doesn't it?  We're used to Christianity being used as a reason (if not the only reason) for supporting the amendment.  We are told, for instance, that the Bible says gay people shouldn't get married and marriage is between one man and one woman.  Which is some selective reading, I might add, since it never actually says that (as I've pointed out to the Genesis 2 crowd, Adam and Eve weren't married); and since the predominant model of marriage in the Bible is one man and multiple women (try King Solomon's 700 wives and 300 concubines on for size).

So while I can't change the fact that pro-Amendment folks try to claim exclusive rights to the Christian mantle, what I can do is claim some of that mantle back and draw attention to the increasing Christian voice against Amendment One, including myself squarely among its ranks.  And make no mistake - it is a strong and legitimate voice, and it is growing.

In a Letter to the Editor I submitted last week to the Winston-Salem Journal, I pointed out that, while there are at best six to eight verses in the entire Bible that are commonly used to denounce homosexuality (with, I might add, questionable interpretation), there are literally thousands of verses calling the faithful to love their neighbor, care for the “least of these,” tend to orphans and widows and most vulnerable, seek justice for all, use governmental power wisely and compassionately, and not mistreat the foreigner in their midst.  It's like an NBA All-Star team stacking up against the woeful Charlotte Bobcats' second string - it's not even close.  When it comes to the sheer weight of scripture, the message of love triumps in a landslide.

And when we look specifically at Jesus as he's presented in the gospels, what we see is a man who didn't just tolerate the oppressed and outcasts, but actually sought them out.  He made a point of hanging out with them, dining with them, immersing himself into their lives no matter who they were or what others thought of them.  It drove the religious authorities nuts.  And for all his talk about loving neighbor and self, Jesus never said a word about homosexuality or gay marriage.  Not one.

So when I look at the scriptures and Jesus' life, I see an overwhelming portrait of Christian tolerance, acceptance, non-judgmentalism, and unconditional love - none of which square with Amendment One.  Because make no mistake: there is nothing loving about Amendment One.   There is nothing loving about legislation that would have all the negative consequences mentioned above.  You could possibly argue that it's "principled" or consistent (in relation to the state law already on the books), but you can't say that it's loving and compassionate in the spirit of Jesus.

I realize there are folks who disagree with me, and I'm okay with that.  I will respect their right to believe something different and hope they will return the courtesy.  It's the wonderful and sometimes frustrating thing about being adherents of the same faith - we can see things differently and still be brothers and sisters in Christ.  I will say this: if I am in error, if I've totally got my signals crossed, then I am fully content with erring on the side of love, rather than on the side of legislation that I feel pretty certain Jesus himself wouldn't be in favor of. 

And that is ultimately why I voted against Amendment One - because I believe, with all my heart, that Jesus would have voted against it too.

We'll see what Tuesday brings.  If it's defeated, I'll give thanks to God and be proud of the state I've lived in all my life.  And if it passes?  I'll be disappointed, but I'll move on with even deeper convictions and a better sense of my voice in the matter.  I'll be enthused by the wide spectrum of folks - people from different generations, different backgrounds, and even different political parties - who have come together on this issue in the spirit of Christ's love and in defense of all of God's children.

And most of all, I'll keep on loving like Jesus, the best that I can.  Thank God that is something that needs no legislation.

Hope comes, as it always does, in new life.

The other night I engaged in my nightly pre-bed ritual of quietly tiptoeing into the boys' rooms.  I walk over to their beds where, God willing, they're fast asleep.  I lay my hand on their heads, just for a second or two.  I don't really say or do anything, but I guess it's kind of a prayer of sorts.  A parental blessing to end the day.

When I went into our oldest son's room, who turned 9 this week, I lingered a bit.  Something was keeping me there.  And then I heard it - well, in my head I heard it.  A question from my past, dragged out of my subconscious:

Do we really want to bring a child into this mess?

It was my wife who posed it, many years before.  She was the braver one, to be honest - brave enough to voice the question that'd been rattling around in both our brains in recent weeks but had, up until that moment, remained unspoken.

Even before we got married, we knew we wanted kids.  Eventually.  A few years to ourselves would be wise; get used to each other and this lifelong dance known as marriage.  But over that summer, things had taken a turn.  Conversations about having kids had gone from strictly hypothetical to more imminent.  As much as we ever could be, we were ready.

And then 9-11 happened.

When severly misguided and sick men fly loaded commercial jets straight into skyscrapers and government buildings and a Pennsylvania field, it can't help but cause you to second-guess your convictions.  And one of those convictions, for us at least, was being parents.  It's hard enough bringing a child into the world and dealing with paying for college and feeding and clothing them, and that strong desire to shield them from anything that would do them harm.  There's a certain accepted level of uncertainty to life.  But after the morning of September 11th, uncertainty kind of burst through the floodgates and saturated us.

The question came a week or so after it happened.  It was a legitimate question.  Why would we want to subject anyone, much less our own flesh and blood, to the sick world outside our doors?  It was hard enough making heads or tails of all things post-9-11 as a grown adult.  How could we ever expect a kid to deal with it?

In the end we realized that, on the contrary, this was the perfect time to have a child.  It was our dream, our calling to be parents.  And to give up on that dream would mean letting the terrorists win.  Because the truth of the matter is that they never really were after buildings and a body count.  They wanted to strike at the very heart of our soul.  And we weren't going to let them do that.

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

Fast forward a few months.  My wife talked me into going to see some new movie about a kid named Harry Potter.  Kind of strange, two grown adults at a kids movie; but it seemed important to her.  Afterwards we dined at the Schlotsky's Deli down the street - good stuff.  We got into the car in the deli parking lot and I asked if there was anywhere she wanted to go before we headed home.  How about Babies R Us?  she asked excitedly, with a noticeable sheepish grin on her face.  I was confused at first.  Why in the world would we ever need to go to..... 

Oh.....!

And that's how my wife told me she was pregnant with our first child.

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

It was the morning of September 11, 2002. I was parked in front of TV, and every channel that morning carried the one-year memorial observance at Ground Zero.  Amazing how beautiful the day was, just like before.  It had been a busy year, a jam-packed year. And yet watching the television, the horror of that morning came flooding back to me as if it had happened yesterday.

There was something different this time around, though. I was holding our two-day old son in my arms.

We were at the hospital, and we were getting ready to go home.  My wife was in the room packing her bag.  Any minute now the nurse would come with the wheelchair, and our family - now three strong - would head to our car parked right outside the hospital front door, courtesy of some strange kindness called "valet service."  We were prepping to leave the comfort and security of the hospital, the nurses and doctors who knew far more about taking care of a newborn than we did.  We were going out into the world that, just a year ago, seemed like it was falling apart.

I held our firstborn son and couldn't stop staring at him, then I glanced up at the TV and the memorial service, then back at our son.  And then I understood:

The terrorists lost.

Hope comes, as it always does, in new life.

Creating in and through our grief

Contrary to what you may think upon reading the first few paragraphs, this is not a post about saying goodbye to beloved pets, which my family and I had to do this past week. Nor is this only about bragging on my kids (not only). This is about the power of the arts in helping us cope with and encapsulate life - the good and the bad and the downright ugly.

My wife and I thought long and hard about whether we wanted to take the boys with us to the vet when they put Tigger, our cat of fourteen years, to sleep last week. It would've been easy to have it done while they were at school.  They knew he'd been sick for a while, and we'd mentioned the possibility of such before they headed out the door that day.  Death is difficult any way you cut it, any way it presents itself; and age doesn't make much difference.  Still, when I realized that my initial instinct was more about protecting me than them, I knew they needed to be there.

That didn't make it any easier, though. It's hard enough dealing with your own grief when you've got your flesh and blood dealing with theirs - grief you would gladly take on without a moment's hesitation if you could. There are a lot of times when we parents feel absolutely helpless when it comes to what our kids experience.  We'd take on that skinned knee in a heartbeat; we'd don their disappointment of not making the team if we could, and we'd certainly bear their burden of grief in the midst of saying goodbye to a family pet.

All of which made what happened when we got home even more powerful.  I plopped down on my green recliner with a glass of water and iPhone to achieve maximum distraction.  I was keeping my grief at arm's distance.  Meanwhile, my two boys dove head-first into theirs like it was their summer swimming pool.  The 8-year old retreated to his room and emerged to ask for his mother's computer and pictures of the cat. Within an hour he somehow manged to create this tribute video using that computer, his digital camera and ipod speakers.  At the same time, our six-year told me that he had a song he'd written for Tigger.  The first line was classic: He was a good old cat / but he died at the vet.  Now that's clever.  From there it talked about how it was sad that he died and how Tigger bit him one time but that's okay now; and there were also a lot of "oh yeah's" thrown in there for good measure, cause every good song has to have some of those.

Now I have no way to prove this, but I seriously doubt my wife and I would've experienced a video montage and new tune had our boys not been with us at the vet that day.  And while neither will be gracing the presence of the Cannes Film Festival or the Billboard 100 anytime soon, I was struck by how both of them - instinctively and with zero prompting from their parents - turned to art in the midst of their grief, as a way to help them through that grief.  Self-expression, through whatever medium, has an uncanny way of tapping into someting deep inside us; something that needs to find its way out but can't do so through conventional means.  And somehow it finds its way out much more naturally in pictures, in song, in paintings, in poetic expression, in dance.

And it needs to get out.  To a degree, we all are little pressure cookers walking around each day, harnessing the stressors and saddling the anxieties that are part of life.  For the most part, we excel at keeping them at bay with busy schedules and numerous distractions.  But at some point - usually in the dark of night when we're lying in bed and all around us is still - we feel the weight of the world on our shoulders. And at some point that weight has to give.

The best thing to do, as my kids showed me, is release the burden before it becomes too much to bear.  Proactive grief creativity!  Think of the number of amazing songs composed in the midst of turmoil and strife (Fleetwood Mac made an entire album out of them a few years back).  Check out the painting above, created by Karen when she was in the midst of her own grief.  I like the way she says in her story that she had no idea where she was going with this when she started.  She just "went."  She let the creative muse work its way from her hands and eyes to the paintbrush and canvas.

I always learn something from my boys; it's the nature of being a parent.  But I'm especially glad they took the time to teach me this particular lesson.  If nothing else, it's convinced me even more that before that we must keep the arts in our children's schools.  God forbid a generation that doesn't have self-expression to turn to when they need to feel something so deeply and completely.

Greatest of These

I don't usually try to write a song in a week. Heck, I'm lucky if I can pen a decent tune in a month.  But sometimes the creative muse flows freely, as it did this past week, and I don't ask why when it does.

The chorus came first; I started humming it in the car on Tuesday.  The rest came later that afternoon. It's not done yet - more tweaking to come, I'm sure.  I know for certain I'll transpose it to piano, not only for a better overall feel but mainly because the open tuning on the guitar sounds too much like this silliness, and I just can't have that.

I sang this today in worship at the end of my sermon.  It's not the greatest quality, but not too shabby for a lapel mic and standalone (props to Mark Brown for his A/V acumen).  I hope to use it when I lead music for the 2012 Montreat Collegiate Conference too, on piano.  I think it'll work nicely as a singalong.

So - a song in progress. Let me know your thoughts.  Lyrics below...

Greatest Of These (worship 7.24.2011) by stevelindsley

I may speak with the tongues of the angels
I may give my all away
I may move the mountains with my belief
But if I don't have love - If I don't have love...
I can use my power for selfish gain
Living like I wanna live
I can die a martyr and a saint
But if I don't have love - If I don't have love...
I once couldn't see
Now I believe, I believe

In faith, hope
And the greatest of these is love
Faith, hope
And the greatest of these is love, greatest is love

When the world defines you by what you do
Love will show you whose you are
All a part of God's great family
This is why we love, this is why we love
Battles rage and lines are drawn in the sand
Cause we learn to live in fear
Love comes down with the promise of something new
It’s greater than the fear, love is greater than the fear
Sometimes we can't see
Lord help us believe, believe

In faith, hope
And the greatest of these is love
Faith, hope
And the greatest of these is love
Greatest is love

Camping with the kid

About three months ago, out of the blue, my eight-year old son says to me, "Dad, I want to go camping."  I told him that was a cool idea and Mom and I would talk and find a date on our family calendar. "No Dad," he responded, "I meant just me and you."  Just me and you.  You got it, kid.

I have fond memories of the dozen or so times my parents, brother and I packed the tent and enjoyed the wilds of nature. Up until now the only camping experience our family had enjoyed was a few years ago.... in the backyard. Testing out the new tent, you see.  It was time to do the real thing.

We were supposed to head out a few Fridays ago, but strong rains caused us to postpone until this past week.  We decided to try out the campsites at nearby Pilot Mountain as a good first venture.  Being a good Dad I swore off the iphone for anything other than emergency calls. Had I tweeted the experience, ala our family Disney trip a year ago, though, it would've gone something like this:

FRIDAY

Here we go! A night with little sleep is in my future.  I'm cool with that.

Stopped at gas station on the way to get a few things we forgot.  Probably not the last time, knowing me.

Yep. Stopped again. More stuff we forgot. But now we got it.

Man. This boy can talk a lot. Wonder where he gets that from. #potcallingkettleblack

Campsite #26. It's ours. Awesome.

"Don't worry about getting bored, Dad. I've brought some activities for us to do." This kid is gonna be my personal program director for the next 20 hours.

Tent is up. And surprisingly, in the words of the red Staples button, that was easy.

Taking a walk around the campground. Working up an appetite for the grilled goodness that is to come.

Omigosh, this kid can talk. Have I said that already?

Dinner is served. Hot dogs roasted over the fire with coat hangers. Sour cream & onion potato chips. A meal fit for two young men.

First thing I wish I remembered to bring: stadium chairs. Those would've been real nice about now. Crap.

It's only 8:15. How can I already be ready for bed?

S'mores!! In related news, marshmallows look really cool when they burn on hot coals.

Realizing that a campsite with lots of rocks and roots becomes a bit of an issue once the sun goes down. #thingsi'llremembernexttime

Five trips to the bathhouse in five hours for the little one. That's gotta break some record.

Huge loud bugs outside the tent as we're going to sleep. Glad they're not inside. A little too close to nature that would be.

Sleeping on the ground is not really comfortable. It interferes with your sleep, you see.

In the silent of the night at some hour I don't know, I hear this Enrique song playing in my head. Where'd that come from?!  Please, someone, stop the torture.

SATURDAY

Hello 6am. Why is my boy up with you?

Bananas and honey buns. It's the breakfast of champions. What I'd give for a cup of coffee right now.

The kid says, "When I grow up I'm going to take my family camping a lot. Do you think they have campsites in Los Angeles?"

Time for our hike. Two miles to the top of Pilot Mountain. We'll see how far we get.

Dude on a mountain bike passed us on the trail. Now that's hard-core, people.

My son's favorite phrase on the hike: "Oh wow, I need a picture of that!" He means it too. So we stop a lot.

Made it!!  http://twitpic.com/52k00o

Just occurred to me that today is supposed to be the Rapture. Guess being up on a mountain will work to our advantage, perhaps?

Note to self: going down the mountain is harder on the knees than going up. #OW

He still hasn't stopped talking. And I still haven't stopped listening.

Last thing before we leave: leaf colorings. It was his idea. Not sure it'll work with the crayola markers he brought, but we'll make a go of it..

Well, whadya know. It worked. Sorta. You know what else worked? Camping with my son. So glad we could do this.

Close call

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  This one only needs seventeen:

A tree fell in our yard yesterday.
It barely missed our car.
It demolished our basketball goal.

It goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that we are most grateful that the car was spared.  If it looks like the tree fell just to the side of the car, that's exactly what it did.  There was literally no space between the tree and the side of the bumper.  The car did get nicked up a bit, but nothing any more serious than someone opening another car door into its side.  This "branch" that fell is part of a huge Bradford Pear in our yard (the rest of which will be coming down soon, I can assure you), and with its size and dense heavy wood it easily weighs over a thousand pounds.  Six inches more to the right and it would've crushed our little hybrid. 

That's the story this picture tells.  But what I'm even more grateful for is the story this picture doesn’t tell.

About 15-20 minutes before this happened, my eldest son and I were heading out the door to take our dog for a walk.  Our youngest asked me to move the car so he could play basketball.  In a moment of lazy parenting I said no, for no other reason than the keys were upstairs in my bedroom and I didn't want to go get them.  I asked him to join us instead, not sure if he would.  Somewhat surprisingly, he did.

We were getting ready to turn the bend in the road to come home when we heard the horrible "cracking" sound.  I knew it was either a tree in the woods across from us or one in our yard.  Turned out to be the latter.  As I ran up and surveyed the scene, it didn't take long for me to realize that, had I moved the car as my son requested to shoot baskets, he would've been right underneath it when it fell.

We're bummed about the basketball goal, but honestly, it needed to be replaced anyway.  And we're thankful that the car got out of all of this relatively scot-free.  But we're obviously most thankful that my son was walking with me and not shooting baskets. Perhaps I should try to be a lazy parent more often.

Big News for May 9th

May 9th, for the most part, will be a typical morning for me.  I may go for an early morning jog before everyone else in the Lindsley house gets up.  I'll get ready for work, run the boys to school, head to the office and start working on Sunday's sermon.

And I'll also release my new album. :-)

After months of writing and rewriting, studio time in Winston-Salem, recording on Mitch Easter's killer Yamaha C-7, composing string parts with a guy in Nashville, listening to innumerable mixes, singing on a track with my family and friends, taking one cool trip to Kitchen Mastering in Chapel Hill, and giving the green light for the absolute final set of masters, I'm  proud to announce that Let Go will be released on the morning of May 9th.  I've put a lot of my heart into these seven songs and approached the whole project as if it would be my last.  Translation: I didn't cut any corners.  I know it's natural to feel that your most recent project is your best, but there's no doubt that this is hands-down the best of my four studio efforts as far as recording, production, performance and songwriting in general.

So here's how it'll go down: on the morning of May 9th I'll release the album as a free download (you can read about why I'm giving the album away for free here) at http://let-go.stevelindsley.com.  Not only will you be able to download the album there, but you'll also be able to read the credits, liner notes and lyrics.  In addition, the mp3 itself will be encoded with lyrics and artwork so you'll get to see all that stuff when you sync it up to your ipod.

If you happen to be a member of the church I serve, you're in for a special treat.  Since this entire project was born out the sabbatical experience we took part in together last summer, every "family unit" at the church will receive a free CD, to be given out the day before.  A simple "thank you" not only for going on the sabbatical with me but for the eight years we've been together!

And since I'm not charging anything for the album, I have no problems whatsoever with folks copying it and sharing it.  In fact, I'm begging you to do that!  The "success" of this album won't depend on how much money I'll be making from it (obviously), but on how many people get to hear it.  I hope when it comes out on May 9th that you'll enjoy it and then share it to your heart's content!

I'll send out reminders on May 9th on this blog and on the album's Facebook page - but go ahead and mark your calendars and spread the word!

Oh, how our kids surprise us...

If you happened to be at First Presbyterian's worship service this past Sunday, or if you got to listen to the service online, you will recall how my eight-year old inadvertently participated in the Sunday sermon.  In my sermon I was recounting a story about our family trip to Disney World last May and how the boys got to duel Darth Maul at the Jedi Training Academy in Hollywood Studios (not Universal Studios, as I erroneously said). I mentioned that we visited this particular attraction on Wednesday.  And during the ever-so-slight pause I took before my next sentence, my son instinctively blurted out, It was Tuesday.  It wasn't loud, but loud enough for the whole congregation to hear.  Everyone had a good laugh about it, preacher's kid interrupting his minister Dad and all.  Classic.  After worship, church members were eager to comment, with most falling in one of two camps: "Hey, at least he was listening," and "He is so your son."

(And for the record, it was later confirmed by the wife that the day we went to Jedi Training was in fact Wednesday ;-)

How appropriate that earlier today a friend sent me the following 30-second video clip that you'll definitely want to see.  This is the same Disney attraction our kids took part in (although the stage is a little different). You must check this out. Enjoy!

Home is where the car is

A 1928 Graham Page Model 610, to be exact.  But really, it's about much more than the car.

I came across this story the other day - about a family of six who have been driving this Graham Paige around the world for eleven years.  Yep, you heard right - a family (the kids are 8, 5, 3, 1 and have each been born in a different country).  And yep, a trip around the world.  Two dozen countries and close to 150,000 miles, to be precise. They eat and sleep in the car.  Homeschool their kids and play games in the car.  It is their means of transportation, their living room and bedroom, their kitchen and classroom.  It is their home.

I must admit, I'm truly amazed by this, for a couple of reasons. My family and I can barely survive the five-hour trip to the beach every summer.  If it weren't for the car DVD player my wife and I invested in a few years ago, our collective sanity would be in jeopardy.  The fact that these six people have cohabitated like this for over a decade says something about their family or about mine, or maybe both.

Along with that, though, I find myself bemused at how they do this and keep semblance of a family life.  I come from a line of thinking that suggests a family's vitality and overall success depend on how "grounded" it is.  And for me, as I imagine for many, that "groundedness" is quite literal; having a central gathering place.  A place where, after our individual agendas each day - the boys with their school and activities, my wife and I with our jobs and errands - we can reunite and huddle up together until we do it all again the next day.  It's hard to divorce this kind of thinking from a physical center that is unchanging.

But then I realize - for the Zapp family, that unchanging center is the car.  Or more precisely, it's the family of six in the car.  They are their own center, and from that center they experience the world around them.  And they experience that world up close and personal, as the article brings to light.  Rather than stay in one place and learn about the world from a distance, they move around and experience everything up close and personal.  And they experience it together.

My wife and kids have nothing to worry about as far as me growing some wild hair and pulling a stunt like this.  But I do think we can learn something valuable from the Zapps about the construct of the American family.  Contrary to what our culture may tell us, we don't need a two-story with 2.5 baths and a well-manicured lawn to make it as a family. We don't even need more than one car.  All we really need is each other.

Although if we happen to do it with a 1928 Graham Page Model 610, that's gotta be considered a plus.

Recording with the fam

Cross one more thing off the bucket list.

I've always wanted to record with a large vocal group.  Back in '99 when I was working on While I'm Here, I toyed around with having a gospel choir sing with me on "Radiance."  It didn't happen, much to my chagrin.  So when I started working on this latest project, I wanted to make sure I had a group-sing number.  I just didn't know what the song would be.

The beauty of working on a song in the studio is watching the way it evolves.  Sometimes the tune doesn't change all that much from the original guitar/vocal demo you brought in, other than adding in some extra instruments.  Other times, though, the song goes in a totally different direction.  I originally wrote "The Dance" as a folky band tune.  Cute little guitar riff, upbeat tempo.  But I already had one of those on this six-song project and didn't want 1/3 of the album to fall in that niche.  So one day on a whim, I tried out the piano and more of a ballad version.  This naturally led to a group chorus at the end - more campire feel than choir, more organic "na-na-na" vocals than polished parts. Hey, The Beatles did it on "Hey Jude" and it worked for them, right?   

I leaned heavily on Doug to gather some singers together; folks who are part of the Winston-Salem music scene that he's so entrenched in.  I asked a few special people I knew as well - my Acoustic Blend partner Ken Davis, fellow Mediocre Bad Guys bandmates Doug and Les Slate (Jerry had a prior engagement).  I was thrilled to have the vocal prowess of Athenaeum's Mark Kano as well - I got to know Mark during the Vagabond Saints Society's Elton John show last fall.  But by far the guest singers I was most excited about were my wife and two boys.  Yep, the Lindsley Family Von Trapp! Or something like that.

We descended en masse on the Davis house Sunday afternoon.  Because these kind folks were doing this for free, I wanted to make it a bit of a party.  So we had food and beverages and brought some lounge chairs out on the driveway, right next to the studio.  The weather was a tad chilly, but other than that it was the perfect setup.  We split everyone into groups of five and took them into the studio one at a time; they would gather around a single condensor mic with headphones in tow, listen to the vocal part for a minute, and then let it rip.  Each group took no more than 10-15 minutes.  And the sound was exactly what Doug and I were looking for - laid-back singing, random harmonies cropping up here and there, very organic and pure.

The Lindsley clan were the last to take their turn in the studio.  The mic was about six feet off the floor, so our youngest stood in a chair and our oldest sat on a stool.  What I remember most were the smiles on the faces of all three of them when the track came through our headphones and we were getting ready to sing.  While I still get that surge of excitement every time I step into the mic booth and hear Doug say, "We're rolling," I'd forgotten how thrilling it was that very first time.  It was very cool to relive that moment through my wife and sons yesterday.  There were funny moments too - at one point I looked over and saw our Oldest cupping his hands around his mouth, practically yelling his part instead of singing it.  I quickly motioned for him to stop.  Later he would tell me, "I just wanted to make sure they heard me."  My boy.

Some folks grabbed a handful of crackers and a drink and left pretty much after they finished singing, but others hung around and enjoyed the fellowship.  Which is exactly what I wanted.  This wasn't just about getting an awesome-sounding recording (which Doug feels we did, incidentally).  This was about creating a community of music, even if just for a few short hours on a Sunday afternoon. It was also about including my family in something that is such a big part of my life - making music. We've got the pictures and memories to relive it. And, hopefully in the next few months, we'll have some songs as well.

So thanks to the following individuals for taking part! Lee Terry, Susan Terry, Leah Shaw, Beth Clinch, Audrey Muck, Ken Mohan, Kimberly Tillman, Ayana, Les Slate, Ken Davis, Lorie Lindsley, Connor Lindsley, Hunter Lindsley, Kresha Waldrop, Sal Burnette, Molly Davis, Doug Davis, Sophie Davis, Mark Kano.

And because I'd be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to bring it up:

TO SIGN UP FOR STEVE'S EMAIL LIST TO BE NOTIFIED OF THE ALBUM'S RELEASE, CLICK HERE

TO BECOME A FAN OF THE LET GO FACEBOOK PAGE, CLICK HERE