I sang “Where or When” at the last FUSE Production cabaret. The audience said they enjoyed it a lot; I also enjoyed singing it. I managed this time to keep my eyebrows from making me look silly. I also managed to focus on the camera instead of on the audience, which, for this number at least, was a good decision. The next element of my performances I’d like to change is the prolific, side-to-side head-shaking I do every time I attempt to be expressive on a longer note. For my next performances, which will likely be “The Impossible Dream” and “Lily’s Eyes,” I’ll try to eliminate it completely by either keeping my head still or using one long head turn if I have to.
Is Daniel Lanois actually David Ruis? Vocally, I can barely tell them apart.
I am grateful for the Peters and the warm, fuzzy, family feeling I get when we come over for dinner—which we did tonight (eating the first of our venison in a chili Carla made) but which doesn’t happen nearly often enough these days. And it’s a funny observation where there used to be a bunch of teenage girls, now there are a bunch of teenage boys!
I am grateful for the theological flexibility I enjoy, which allows me to look at texts like Romans 13:11-14, which appear upon first reading to reinforce the idea that Paul was, like Jesus, Peter, and probably all the New Testament writers, mistaken in a belief in a literal, observable return of Jesus within his lifetime, and shrug my shoulders, saying, “Well, it could be that Paul was mistaken. And if he was, and even if Jesus was, it doesn’t change my commitment to Jesus. After all, Christianity is primarily a Way, not a Belief. Nevertheless, there are other interpretations: Perhaps Paul’s text does indeed refer to the divine judgement represented by the Jewish Wars and the destruction of Jerusalem—the context supports living a good life and honoring the authorities so as not to be caught up in the fires of judgment rained, which feasibly could have extended as far as Rome to anyone who associated themselves with the Jews, which would’ve included most Christians, I would think.”
I am grateful for being able to enjoy my own voice and share it with others who enjoy it, too. I shared “The Restroom Door Said Gentlemen” with the Peters over dinner. And Rich wrote as we corresponded about my selection for the next cabaret, “‘Friendship’ would be great! But you would still have to show off your pipes! Do you know ‘Where or When’ Rodgers and Hart?”
Bonus: I have persuaded Carla to agree to sing Cole Porter’s “Friendship” at the next FUSE Productions cabaret!
Here is the tidbit I think I’ll take home with from tonight’s Christmas-themed cabaret: Where should I point my eyes? Pick a point on the back wall about eye level—and sing to it and it only. It is a mistake to watch the audience, because then you tune in to their reactions or lack thereof and start to worry. Don’t be afraid to be an island within yourself, because they’ll enjoy watching it more if I just act.
Today I am grateful for Richard Biever, who works an awful lot under the auspices of his proprietorship FUSE Productions to bring the joys of taking in—and participating in—high-quality theatre to State College. I visited his house midday today to run through “O Holy Night” and suggest that I also sing “The Restroom Door Said Gentleman.”
I am also grateful for Carla, who continues to apply herself assiduously to making a happy Christmas for everyone in her social circle. Unfortunately, she said on our midday drive to HobbyTown USA today that she feels like she is losing God through it all.
A major plus about “Maria”: its highest note, a B♭, happens on the syllable “ma,” which is about as friendly a high-note syllable as one could request.
If, in my old age, you asked me to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you it was a day I had intended to go hear Paul McCartney play at the Bryce Jordan Center—his first and probably last concert in State College, PA—but had neither found someone to go buy scalped tickets with (Carla was at a Council meeting) nor communicated well with the babysitter, Molly Hunter, who wasn’t going to have a ride home. Top that off with a $475 bicycle maintenance bill earlier that day, and you get me canceling with the babysitter at 6:30 p.m. It helps that I’ve never cared much for arena concerts and that the babysitter had four big exams happening all the next day.
Such is life when you prioritize: Some things go neglected. And very often they are the things that should go neglected.
There’s plenty of high-quality Christian music out there. Why not spin it more often? Listening to a few Jars and Crowder tracks this evening reminds me that I need not be shy.
My favorite thing is to make that piano reveberate [sic] like an explosive bāss violin.
— Sullivan, pronouncing “bass” like the fish, explaining what he loves about playing his new instrument
If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I’d tell you that it was a day I remembered that chills had suggested back in January that I start building a habit of singing new songs to God.
As I revisited Psalm 33, where I had found the chills about singing new songs and becoming skilled at making music to You, I found some other new things:
- “No king is saved by the great size and power of his army; a mighty man is not delivered by much strength. A horse is devoid of value for victory; neither does he deliver any by his great power,” i.e., I’m not going to find salvation by having the whole Internet at my disposal, and it’s not the heaviest intellects that get God. So give it up.
- “Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You”—uh oh, I haven’t been setting my hope on You, now, God, now have I? I felt a little ashamed.
If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about January 11, 2015 in my life, I would tell you it was the day I discovered a way to do something about the goosebumps I felt the other day reading Psalm 33: get out the new Kala KA-T] ukulele my mother gave me for Christmas and start making music to God, learning the instrument as I go.
I discovered this as a I sat on the love-seat in our living room this evening, clumsily strumming along with the chord sheet for “Jesus Is Yours” up on my computer, which sat on the seat of the rocking chair across from me while the kids drifted off to sleep in their bunk bed and Carla watched a television program on her computer from the living room sofa.
In time, I hope to write my own songs and perhaps sing-pray with this uke.
I would also tell you that today was the day I was proud of Éa and Carla for working hard enough on learning to read to be able to read the words “creek,” “shrug,” “wreck,” and “recent,” which my dad spelled in bathtub letters perched on a wooden rack and displayed to her via Skype.
I would also tell you that through the same exercise with Sullivan, the kids learned what the word “conscience” means—a word Carla had suggested my dad spell to try to stump Sullivan, and incidentally the word that got me booted from my fifth-grade spelling bee.
Finally, I would also tell you that I enjoyed a game of hide-and-seek with Sullivan and Éa at the Peters’ house—an excellent house for the game—after house church today. I would tell you about the inviting peace I sensed upon entering the Peters’ den, where a wood stove roared, and the joy I felt by hiding from the kids by sitting under Carla on a recliner in the middle of the Peters’ living room.
I got goosebumps this evening when I read…
“…Sing for joy in the Lord, O you righteous ones; Praise is becoming to the upright. Give thanks to the Lord with the lyre; Sing praises to Him with a harp of ten strings. Sing to Him a new song; Play skillfully with a shout of joy. For the word of the Lord is upright, And all His work is done in faithfulness. He loves righteousness and justice; The earth is full of the lovingkindness of the Lord.
[…]
“Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him, On those who hope for His lovingkindness, To deliver their soul from death And to keep them alive in famine. Our soul waits for the Lord; He is our help and our shield. For our heart rejoices in Him, Because we trust in His holy name. Let Your lovingkindness, O Lord, be upon us, According as we have hoped in You” (Psalm 33:1-5,18-22).
And I think I got goosebumps because I’m supposed to have this same attitude in me. And I’m supposed to sing to Him.
The thing I’m most grateful for today is all the music-making that happened in my house, especially the “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem” with Matt and the three Christmas carols at the piano right before bedtime with Carla and the kids.
I’ll note three things today:
- Carla got a conclusive answer about her allergies today from the allergist: She is allergic to dust mites. Hearing this relieved and excited me, because we finally now have a definite problem with definite solutions. I am eager to help her feel better.
- Carla reminded me this evening that I can set boundaries and say no to the kids. I was expressing consternation that it was so difficult to concentrate on something I wanted to accomplish, like (this evening) finding a way to sing those B♭s in “Valjean’s Soliloquy,” while in the presence of the kids because they—especially Sullivan—would interrupt with chatter or questions or requests. She made it very simple and was in fact surprised that I was not setting boundaries. Thanks, Carla.
- Reading about Jairus’ daughter this evening in The Jesus Storybook Bible found me asking inwardly, “Is this stuff going to hold up for her against 21st-century naturalistic bias? It seems like it’s ripe for scoffing and skepticism. Actually, I almost feel silly believing that this stuff actually happened. Is Jesus necessary?” Father, may it hold.
It was a delight yesterday to hear with the kids the Penn State senior flute quartet play with this piece, which had a lick I think they borrowed from Debussy. They did just that: play, passing the fetching melody back and forth, making for an exquisitely planned but apparently ludic soundscape. It made me think of God.
I woke up this morning with Raffi’s “All I Really Need” in my head. According to Mr. Cavoukian, here’s the list:
- a song in my heart
- food in my belly
- love in my family
- the rain to fall
- the sun to shine
- some clean water for drinking
- clean air for breathing
Many fewer people than do, myself included, have reason to complain or doubt whether God is good.
My suspicion is that God put the song in my head overnight. A nice little gift.
With Resurrection Letters Vol. 2, all Andrew Peterson needs to be the second (and improved) musical coming of Rich Mullins is a hammered dulcimer.
Finding Christian music I like is harder than finding non-Christian music I like because the lyrics matter more: You not only have to find music you like, you also have to find a theological bent you agree with. And you’re working with a smaller subset of the populations, so the pickings are slimmer.
The family couldn’t get enough “Hayloft” as covered by Nickel Creek today. (Well, that and Éa liked Dave Edmunds’ “I Hear You Knocking.”) This made me uncomfortable.
“When informed that someone has achieved an American synthesis of Led Zeppelin and Yes, all I can do is hold my ears and say gosh.”
— Robert Christgau, of Boston (1976), in a capsule review makes me laugh out loud
They remastered Aqualung in 2011, and somehow I missed it. Now, if only Ian Anderson had been less crotchety about God and religion.
For the second consecutive year, I’ve been referred to Chris Kiver by an outstanding member of the State College Choral Society to audition for the Orpheus Singers: Colleen emailed me today about it.
Other than the remarkable depth to which my telling her as an aside that I wasn’t going to sing with the Choral Society this season felt like a confession, the thing I found most remarkable about my emotional response to this message was how much it stirred up again my desires to be a specialist. To pick something, just one thing, and concentrate all my energies into mastering it. Choral singing, solo singing, pop singing, hootenannies, improving neighborhood walkability, improving neighborhood bikeability, building relationships in my neighborhood, front-end web development, sales, tweeting, music appreciation—the list of possibilities feels endless. However, nothing pulls my affections like singing, perhaps because it’s the one with which I have the longest history, the one for which I feel most guilty not having pursued.
But unless my soul changes, I need to consider the following: I want to do those other things. If I plunge into singing to the depth I feel like I want to, I will not be able to tweet, organize Houserville Social Club, engage civically, work on my house, listen through the classical repertoire, or any of the other activities I so enjoy. I would only be able to stand utter commitment to becoming a singer for so long before I’d bail in favor of my life as an enthusiastic generalist.
With “40 (How Long),” U2 beat IHOPKC to harp & bowl by fifteen years.
I bought Carla some flowers today. Consider it an improvement on the one cut rose per year we’ve been married.
Singings lessons didn’t feel as good this week as they did last week. But I’m taking it in stride: As with Carla and local governance, I still have so much to learn about singing.