We find grace when we push against our imperfections and limitations.
(An unpublished post from earlier this summer)
My voice is and ever will be imperfect. Years ago I took a shot to the throat in a pickup game of ultimate frisbee, and since then there's always been a crackle in my vocal range. When I'm tired or singing tight, my words careen into this crack. On my better days my voice leaps the crackle. On bad days and early mornings, not so much. Do you share an imperfection like this in your life? How do you deal? We find ourselves when we push against our imperfections, our limitations.
THE SANTA MONICA MUSIC SESSIONS - TAKE TWO
To write and record an album, you need the right space, and the open floor plan of Andy's house on the side of a hill in Santa Monica fits the bill perfectly. I won't describe the outside. I won't tell you how through the glass doors there's a couch on the deck. I'll completely avoid describing the two palm trees that rise from the sloping yard below, and how they frame the concrete expanse of LAX in the distance, where I flew in just hours earlier. Best not to say anything about the bay window with a view toward the open expanse of the Pacific, invisible under a blanket of fog and smog. No, none of that would be appropriate for a blog with "rambler" in the title. I'll only describe the interior of the house for the sake of this post, because outside the thermometer is pushing 84 degrees, and it would be criminal to mention that California considers this a "heat wave."
"Heat." "Wave."
Coffee stains + a rough draft: "Some Things You Need To Let Go."
Andy has transformed his living room into our recording studio: guitars, amps, a drum kit, Kawai piano, and Kurzweil keyboard, all carefully arranged to achieve sonic perfection. On one wall a movie projector is showing a concert from My Morning Jacket, who I used to confuse with My Chemical Romance, which was as criminal as this "heatwave," because My Morning Jacket is a jam band worth listening to and My Chemical Romance is...not. Either way, I think My Morning Smoking Jacket would have been a
better name.
Our band doesn't have a name. We are June 22, 2016 at Andy's house. He has his guitar. I have a head full of lyrics and ideas and half a voice to sing them. And we record and mix the whole thing on my laptop. This happens for about a week, and by the end of it we have eight songs complete with sheet music. I didn't feel so sure about any of that the first night I arrived.
That night a few of Andy's friends come, and we jam. Well, they jam. I listen. They sound good. Ryan Adams, Coldplay, Ray LaMontagne. If I could play something, I'd join in, but I can't. Not really. I'm the poet mixed in with musicians.
A few more cover songs slide by. Then Andy says that we are going to share one of our original songs with everyone else. He pulls out the sheet music for "Kingdom Come," which we wrote the last time I was in Santa Monica.
For me, this is not easy. I'm jetlagged, nervous, and haven't warmed up my voice. I'm not at home among true musicians, but my life isn't about being at home. It's about traveling a thousand miles for the chance to make music with my friend. So I sing, Andy plays, and his friends join in. Drums, light at first, feeling out the rhythm. Keyboard, looking for the right key, finding it. Andy's voice steady on the harmony. Mine...not so much. Crackling like the pilot light on a gas burner, looking for the fuel to make the flame. Ah, there's the fuel, down in my spiritual reserve. "Sunday Girl": A song that begins with a boy seeing a mysterious surfer girl and ends with him sitting in a church...and closer to God than he expected.
I sing:
Sunday girl
Dancer on a sapphire stage
Sunday girl
Jewel upon the water
Sunday girl
A flame that lit a greater flame (within him)
Sunday girl
And all he wanted was to know her name
My voice is and ever will be imperfect. Years ago I took a shot to the throat in a pickup game of ultimate frisbee, and since then there's always been a crackle in my upper vocal range. When I'm tired or singing tight, my words careen into this crack. On my better days my voice leaps the crackle. On bad days and early mornings, not so much. Do you share an imperfection like this in your life? How do you deal? On good days and bad, it always helps if I focus on the meaning of the words. I push myself out of my own head, my own self-consciousness. There's a spanish word, duende, the passion that outperforms the performance and the performer. Yes, that is what I'm reaching for in these words. A passion that pushes me beyond talent and training. How else could I ever write a poem, a song, a novel? We find ourselves when we push against our imperfections, our limitations. We find grace, and we let ourselves race across it like the Spirit raced across the face of the waters. I make it past the crackle tonight and into duende and grace.
We finish my song, Andy's song. One of the guys tells me, "It's pretty singable stuff."
I hope to have some of this singable stuff available for your listening pleasure in the coming years. If so, we owe it to Andy's wonderful wife and kids, who let us take over the home for a few days in the midst of this heat wave, to throw down another layer of sound and story on our first album together.
PS -- Andy's solo album is here.
My voice is and ever will be imperfect. Years ago I took a shot to the throat in a pickup game of ultimate frisbee, and since then there's always been a crackle in my vocal range. When I'm tired or singing tight, my words careen into this crack. On my better days my voice leaps the crackle. On bad days and early mornings, not so much. Do you share an imperfection like this in your life? How do you deal? We find ourselves when we push against our imperfections, our limitations.
THE SANTA MONICA MUSIC SESSIONS - TAKE TWO
To write and record an album, you need the right space, and the open floor plan of Andy's house on the side of a hill in Santa Monica fits the bill perfectly. I won't describe the outside. I won't tell you how through the glass doors there's a couch on the deck. I'll completely avoid describing the two palm trees that rise from the sloping yard below, and how they frame the concrete expanse of LAX in the distance, where I flew in just hours earlier. Best not to say anything about the bay window with a view toward the open expanse of the Pacific, invisible under a blanket of fog and smog. No, none of that would be appropriate for a blog with "rambler" in the title. I'll only describe the interior of the house for the sake of this post, because outside the thermometer is pushing 84 degrees, and it would be criminal to mention that California considers this a "heat wave."
"Heat." "Wave."
Coffee stains + a rough draft: "Some Things You Need To Let Go."Andy has transformed his living room into our recording studio: guitars, amps, a drum kit, Kawai piano, and Kurzweil keyboard, all carefully arranged to achieve sonic perfection. On one wall a movie projector is showing a concert from My Morning Jacket, who I used to confuse with My Chemical Romance, which was as criminal as this "heatwave," because My Morning Jacket is a jam band worth listening to and My Chemical Romance is...not. Either way, I think My Morning Smoking Jacket would have been a
better name.
Our band doesn't have a name. We are June 22, 2016 at Andy's house. He has his guitar. I have a head full of lyrics and ideas and half a voice to sing them. And we record and mix the whole thing on my laptop. This happens for about a week, and by the end of it we have eight songs complete with sheet music. I didn't feel so sure about any of that the first night I arrived.
That night a few of Andy's friends come, and we jam. Well, they jam. I listen. They sound good. Ryan Adams, Coldplay, Ray LaMontagne. If I could play something, I'd join in, but I can't. Not really. I'm the poet mixed in with musicians.
A few more cover songs slide by. Then Andy says that we are going to share one of our original songs with everyone else. He pulls out the sheet music for "Kingdom Come," which we wrote the last time I was in Santa Monica.
For me, this is not easy. I'm jetlagged, nervous, and haven't warmed up my voice. I'm not at home among true musicians, but my life isn't about being at home. It's about traveling a thousand miles for the chance to make music with my friend. So I sing, Andy plays, and his friends join in. Drums, light at first, feeling out the rhythm. Keyboard, looking for the right key, finding it. Andy's voice steady on the harmony. Mine...not so much. Crackling like the pilot light on a gas burner, looking for the fuel to make the flame. Ah, there's the fuel, down in my spiritual reserve. "Sunday Girl": A song that begins with a boy seeing a mysterious surfer girl and ends with him sitting in a church...and closer to God than he expected.
I sing:
Sunday girl
Dancer on a sapphire stage
Sunday girl
Jewel upon the water
Sunday girl
A flame that lit a greater flame (within him)
Sunday girl
And all he wanted was to know her name
My voice is and ever will be imperfect. Years ago I took a shot to the throat in a pickup game of ultimate frisbee, and since then there's always been a crackle in my upper vocal range. When I'm tired or singing tight, my words careen into this crack. On my better days my voice leaps the crackle. On bad days and early mornings, not so much. Do you share an imperfection like this in your life? How do you deal? On good days and bad, it always helps if I focus on the meaning of the words. I push myself out of my own head, my own self-consciousness. There's a spanish word, duende, the passion that outperforms the performance and the performer. Yes, that is what I'm reaching for in these words. A passion that pushes me beyond talent and training. How else could I ever write a poem, a song, a novel? We find ourselves when we push against our imperfections, our limitations. We find grace, and we let ourselves race across it like the Spirit raced across the face of the waters. I make it past the crackle tonight and into duende and grace.
We finish my song, Andy's song. One of the guys tells me, "It's pretty singable stuff."
I hope to have some of this singable stuff available for your listening pleasure in the coming years. If so, we owe it to Andy's wonderful wife and kids, who let us take over the home for a few days in the midst of this heat wave, to throw down another layer of sound and story on our first album together.
PS -- Andy's solo album is here.
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