Music
I Hereby Declare Sunday, May 22nd…
…Bad Theologians Day!
And I even offer a song, so everybody dance!
Merry Not-Quite Christmas!
Now get down!
Best all-time YouTube comment on Dylan:
OK kids…everybody sing…..
“whose pulled our leg for 50 years?
BOB’s pulled our leg for 50 years
whose had? one too many beers?
BOB’s had one too many beers!
50 years!
Too many beers!
Must be Santa, Must be Santa, Must be Santa
SANTA BOB!!!!!!
Worship Songs
Great post over on the First Things blog by Jeremy Pierce, in which he examines the elements of a bad worship song. It’s tongue-in-cheek, of course, as his point relates to how these songs are often biblically based.
For my part, I loathe just about every single praise and worship tune I hear. It’s all saccharine: sweet and tasty, but the aftertaste is there to remind you that what you’ve just consumed is fake. P&W tunes operate out of an emotional construct, which is unsustainable in both human and spiritual relationships. My argument isn’t always with the content of these songs (often being very scriptural), but rather with the method of delivery and what one hopes to incite in the worshiper.
Any art involving words — if it is to have any lasting, enduring affect — must appeal primarily to the intellect. It should give you cause to pause, to relate, to grow, to ponder. It should be actualized. All too often, the point of P&W is to get you excited, to pump you up and get you going. And then what?
I say I loathe “just about” every P&W song I hear, because occasionally I run across a good one. The music I hear when I’m with a local young adults group always seems to fit the mood of Eucharistic Adoration, and is extremely well done.
I haven’t posted this quote by Flannery O’Connor in a while, but I’m always reminded of it when I encounter terrible Christian art:
The sorry religious novel comes about when the writer supposes that, because of his belief, he is somehow dispensed from the obligation to penetrate concrete reality…But the real novelist, the one with an instinct for what he is about, knows that he cannot approach the infinite directly, that he must penetrate the natural human world as it is.
UPDATE: My buddy (the newly-minted Br. Benedict — woohoo!) brings up a good point with the “me me me” theme so prevalent in P&W.
One of the places Jeremy Pierce’s satire falls short is that he doesn’t acknowledge the larger theological sense of what the “me/I/my, etc” means in the Psalms. When I pray the psalms — and I do, five times a day, as I promised my bishop I would — the “me” isn’t Josh Miller. “Me” isn’t even the original composer of the Psalm, in the traditional narrative sense.
The “me” we refer to when we pray the Psalms through a Christian context is Jesus Christ, addressing the Father. Thus, in my prayer, I unite with Christ as he unites with the Father. It becomes relational inasmuch as I incorporate myself into the mystery of my adopted sonship, through the Son Jesus Christ.
In the end, then, the Psalm really isn’t about “me” even when it uses the term. It always points toward Jesus Christ, who points towards the Father.
In every good icon, notice where Mary’s hand leads. She’s the preeminent example of what it means to be Christian for a reason: it was never about her.
UPDATE (x2): Instead of simply providing negative examples, I thought I’d post a positive example of a song that might be considered P&W (in a gospel sense) which does precisely what these songs should do.
Unfortunately, not every songwriter is Bob Dylan, and not every songwriter is capable of crafting a work whose lyrics about God aren’t easily interchangeable with the word “baby.”
Great performance by this kid, by the way:
Some Tom Jones I Can Stand Behind
What Good Am I by Tom Jones by seaninsound
“What Good Am I?” is from Dylan’s 1989 release Oh Mercy. Jones recorded the song for his upcoming album Praise and Blame.
What really impresses me here: Jones seems to understand that the song requires a certain voice, and he nails the phrasing. Dylan’s songs — and everything composed with the actual lyrics in mind (a novel concept, I know) — require a level of emotive commitment in order to convey the subject matter. Jones gets it.
Why Christmas in the Heart Works
Add my name to the list of those initially skeptical about a Bob Dylan Christmas album. Dylan’s work over the past decade is masterful because of how it showcases his skill for lyricism in such a way that his trademark sandpaper-and-glue voice becomes an asset rather than a hindrance. The listener can identify with the aging bard as he looks back at life, reflecting upon successes, failures, and the mysteries we mere mortals never quite pin down, though they hound us nonetheless. Dylan’s recent albums have received critical acclaim, sold relatively well, and still frequently work their way to the top of my playlist. How, then, can this Dylan pull off a Christmas album, a genre better suited for the likes of Nat King Cole or Bing Crosby? It didn’t seem possible. As a dedicated admirer who will purchase anything Bob puts out, the possibility that this album would end up in my dad’s basement gathering dust seemed less depressing when I learned that all of Dylan’s royalties for Christmas in the Heart will go to Feeding America, in perpetuity.
This disc won’t be headed toward a storage bin in dad’s basement any time soon. Dylan’s absolute sincerity kept me from writing this album off after a few listens. Serious Christmas standards such as “O Come All Ye Faithful,” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” “Little Drummer Boy,” and “The First Noel” succeed because Dylan sings with a conviction impossible to ignore. The lighter selections (“Here Comes Santa Claus,” “Christmas Island,” Must Be Santa”) work because Dylan’s clearly having fun with the arrangements, encouraging listeners to join in the revelry.
Last week, Dylan himself confirmed the sincerity many of us have detected, while sitting for an interview with Bill Flanigan:
BF: You really give a heroic performance of O’ LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM The way you do it reminds me a little of an Irish rebel song. There’s something almost defiant in the way you sing, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” I don’t want to put you on the spot, but you sure deliver that song like a true believer.
BD: Well, I am a true believer.
Also telling is Dylan’s reaction to the Chicago Tribune analysis:
BF: The Chicago Tribune felt this record needed more irreverence. Doesn’t that miss the point?
BD: Well sure it does, that’s an irresponsible statement anyway. Isn’t there enough irreverence in the world? Who would need more? Especially at Christmas time.
Shame on the Trib, because “irreverence” is a theme foreign to Dylan’s work. His corpus contains many instances of internal struggle with God, in relationship to the individual or humanity at large, but never does he deal in flat-out irreverence. Dylan’s work is rather unidimensional as far as “God movement” is concerned: we might take a few steps back every now and again, and we might end up scratching our heads in confusion, but we’re always moving forward toward the One Who Is – and He’s always happy to see us along the way. Christmas in the Heart is less complex than Dylan’s original material, but the movement toward God is absolutely the same.
In the end, Dylan’s Christmas album reminds me of that old guy at midnight Mass. He can’t sing like the choir, but he belts it all out from memory. And it comes from the heart.
The Problem with Susan Boyle’s New Cover (and “Singers” in General)
Susan Boyle has released a new cover of the Rolling Stones classic “Wild Horses.” See this link for the audio.
Boyle certainly brings her beautiful voice to the song, and there is no denying her innate talent. She has one of the best voices I’ve ever heard, in terms of overall quality.
That having been said, however, this song fails Susan Boyle, and she should’ve never touched it. As I’ve said elsewhere, the lyrics and tone carry an edge of graceful rebellion, one that Boyle is unable to imitate. This is a song that an aging rocker can pull off, a man who has been down a lot of roads (and seen the best and worst of himself), but not one that a good ‘ole girl who helps out at church like Boyle can approach with any sort of authenticity.
Contrast this with her coming-out effort, “I Dreamed a Dream.” It’s authentic because the tone/lyrics match her as an individual: we as listeners buy that she’s dreamed the dream.
This question of authenticity is an important one. Pat Boone can’t do “Enter Sandman” because “Enter Sandman” isn’t Pat Boone. Boone had to know he was turning into a parody of himself, and thought he’d draw some attention (and make some money) out of it. Mission accomplished, given the fact that I still remember this horror-show of an album.
Note, however, that this judgment has nothing to do with the quality of the artist him/herself. Frank Sinatra (much less Pat Boone) has no business doing “Enter Sandman” any more than Susan Boyle has the ability to pull off “Wild Horses.” And Metallica has no business making a serious effort at “Mack the Knife,” either.
The biggest problem with singers is that they rely on other people to write for them. Few actually develop a sense of authentic artistic individuality; nowadays, from Britney Spears to yes, even Susan Boyle, they end up playing whatever somebody in the business gives them to play. In a sense, the modern singer becomes a kind of whore, going where the money and the business tell them to.
And the general public eats it up – for a time. Britney Spears is a joke, and the general audience moved past Celine Dion a decade ago, all in spite of their respective talents. What happens is that even though we enjoy it for a while, we all sense – even if we can’t put our finger on it initially – that what we’re hearing is a fad, a trend, something moving in the moment only to be forgotten in the next.
Susan Boyle’s gift is simply too valuable to be wasted in this way. She needs to establish authenticity, and fast, so that she doesn’t become just another flash in the pan.
The Closer I Get to the Big Day…
…the more this song runs through my head.
And yes: this particular version, which stands as the beginning and end of my Japanese language ability.
More later.
Posting More Soon…
…but to hold you over in the meantime, I bring you my favorite track off the new Dylan album, Together Through Life. Something about the accordion line on “If You Ever Go to Houston” that I can’t get enough of. It was my constant inner-theme song last week. Enjoy. (And be sure to click on the “HQ” button.)
TTL: The First Major Review
A perfect 4 of 4.
I’ve long considered Britain’s Mojo to be the authoratative source for music reviews, and it’s encouraging to see the experts give Together Through Life a thumbs-up. Read the review here.
As for me, this only makes waiting for the 28th more difficult.
In the meantime, be sure to head on over to bobdylan.com and listen to “I Feel a Change Comin’ On” (right sidebar), which kicks off with this delightful stanza:
Well, I’m lookin’ the world over,
Lookin far off into the east.
And I see my baby comin’,
She’s a walkin’ with the village priest.
One Day Only…
…free download of “Beyond Here Lies Nothin‘” from bobdylan.com.
What’s absolutely amazing about this track? Not Dylan or the lyrics, as much as I like them, but the band. I’m not used to hearing bands cook like this on a studio track, where everything nowadays is so manufactured and overproduced.
Great stuff, Bobby. Can’t wait for the new album.
Battlestar Galactica‘s Weird, Dylan Referencing Ending (No Spoilers)
Just before Starbuck commits to the action leading to the ultimate climax of the series, Starbuck mutters aloud, “There must be some kind of way out of here.”
I blinked. Nobody phrases it like that, except for Dylan. But why would Dylan appear so blatantly in a science fiction plot? I shrugged and kept watching.
And sure enough, as the scene fades away in the series’ final episode, Hendrix’s version of “All Along the Watchtower” plays in the background.
It’s a weird and discordinant allusion. But then again, the final episode was weird and discordinant.
The best I can do with it: “But let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.”
St. Patrick’s Day Spirit!
My favorite of all the Irish protest songs, “Come Out Ye Black and Tans”:
And then there’s the brilliant “Arthur McBride” (1840), which I like to bring up in conversation when people get their panties in a bunch about how violent modern music is. The point is a valid one, but it’s not like all ballads of old were about unicorns and Skittles. Listen through to the end of this song to hear what I mean…
Even though Paul Brady’s version is better in some ways (the way Dylan invests himself in the phrasing is a lot better than Brady, which counts for a great deal), here’s the man himself, singing “Arthur McBride” in the early ’90′s… This is the version that got me interested in Irish folk music:
Coolest T-Shirt Ever? Indeed. Mad I Never Wear T-Shirts Anymore? You Bet.
Dylan riding next to Hendrix, as the wildcat did growl…
For a biblical/spiritual explanation of “All Along the Watchtower” (posted previously), from one of our many great teachers around here:
This Guy? My Kinda Guy.
Not, of course, because he showboats. I strongly dislike showboaters.
Nope. This guy has a solid sense of humor.
Watch ’till the end to see what I mean.
IT’S CONFIRMED!
New Dylan album drops in April!
Oh man. I haven’t been this excited over something entertainment wise in a long, long while.
Two Judeo-Christian Songs Actually Entitled “Hallelujah,” Without Becoming Trite Pieces of Garbage
The first is a Jeff Buckley cover of the Leonard Cohen classic. Do forgive the scenes from The OC: this was the best I could do, and the song is too good not to post. Push play, open a new tab, and browse:
The second selection is a cover of a Ryan Adams tune. Ryan is one of the best songwriters alive today, and just about everything he puts out nowadays demonstrates a complex faith wracked with doubt and failure, a faith absolutely inseparable from human experience. In short: this is how Christian art should be done, at least musically. Consider the following lyrics, which resonate well with your average seminarian:
For Mary Magdalene.
Oh, it wouldn’t make me a saint,
It wouldn’t make me King,
But then I wouldn’t have to wait,
Wait around for the real thing.
BONUS!
Here’s the studio cut for Ryan Adams’ “Born Into A Light,” another example of how things should be done:
And Now, Some John Hiatt…
“Ethylene” is one of those songs I’ve been listening to for the better part of ten years now, and it never gets old.
Then again, the good tunes never do.