Show Me How To Live

And with the early dawn

Moving right along

I couldn't buy and eyeful of sleep

And in the aching night under satellites

I was not received

Built with stolen parts

A telephone in my heart

Someone get me a priest

To put my mind to bed

This ringing in my head

Is this a cure or is this a disease

Nail in my hand

From my creator

You gave me life
Now show me how to live

When I was younger, I used to look at my musical heroes as mythical figures who were practically gods. I always figured they were way happier and better off than me, channeling those elemental forces with such unexplainable skill and magic.

If these people had such power, they must be superior beings, right? 

What a strange thing it is, this relationship between artist and fan. The artist pours their heart and soul into a song which moves me deeply. For which I pay...what, 99 cents? In the last decade, not even that. We stream it for free. And in return, we give the artist....what, exactly? Admiration? Adulation? Adoration? Some other A word? And this helps the artist...how, exactly?

Maybe it offers some temporary validation, making the artist feel happy. For a while. But then...what?  Expectation? Entitlement, really. We say: more! Make me feel that way again! Only this time...more so!

If the new songs don't make us feel as good as the old songs, there is disappointment which we express in all kinds of ways, most of them not very nice. We label the artist a sellout, poser, has-been, washout, or one-hit-wonder. We might even express an anger and disgust which is rather out of proportion to the very minimal investment we have made in the artist's actual life and well-being. 

This is not a friendship. When you think about it, it's actually a very one-sided relationship. The artists job is to be brilliant, give everything, sacrifice all, so I can feel good thanks to a song I do not even pay for. In return, I might pay big bucks for a live show once or twice, and cheer adoringly. But in the end, I go home, move on, get on with my life.

What does the artist do? 

Pours out their heart and soul, night after night. On the road, living out of vans and buses and hotels, far from family and friends and any type of normal rhythm of life which enables most of us to live halfway stable and non-pathological lives.

Meanwhile, what do these channelers of ecstatic experience do to come down? What is it like, stepping offstage back into the mundane world of bottled water and ashtrays and Subway wrappers? Knowing that very soon, they will have to exercise their high priestly role again somewhere else, on another night, and another?

As I grow older, I no longer envy the music heroes. In fact, I kind of feel bad for them. I feel complicit in a system in which we seem to set them up to be used and discarded. I feel like we can almost be vampires, sucking them dry of their creative blood and then moving on when it kills them.

What's even more messed up is how we 'glamorize' and romanticize the excesses of their lifestyle, which in actuality are often just the coping mechanisms they have adopted to sustain the unreasonable expectations their creative genius and we, the fans, place on them.

Who was Chris Cornell? On the one hand... the voice of a generation. A rock 'god' if there ever was one. A dude most every Generation Xer who ever dabbled in rock at some point wanted to BE. A guy whose voice was so drenched in masculine badass-ness that a mere listen could grow your beard.

And on the other hand...

Here's what 'biography.com' says about his early years:

Born Christopher John Boyle on July 20, 1964, in Seattle, Chris Cornell was one of six children born into an Irish Catholic family. After his parents' divorce (the children adopted their mother's maiden name, Cornell), Chris began using drugs and stealing—and learning to play the drums. By age 15, plagued by bouts of depression, Cornell had dropped out of school to play music and help support the family.

Like most of his fans, I never met the man. I used to fantasize, actually, that he would somehow discover me on the internet, have his agent call me up (or call himself) and say 'Hey this is Chris Cornell calling. I sing for this band called Audioslave, and I dig your guitar playing, and it's cool that you're a priest. I was wondering if you would do this collaboration with me.'  (Yes I know...)

But in all reality...

Behind the rock icon was a man. Just a man. Flesh and blood, the good and the bad, the agony and the ecstasy. A kid from a broken home, full of pain and longing and hope and sadness. A man with a wife and kids, and friends, many of whom he saw self-destruct. A man blessed with a one-in-500 million talent, whose brilliance made him a symbol and an icon, getting him mixed up in all kinds of things most people are never equipped or asked to handle. 

A man with a nail in his hand, crying: 'Show me how to live.'

A man asking for a priest.

I wish I could have met him. I wish I could have been the priest he had a chance to talk to. Years ago I actually thought about trying to reach out to him and say, 'Hey I listened to your song and you said you'd like to talk to a priest.' Then, of course, I thought of how ridiculous that would sound, and gave up the idea.

Chris, I mourn your loss. I'm sorry for using you, for consuming your product but forgetting to ever much think that there was a real person behind your music, a man whose well-being and happiness I really should have had more of a care for.

I'm sorry I never sent that email. I promise to try to be more generous and kind toward the artists who so move me and who are able to say through their art what I could never articulate through my own feeble voice. I promise to pray for your family. May you Rest In Peace. I hope you meet the true Priest, Jesus, and that his love is now consoling you as he tells you how pleased he was that you shared your gifted voice with the world.

I hope your burden is gone and that, for a change, you can relax awhile as you kick back and hear that great almighty Song our hearts were created to hear.

Go West

For Every Song, a Story:
Go West

Santa Barbara.

Communion & Liberation retreat.  “What moved Christ to compassion?”  Jesus was moved... by our need. Compassion, not contempt.  “How different than the way we look at ourselves.”

Sweet balm.  Man, did I need it.

I was mad as hell.  At my bishop, my father, my people.  Mad at myself and my heart, all cracked stone and bloody powder. I was sideways, needing something, and fast.

I ran West.  Like every man does.

Had to regain the center, the child, some softness.

Retreats to Big Sur, vast coastal spaces fighting a death match with my desire. Bloody affairs, but ah, sweet life they were.  Wrestle with that rocky, windy, salty, tall tree and wild water God, a tough terrain you just had to respect.

It hit me all at once, like a sweet violence.  Vastness without, vastness within.  The same, we were.  Kin.  Plates shift, magma boils over. 

Eruption.

First ash, lots of tired grey old ash.  Then, fissure breached.  Ah, sweet fire.  Out came the lava, out came the pen. I wrote and wrote and wrote, the words my tears, every word a fresh breath of hope.

Withered aspirations, beginning to revive.  California, she became sacrament, mouthpiece of the Almighty, tellin me it was good to be alive.

Something new began that day.  New era, new life.  Nothing easy, you won’t never hear me say that.  New.

A Dream is a Precious Thing

For Every Song, a Story:
A Dream is a Precious Thing

Every kid wears a cape.

That's from Bill Johnson, one of my favorite preachers. Standard issue. Wearing it's natural. Shedding it's what needs the learning. Lots of A's in that subject.

Where's yours?

Who's it helping, sitting all balled up on the closet floor?

What happened to that dream?

Conformity's too easy.  Good Lord, how many verses have I sung of that old siren song.

All well and good, some would say. Nice and humble, there there that's it. Nice Christian.  Punch that clock.  Never mind the jokers and thieves, let em be. World's theirs, heavens ours.

Screw that.

Some good old medicine called Johnny Cash finally kicked in. Been taking it a long time. Who knew about washing it down with some leadership books?  One day I woke up, all healthy and new. Fever broke, and out came this song.

And a wrinkled old cape.

Go find yourself a stage and sing.

Spell My Name

For Every Song, a Story:
Spell My Name
For Zachary

I was talking to my brother Mark about the trials of his autistic son Zachary. Autism literally means self-ism. All trapped up. Signals scrambled, a social-emotional cripple. Trinity's image, all that high stuff... and here he is, sentenced to solitary in the emotional gulag by some damn disease he never deserved.

'He needs an Annie Sullivan,' I said.

'Yeah,' he said.

Then, silence. Just a couple of brothers and the leaden tension of impossible desire in an f'd up world.

Some prayers, I swear, it feels callous and criminal just saying them. There's no justice that way. They gotta be sung. It takes time, forming cries like these, and this one was no different. Was it months? Years? Anyway, it doesn't matter.

We don't write em, they're just there, waiting for a voice to give em an honest to God hearing and telling. Gritty, not pretty... this is the blues, not Broadway. Needing a worthy voice, never mine, but become mine, because its time has come and the right singer hasn't showed.

I remember, as a child, this TV special on Helen Keller.  That scene at the well, Miss Sullivan taking that small hand, making her understand...W-A-T-E-R. Brilliant. Do yourself a favor, read that scene again. The autobiography is .99 on Kindle. Powerful, magical stuff.

To get a little into that terrifying silent darkness of that little girl. How? Why? Who knows...that"s the mystery, that's the muse.  Pecking out those prison shell walls, into the clear light of day and that tender touch of the other. You can't get that ecstasy without that agony. Cruel but true. It's Helen's story, not mine. Zachary"s story, not mine.

Or is it?

Oh for an Annie Sullivan.

If I Could Sing

For Every Song, a Story: 
If I Could Sing

Karin Bergquist and break dancers.

That's where it started. Late August, bike ride. I can tell you the exact spot. South Ridge Park in Urbana, making the loop. Some Over the Rhine song came on, and it was good jealousy, not bad. It wasn't, man can she sing, I hate her. It was, man can she sing, I love her. You know. Just wishing I could do like that. Limpid and crystal, soulful and elegant, happy and sad. 'If I could sing.' There it was.

My faulty router kicked back on and suddenly my WiFi had full bars. My soul hummed and sent the signal to the universe that I was open for business. The ironic title was too juicy to resist. I knew I was onto something.

A few days later. Quad Day. Passing by the Floor Lovers break dance club. These guys were tearing it up, man. On a plastic fold-out 10 x 10 floor. I just stood and stared, forever. You're talking to the guy who bought a how-to book on break dancing in 6th grade (pre YouTube). One nice dude insisted on taking my info. For twelve hours, fantasies of a blissful, free, less-white life crackled and electrified me.

Mitch sealed the deal when,  passing Joe's Brewery, he said he once saw Angeline 'clear the floor' there during a hip hop number back in the day.

From there, it wrote itself. A bucket-list extra: finding a licit way to include Huckleberry Finn. What self respecting American songwriter hasn't wanted to write him into a song.  I could only smile, satisfied that I got one right, at least.

Mercy: The Playlist

This Sunday's gospel reading (Matthew 5:38-48) is about love of enemies and forgiveness.  This is the love that faces evil, and wins.

In honor of mercy, I offer a five-song playlist of some of the best songs I know about mercy.  What are some of yours?  I would love to hear from you!

1) Forgive by Ida:
I love this indie folk group. A lilting, sweet, gentle meditation that is one of the most gorgeous and meaningful songs I've ever heard.  It draws me into a deep space of calm and gentle peace, and leaves me with a desire to change. "How can it be/ we forgot how to forgive?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSJZZYb7x9M

2) Forgiveness by Patty Griffin :
From her acoustic guitar-and-voice-only debut record, this one never fails to shatter me, then gently put me back together.  "It's hard to give, hard to get/ but everybody needs a little forgiveness."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvdV3W8Q1yU

3) Sorry I Am by Ani DiFranco:
She can growl one minute, and the next sing a lullaby that makes your heart float like a feather.  Sometimes she can get ideological and has no qualms pointing fingers at those she identifies as oppressors.  Yet here, she is at her best, taking responsibility for her share in a failed relationship.  The ambiguities and sheer humanity of love and heartbreak are perfectly captured in this song which is perhaps the best showcase of Ani's tender side. I guess I never loved you quite as well/ as the way you loved me/ I guess I'll never really be able to tell you/ how sorry I am.  Notice how she does not sing high until that cathartic moment at the very end.  Ahh it slays me every time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgMTH0t24Iw


Grace by U2:
A rather un-U2-ish song that relies on a simple bass line and some synth, plus Bono's prayer-hymn soul singing, this is one of my all-time favorite U2 songs.  It's like a miracle, if you ask me.  "Grace/ she takes the blame/ covers the shame/ removes the stain... Grace it's the name for a girl/ it's also a thought that could change the world. And when she goes to work you can hear the strings/ grace makes beauty out of ugly things."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4QvtXqNq0Y

5) Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons:
OK, you can't have a mercy playlist and not include these guys.  Many artists complain about the wrongs of society and the wrongs to them.  Few turn it around, take responsibility, and blame themselves -- in a way that's not whiny or self-indulgent, just honest.  Many of their songs could qualify, but I still think this one takes the cake.  "My heart was never pure/ I'm sorry." And that ever-quoted anthem of a chorus that somehow is still not a cliche after all these years: Love will not betray you dismay or enslave you/ it will set you free/ be more like the man you were made to be.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujv3c0TqLRk

"Love your enemies." -- Jesus
"An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind." -- Gandhi

Introducing... Daydream

Here is something I sent the followers on my email list awhile back when I released Daydream.  I thought I'd share it on my site (slightly edited).  Thanks for stopping by!

Dear friends,

Greetings from outer space, where I am still drifting, still hopeful, still a little clueless and naive, yet getting closer all the time...and meanwhile, enjoying (mostly) the ride.

I am pleased to announce the release of “Daydream,” a little five-song record that was mostly the fruit of this past Lent.  (I decided that doing something creative like a record beat giving up candy, etc).

I did all the recording and mixing myself on my very old school, decade-old Yamaha desktop DAW, in the ridiculous cavern of a great room at St John’s rectory.  It was a labor of love.  Some awesome and talented friends collaborated with me, notably, Bill Fox (drums), Amanda Ang (vocals and lyrics for ‘In The Basement’), Shea Acott (cello) and Anthony Co (lyrics for ‘Frightful Beauty’).

On my website, I have likened my music to “bread” – kneaded and baked from poor and simple ingredients of life, perhaps less gratifying as a candy bar or chips, but nourishing in its own unique way.  Well, this latest record is more like drinks from a bar.  I believe the tag line I used on Bandcamp was “musical cocktails, mixed and served by a priest, from the bar of life.”  It’s different from past releases in that it’s more alt-rock than alt-folk.  It’s so multi-tracked that my friend Adam likened it to a quiche (bet you haven’t seen that word in your email!)

As with past projects, the music is dense and intentional.  It arose from insights gained in the various fights in the “basement of the heart” (see attached poem by Amanda if you wonder what that means).  Things learned there are some of the most valuable things in life.  Like anything precious, it begs to be shared.  But so often it's incommunicable, or seems that way.  Song is the only language medium I personally have that can even come close to conveying it.  I always cherish the hope that others may find value and meaning in the songs, connect, and, perhaps, even find a little hope and consolation of their own amid the ups and downs of their own life’s journey.

I should have released the album months ago.  Perfectionism and inferiority complex - aaaaagggggghhhhhhh leave me alone.

After long experience, I have realized that with the art of song, HOW something is said is as important, if not more, than WHAT is said.  A good song is a magical mixture of a sonic “what” and “how” that somehow have the power to move someone’s heart.  I feel like my “what” often exceeds my “how,” if that makes any sense.  While I have made some strides as a singer, I regret to admit that I’ll probably never (sigh) be Chris Cornell or Justin Vernon.  But I sure do try.  I ask your indulgence, and thank you for understanding that “all that is gold does not glitter,” as Tolkien wrote.  There is some gold buried in these little songs – a conviction which has led me, finally, to get over myself and just put it out there, blemishes and all.

OK, I’ll just shut up now and let you check out the music, if you wish. 

Thanks and much love.  Many of you create art and try to make beautiful things to share with the world, which is cool and awesome. I bless you and wish you much victory and success. My friend Vince, a super talented artist, says that any time he makes a painting, it's his way of saying to the world, "I'm still here, you bastards."  While that may seem slightly harsh and offensive to some, to me it's amusing and consoling, and rings very true.  Thanks for your friendship, support, and the value and beauty each of you add to the world. And thanks for reading/listening!