The Wrecking Crew

LA in the 60s was a boom-town for rock and roll. The group of musicians responsible for making so many of the hits come alive in those days was The Wrecking Crew. They played on hits for the Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra, Sonny and Cher, Jan & Dean, The Monkees, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Mamas and Papas, Tijuana Brass, Ricky Nelson, Johnny Rivers and were Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound. The record industry was primarily in New York, London and Detroit in the late 50s and early 60s. Then there was a surge towards the mid-60s that pushed the recording to the west Coast. So these musicians were recording around the clock for a good 8 years. The hey day for this group was in 1967 when the charts turned to the west.

I would give anything to have been a fly on the wall in one of those sessions. A little known fact is that Glen Campbell was one of the Wrecking Crew; he played many of the Beach Boys guitar riffs that are so much a part of our collective pop music conscious. Since I was only in elementary school during those amazing times, I wasn't aware that people made a living creating music. The only time I saw this was in the Disney cartoon, 101 Dalmatians, where Roger, the human lead, wrote songs in his London bachelor flat. Maybe subconsciously I made a mental note that it would be cool to do the same one day.

As every musician makes the transition from amateur to pro, there are a series of lessons to be learned. The video below is an out take from a film being produced about the famed Wrecking Crew. Louie Shelton, guitarist extraordinaire, talks about his early days with the WC and a golden learning moment concerning "playing in the pocket" with the Crew's famed drummer, Hal Blaine.

In Stitches

Isn't it amazing how we survived childhood? The other day Brenda and I were talking about the incidents we survived as kids of falling, tripping, skidding and bumping into objects that create wounds and lasting scars. I spent hours in Dr. Dostrow's office receiving my share of stitches for childhood mishaps; some were accidents, some were just stupid-kid stuff.

Brenda has a scar on her thumb which is a lasting reminder of her brother mistakenly closing the front door on her hand as a little girl. The thumb was actually severed but miraculously re-attached. I have a matching scar on my right thumb from a stupid-kid incident involving a swing set in my neighbor's back yard. There was a side car kind-of-thing on the swing set that allowed two riders to face each other as it swung back and forth. I was curious: what would happen if I stuck my thumb in the mechanism at the top? Well, I soon found out when I pulled out my bloody appendage--the thumb was cut to the bone right behind the nail. With a tetanus shot and several stitches later, I was out playing again. Another time, I was sitting on a wooden fence and fell backward directly onto a row of jagged bricks (it's crazy how much a simple scalp wound can bleed!). I was rushed to Dr. Dostrow's "office of pain" for another set of stitches.

The most notorious incident happened at my cousin Mike's house when we were around 7 or 8 years old. While playing Cowboy and Indian, Mike used a toy hammer as his tomahawk and I was using the standard toy gun. When we met up in a clearing in the backyard after a quick game of hide-and-seek, Mike aimed his tomahawk at me, reared back, and let it fly. I swear, I saw that hammer rotate in slow motion until it met my forehead above my right eye. BAM!!! I literally saw stars and heard a bird chirping as I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. I was puzzled why Mike let that hammer fly; it's still an unsolved family mystery. All I know is that I spent the afternoon with wires stuck to my head looking at a machine with squiggly lines as the Dr. reassured my mom that there was no brain damage from the incident--only a nasty, walnut-sized lump.

The no-brain-damage diagnosis was arguable as the question still remains: what motivates a kid to stick his thumb into a swing, fall back and bust his head on a brick flowerbed, and play Cowboy and Indian with dangerous weapons? All I can say is: thank God for His protection. Kids will do dumb things and the best we can do as parents is lock them in their rooms until they turn 18! No, just kidding! As parents, we need to realize that things happen and that kids will be kids...even though some kids like me really do some idiotic things while growing up.

Coffee Crazy

Coffee is very important to Brenda. On the trip home from my brother's in Birmingham today, we went an hour out of our way to sniff out a Starbucks, all the while passing up dozens of other establishments like McDonalds and gas stations, just to snag a perfect cup of Joe. We found our fix. It's not fair to put the blame her because I am just as much of a coffee snob as she.

I was raised with "coffee milk" from as far back as my caffeine-soaked mind can remember. We three brothers sat on the opened door of mom's oven, warming our butts and drinking mugs of coffee laced with copious amounts of milk and sugar. I graduated to more coffee and less milk and sugar as the years progressed (to this day I can't drink coffee totally black). Once a kid is taught to love coffee, God forbid the soul who tries to wrench it from his hand. It has become a serious habit--one that I don't plan on quitting anytime soon.

The first date I went on with Brenda was at a coffee place in Mobile. It was there that, aside from her beauty of face and frame, I knew she was the one for me. She really loved her coffee. Plus, she had toted her Bible, which was almost as big as her, into the place. God, coffee and beauty...I was smitten! To this day, after 25 years of marriage, we can't seem to kick-start our day without a few cups of our favorite brew.

Coffee has transitioned from a simple, hot mug of pick-me-up to a high-brow, gourmet excursion. When I visited Italy 30 years ago while on a music tour, I had to ask what the big copper machine was on the bar. I was told by the server that the contraption was an espresso maker. A what??? You see, back in the prehistoric days, I had no idea what a cappuccino was. I had to shake my head a few times and re-focus my eyes following my first Italian espresso adventure. After visiting other parts of Europe, I realized that coffee was made to be considerably stronger there. I began to enjoy the full-flavor that European coffee offered. When I visited New Orleans for the first time, I found a similar flavor in the Community coffee that the folks brewed (I believe that the water there contributes to the great flavor, believe it or not!).

This Christmas, one of the most popular gifts was the Keurig coffee maker. Brenda and I bought one last year and have sworn off the coffee pot that we had so faithfully used up to that point. Once a single cup of fresh coffee is made with the Keurig, it's really hard to go back to the stale, hours-old coffee of the past. We can even keep a collection of various assortments on-hand to break the monotony of one particular flavor. It has become an obsession and an expensive pleasure that keeps us going back to Bed, Bath and Beyond sometimes twice a week for more boxes.

Even though there are things to surrender as resolutions in the new year, I know for a fact that coffee will not be one of them. When our Keurig finally fails after constant use, I will rush to Bed, Bath and Beyond with my 20 percent-off coupon and return with a new Keurig coffee maker in hand. It is a wonderful addiction!

Creating Great Moments In Worship, Part 1

Great worship moments rarely happen on their own--although God is very capable of bringing them about without our help! Some worship leaders think it's more spiritual when less planning is involved. My humble opinion is that God can work in advance, too; He can anoint, inspire and guide in the planning of a service a month away. And why wouldn't He? We don't wait to plan for a Thanksgiving feast on the day before: we spend time in advance thinking about the menu, the people we invite, and the setting in which it will be served. Great moments in worship are like this, and we have a better chance of reaching our goal if we spend time praying, thinking about, and designing a plan. God already has a one--we just need to seek and discover it.

In planning for a service, I use 5 general guidelines: 1) Determining the Spiritual Statement being made; 2) the Song Selection; 3) Sequencing of the songs and spoken segments; 4) the Segues between each piece in the service; and 5) Sensitivity to people and, most importantly, the Spirit.

Spiritual Statement
Each church has a unique personality and the songs used every week are a reflection of that individuality. As one considers the songs for a given week, we must consider the spiritual statement to be made in the service as a whole. Next, we must consider the season of the year and the appropriate songs to use. Other questions might be asked: is the pastor preaching on a special subject?; is our church needing to focus on some specific scripture or topic?; is the audience going to be of a certain age or will it consist of mixed generations? Some generations outside of the main stream will probably feel left out at times, but the objective is to reach the greatest population.

Song Selection
As previously mentioned, the choice of certain songs is unique to each congregation. There are no right or wrong songs to use--just effective ones--those that foster great worship moments. Some songs are written "about" God and are filled with statements about His character, majesty, holiness, etc. (many hymns are written about God). Other songs make statements "to" God, as if in a conversation.

Sequencing
My suggestion is to sequence the songs by placing the ones about God closer to the beginning of the service as the congregation is warming up to the room (they just dropped off their kids in the nursery and have toted them from the parking lot--so don't scorn them if it takes a few minutes for them to make the transition). Save the conversation songs for later when a more intimate moment is desired. The start of a service usually requires a faster tempo. Then, as the the service transitions into an introspective, more worshipful moment, slower tempos are better suited.

The mental picture here is much like inviting people to your home: you greet them at the door and work your way inside. Everyone settles in, becoming relaxed as the evening progresses. Conversations usually become more personal as defenses fall and authentic communication can be accomplished.

Choosing the correct key for each song is imperative to creating a great moment in worship. Since the service is about everyone singing together, the congregation needs to be able to sing the notes. Considering the vocal ranges of Mr. Smith, the baritone, to Mrs. Jones, the soprano, we must select keys that allow the melodies to stay within the congregational singing range. This range starts with B flat, below middle C, in the lowest register, to the D, an octave and a whole-step away from middle C, for the highest. The range is obviously limited because the general public aren't vocally trained as soloists. Stay within the congregational singing range as you choose songs. Maybe the keys you've been choosing are the reason your people don't sing!

Segues
Segues between moments are critical. Try to allow as little lag-time between each piece as as possible. Even nano-seconds of "dead air" are distracting to great worship moments. Work out key changes by using the simple technique of going to the dominant chord of the new key, and using a suspended 4th in the first two beats of the bar, then resolving it on the last two beats. A tempo can also be changed as you ritard during the modulation. Keeping songs with related keys together, as well as modulating by half or whole steps, make for cleaner and better flowing transitions.

Sensitivity
I always make it a priority to be sensitive to those who are in the service each weekend. It is my goal that they "win" in worship; I want them to connect with God during that time. I try to remove any distractions that may inhibit that connection--be it physical, musical, or spiritual. I choose and arrange the songs with this in mind. Each stage movement is scrutinized, illuminating any impediment inhibiting a full focus on God during worship. The ultimate sensitivity, though, is toward God: He is the ultimate focal point and object of our adoration. Always be ready to make a change if God is leading in another direction. Our plans are just a flexible starting point in the large scheme of things.

Pray before you prepare. Think about these items I mentioned today. They aren't an exhaustive list, but are a great way to start the journey. Blessings to each of you as you prepare to lead your congregation toward the Throne of God each week. Join me again as I explore more helpful tips in Creating Great Moments In Worship, Part 2.

Write me with questions, comments or suggestions:
jamie@jamieharvill.com

A Day To Remember

Today marks our 25th wedding anniversary. Brenda and I walked down the aisle--flanked by Christmas trees decorated with white doves--a quarter of a century ago, this evening. We were joined by family and friends from all over the US. South Alabama in December is mild, and the atmosphere in the church gym that night was as romantic as we could make it; we tried to distract attention from the basketball goals in the background, but we just couldn't hide them. That night, two kids made a promise that we both consider to be our best decision in life-- second only to following Christ. We celebrate today as we behold our two great kids and their spouses. The blessings we have seen unfold over time is proof that God has been very good to us.

Happy anniversary, Sweetheart.

Today is also a sad one as two of my dear friends are being buried--one in Mobile, Alabama and another in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. They didn't know each other, but they both had a big impact on my life. Brenda wrote some tender thoughts in her blog yesterday about their passing and the memories that remain:

Auld Lang Syne

I'm sitting here listening to Al Green, once again, and rehearsing the sad notes of the week. My DH lost two good friends this week, both good men who loved their kids and contributed much to the world. One friend, Danny, goes way back to when my daughter was born (she's 22). He was our pastor then, and our friend. Our kids spent countless hours before, during and after church running up and down the pews and around the church parking lot, waiting for their parents to quit talking and take them home!

The other fellow, David, is a new friend whom my husband often shared lunch with on weekdays when the two would get together with another fellow and talk 'real guy' talk. They shared Popsicles, hamburgers and inside jokes. David was full of wisdom and candor, and always left my husband encouraged after their visits.

Both of these departed men will be sorely missed.

A friend can't really be replaced, once lost. There's no price tag, and no value for insurance purposes. They are one of a kind and should be appreciated when they're around, since you never know when they'll be gone.

The holidays are a terrible time to lose a loved one.

Creating A Great Moment

I spent three years on the bus with a group called Truth. Our leader was a gentleman by the name of Roger Breland. What he lacked in musical ability was overwhelmingly made up for in is skill of working an audience. He was sensitive to his listeners and had a sixth-sense as to what they needed at any given time during a concert. He always delivered. Truth, in the span of 30 years, did almost 10,000 concerts, recorded 50 albums, traveled to more than two dozen countries and has been heard in live concerts by more than 10 million people. Truth's success was based largely on Roger and his ability to recognize a great "moment." I watched him every night of my three year tenure as a guitar player. I am still using some of those techniques that I learned way back in 1983-85.

My goal is to let you in on some of those "golden nuggets" and many more that I have learned over the years--through personal trial and error, and through the experience of other great leaders that I've played with and admired. I want to talk about creating moving and flowing moments in our worship services. This will include song flow, praying and speaking between songs, giving the audience permission to participate ( that's right--they need it, you give it!), body language, helping the audience to focus attention on important things happening on stage (solos, etc.), helping the audience to know when something is finished, passing the baton, and much more. I am certain that you will see positive results in your services if you are willing to adapt them into your worship leader toolkit; you won't be disappointed.

Before we break into Part 1 with my next installment, I want to address some issues--sort of as a prelude. First, before any changes are made regarding the technical aspects of creating great moments in worship, we must look at ourselves and ask the questions: am I prepared?; am I rested?; have I been connecting with God in my personal life?; are there changes in attitude, behavior or even appearance that will help make my worship leadership more effective? I'm sure there are more questions than those offered here, but I must start with my own heart and work outward.

I am going to discuss creating a flow through the use of effective songs and arrangements next time. Thanks for hanging with me through this little journey. Please feel free to email me if you have any questions, suggestions or comments.

jamie@jamieharvill.com

Guitar Nails

Sometimes when I am paying for an item at Target or somewhere like that, people can give me a funny look because the nails on my right hand are really long and the ones on the left are normal. I guess they think I'm some kind of weirdo; if they ask me, I tell 'em the truth: I am a guitar player.

In a guitar picker paradise like Nashville, this curiosity is less common than places with a smaller professional-musician population, but people can sure stare sometimes. Really, it's just the thumb and three fingers of my right hand, excluding the little pinky-finger, that are longer than usual. As an acoustic guitar player, I am dependent on my nails to act like picks when I perform finger-style/ folk guitar playing. I sometimes use my nails instead of a plastic pick when playing electric guitar.

Most of my life I have been a nail biter and didn't have enough nail length to create the crisp, clear sound that properly cared-for nails can offer. When I did grow my nails out, they were weak, and even strengthener didn't help. So I went to a nail salon.

It can be kind of awkward when they ask if I am waiting for my wife and I say, "No, I wanna get my nails done!" They usually look with even more suspicion when I only want three fingers and a thumb of one hand done. Then with a sheepish grin I say, "Guitar player...," and they begin to understand--sort of. I had my nails done every two weeks for over a year until I got curious and went to Walgreens to buy a do-it-yourself overlay kit so I could "save money" and do them at my leisure. At first, I was terrible at it, and it gave me great respect for those ladies at the salon! I managed to get the hang of it, and now I can do my own nail maintenance. Plus, doing the nails at home means I don't have to shrug my shoulders in surrender when the other salon patrons look at me funny!

James Taylor has a website that offers an interesting video on how he cares for his nails. JT is the "maestro" when it comes to finger-style playing. If you get the hang of either using his method of nail-care or mine, using acrylic overlay, you can be on your way to great acoustic guitar tone.

CLICK HERE to go James Taylor's Guitar Lessons page and look for the "Nails 101" video. PLAY IT!

Me & My Telecaster

I know the day that my love affair with the Telecaster started. It was at a wedding in 1977, with a band of California friends booked to play the reception, and we were desperately trying to be like our favorite country musicians (see photo at left-the actual gig!). A friend of the lead singer lent me a pristine, 50's era Fender Telecaster that was housed in it's original tweed case. I wasn't enamored with the age of it (I was clueless!) as much as how it felt when I picked it up and held it in my hands. It was a match!

I have been reading a biography about Buck Owens and, just today, read the account of Buck's lead guitar player/ harmony singer's death. Don Rich was a necessary ingredient in the Bakersfield sound that Owens made popular in the 60's. With Don's fatal motorcycle crash in July of 1974, the importance of his Tele picking was proven crucial. Don was gone and so was the "sound." I followed Rich's twang as a kid, albeit subconsciously, as I listened to Tiger By the Tail and Act Naturally on a local, southern California country radio station.

My teen years were filled with dreams of joining the Eagles, Linda Ronstadt's band, or Souther-Hillman-Furray; their country roots were exposed to impressionable wannabes like me. I loved the steel guitar and the way Clarence White 's b-bender emulated it. As I grew into my twenty's, I was mesmerized by Emmylou Harris and her Hot Band with James Burton and Albert Lee providing the twang. When Ricky Skaggs busted away from Emmylou's band and went out on his own, the skillful Ray Flacke joined him. His playing took a new turn and it blew my mind! It still amazes me that two of the best country pickers--Lee and Flacke--hail from England.

I will never attain a thimble-full's worth of Tele virtuosity that my heroes possess. I can only dream and strive for the ultimate tone as I fasten on my Telecaster and plug it into my favorite tweed amplifier. I swear, there's nothing better than a bare-naked Tele through a tremolo and a tube amp. It gets me every time.

Photo-lower right: Me & my "most recent" Telecaster, Fall, 2010

Dumpster-Diving and Other Careers...

I have written about it before, but I am even more surprised lately how Americans have embraced TV shows about collecting and auctions. I have been a fan of PBS's Antiques Roadshow since it's U.S. debut, as well as Britain's version--the one that started it all. Cash In the Attic is another show that I would always break for while surfing the seemingly endless cable landscape.

There is a new breed of auction-type shows that have captured my attention, and that of millions of others as evidenced by through-the-roof ratings. My faves are, of course, Pawn Stars and American Pickers. But some new shows have joined the list. Hollywood Treasure is about the search for movie and TV memorabilia, with some classic comic books thrown in for fun. Then there's Storage Wars about a motley crew of deal-divers, ready to bid on the fruit of people's unpaid storage-unit bills with fists filled with thousands of dollars. They have proven that huge profits can be made as valuables are sifted from the mundane. Auction Kings is about an Atlanta auction house and the interesting items (and characters) that come through it's doors.

The craze for home improvement has at least two cable networks fully dedicated to do-it-yourself home repair. I guess it all boils down to the fact that instead of buying new, Americans are opting for repairing what is broken, or finding crazy deals on second-hand items; the slow economy has apparently paved the way for the current phenomena. High-end collectible markets seem to be booming even as middle-class Americans are clamoring for cash just to pay for groceries and housing. Nevertheless, many of us are making do with treasures already in our grasp. If not, someone else might find great worth in what we call trash. It might be profitable to search Ebay's market-value for our refuse before we take a trip to the county dump. Who knew that dumpster-diving could become such a lucrative career?

Fiat Money

The quest for gold in today's economy seems to rival Cortez and his band of 190 Spaniards in the early 1500's. Every other advertisement on conservative talk radio is pushing the wisdom of acquiring gold in lieu of investing the failing US dollar. As a good investment it is arguable, but no one can challenge the wisdom of the gold standard.

A true gold standard came to fruition in 1900 with the passage of the Gold Standard Act and came to an end in 1933 when President Franklin D. Roosevelt outlawed private gold ownership (except for the purposes of jewelery). The Bretton Woods system was established in 1946 to allow governments to sell their gold to the United States treasury at the price of $35/ounce. The system ended on August 15, 1971, when President Richard Nixon terminated the trading of gold at the fixed price of $35/ounce. At that point, for the first time in history, formal links between the major world currencies and real commodities were severed.

This brings us to today and fiat money, which is defined in economic journals as "money that is intrinsically useless; is used only as a medium of exchange." So, that means that every dollar represents nothing. Basically, every buck that we surrender to a store clerk or the Salvation Army at Christmastime is an empty promise, so to speak. It's frightening that our dollar is shrinking everyday and our prominence as a powerful nation is diminishing at an equally brisk pace.

Yesterday I was working on a song with Gary when we took a short break. Gary opened a package from an aspiring songwriter who carefully submitted neat lyric sheets and printed music to accompany a CD which contained the recorded songs. It was impressive, save for one thing: when Gary opened the CD case there was no CD in it. The comical moment sadly reminds me of our dollar--it looks impressive but there's nothing inside.

Behaving Badly

I heard this morning that Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Senator and estranged scoundrel, John Edwards, has been given word by her doctors that there is nothing more they can do about her cancer. Although John is at her side along with other family members, I can imagine the cold reception he must get when he walks in the room. He had a baby with a campaign staffer a few years ago, right under the radar of his loyal, ailing wife.

Gary Sadler and I watched a DVD about the Christian singer/ songwriter, Larry Norman. After he passed away in February, 2008 of heart failure, many hidden stories from his past are now coming to the surface. He was a very selfish man and left broken relationships strewn across the landscape of his life since he started his music career in the 1960's, maybe even into his childhood. Buck Owens, a hero of mine since childhood (I used to listen to his songs on a portable AM radio) and the seemingly good-guy from Hee Haw, has been revealed, years after his death, to be an absolute jerk. His biography reveals that he must have had bi-polar disorder. Larry Norman was perported to have mental illness in his family, too.

As I read the book about Martin Luther King's killer, James Earl Ray, called Hellhound On His Trail, I was disheartened to see a duplicitous man in MLK, behaving badly in the shadows, just feet away from adoring followers and a desperate country in the throws of a civil crisis. If our hopes are dashed, they are turned to dust when people we admire for so long prove to be something that they are not.

The flashlight of judgment shines right back on me. I need God's grace and guidance each day to navigate, unscathed, through this life. My problem is when people blame their behavior on an illness when, clearly, they made choices. God, help me to avoid the same potholes.

Big Baby

I try to listen for God's voice throughout my day. Sometimes He speaks through an inner voice; other times He speaks through circumstances. Whatever the occasion, I know when it's Him. My greatest measuring device for Truth is the Word of God.

Often, when I am in an especially difficult situation and I need reassurance, I have heard the Lord speak to me through analogies. Recently I received a beautiful symbolic mental picture. As I was seeking wisdom on how to deal with a difficulty, I saw in my mind a baby struggling to get out of his mother's arms. I knew it was God because, although I am a creative person, that analogy came out of nowhere--and it hit me right between the eyes. The message was telling me to stop trying to pry myself out of God's plan, protection and providence. Many times I get restless and don't trust God's perspective or timing. It was clear that God told me to settle down!

That's good news for me because it means I can relax. He wasn't asking me to do something as much as to trust Him. Life is a great-big mystery because, as humans, we don't know what's around the bend. We can forecast the weather, analyze the stock market, and watch the idiot lights on our car warn us when it needs servicing. Our walk through this life doesn't come with devices like these, but I know that I have the Spirit to guide me safely through. When God speaks, I want to listen and obey.

Smile Real Loud

The greatest stage performers make it look easy. Part of the secret is being comfortable with yourself; an audience is comfortable when the performer is comfortable. In fact, talent isn't the main ingredient in a successful stage performer. Case in point: when the Carter sisters had sound troubles at a concert many years ago, and the bass wasn't being heard in the P.A. system, Maybelle Carter, the matriarch and, by that point, a well-traveled and highly experienced entertainer, told the girls, "Just smile real loud!"

This advice is gold for any performer. You see, people hear with their eyes: communication is 15% words, 30% tone and emotion, and 55% what the audience sees. I've learned a lot from time spent on the road and on stages for over 30 years, making snap decisions when something malfunctions. One time in Houston, we expected our gear to arrive at the venue. Our concert was just hours away but, to our horror, only the snare drum and stand arrived--not the whole drum set; everything else arrived as planned. I turned to my brother Jon, and as the unfortunate bearer of bad news, my expression communicated the obvious: the show must go on. I knew for him it would be like doing a waltz on one leg. With trepidation and mild protest, he eventually succumbed, as a consummate professional does, and did the gig--with flair, by the way. Jon learned to "smile real loud" and received compliments on his drumming!

I do all I can in the planning stage to avoid these "MacGyver" types of situations. But if they do come without warning, know that you have more options than you think. Just make sure to bring along your dancing shoes in your gig bag...

Fish In the Audience

Tommy Shaw is one of my favorite musicians of all time. He is a quadruple threat: a great guitarist, singer, songwriter, and his baby-faced looks have kept him in the running as a chick-magnet way into his 50's. My buddy, Gary Sadler, had the privilege of meeting him back stage at a recent Styx concert--a band for which Tommy has been playing since 1976. Many of us know his voice from songs such as Too Much Time On My Hands, Blue Collar Man and Angry Young Man. I ran across a web-magazine in which Tommy shed light on the little-talked-about discomfort that affects most musicians when it's their turn to be an audience member.

Many musicians who travel through Nashville say we are the worst audiences on their itinerary. That is because the seats are usually filled with fellow players and singers. Our tendency is to stand there, cross-armed and blank-faced, not giving needed feedback to the performers on stage. Tommy Shaw talked to writer, Allen D. Tate, about an award show where Styx recently performed. Tommy helps make it clear that when we, the musicians, are not on stage, we are at our most vulnerable state--we do better in the spotlight than in the seats:

Having attended enough shows, I have finally come to the conclusion that I am not a lone freak, I am in a class of freaks of artists that just don’t know what to do with themselves from that perspective. Looking out that night at the audience, brightly lit because the event was televised, I could see them all...So there we were starting into “Blue Collar Man” when I looked out and saw them: Artists, musicians, their spouses and dates, their handlers and relatives everywhere, most of them friends...I recognized that look on their faces – awkward helplessness and 'fish-out-of’ water' syndrome...I think artists will agree, we just don’t know what to do when we are audience members. It’s difficult to suspend your disbelief as an audience member because you have too much experience from the stage and you instinctively take on the same reflex reactions as if you were up there, except now you are helpless because you are not in the mix.

The problem extends to the church where pastors and worship leaders have the same difficulties. There is nothing more frustrating than to see the pastor on the front row, fiddling with his sermon notes during a tender moment in worship; or a worship leader checking email on his smart-phone. That might be a reminder for us to be aware of how we present ourselves on and off stage. Some of us "fish" would do better to just swim away!

Leftovers

We have a bunch of ham leftover from Thanksgiving. That's right, ham. If I were to choose, I'd pick ham every time. We are usually traditional on Turkey Day, but his year Brenda was handed a kick-fanny Honey Baked ham as a gift--so pork became our Thanksgiving main course. Needless to say, I had ham later for dinner, and we will have some more tonight as well.

I am reminded of the loaves and fishes story from the Bible. Not only did Jesus supply enough food for the multitudes, but there were baskets filled with leftovers for some fortunate person to take home and enjoy for days. When Jesus turned water into wine at the wedding feast, he made three huge vats so there would be plenty. As with the bread, some blessed soul had the "duty" of carrying home the excess wine from the feast (can you imagine what the label would say if it were bottled?--God's Best Vineyards--French wine would have nothing on it!). Every blessing that God brings is a reminder that heaven is not poor or wanting for anything. When He is involved, things are done with the utmost quality and the quantity usually exceeds the needed amount.

As I eat our Honey Baked ham to the bone, I thank God. He constantly reminds us that He has our back. Even though it's ironic--the God of Issac and Jacob gave us the forbidden swine for Thanksgiving--I see it as a wink and a nod to the fact that He wants to bless us abundantly. I don't deserve any of it. I cannot match his generosity. So I will reach for a roll, slap on some mustard, and give thanks for the leftovers. AMEN!

Gary Henley

From January, 1980, to January, 1983, I spent three years criss-crossing the country and the globe playing music for American Entertainment Productions (AEP). It was a small company out of the northern suburbs of Columbus, Ohio. It might have been a tiny blip on the radar-screen of the entertainment industry, but it has been "performance school" for me and many other college-aged musicians and singers since 1973.

AEP was the place where I learned to perform for an audience. I also learned to lead others, not only as a front-person on stage, but as a road manager. My responsibilities were to get us from gig to gig, represent AEP to the agents and show producers, keep harmony (relational and musical) within the team, make sure the checks were deposited and to see that we had hotel rooms for the group. You can't put a price tag on that kind of an education!


(photo)First National Band in Turkey, summer,1982

Gary Henley was the owner and president of the company. Over the years he--along with Mark Sorensen, Wes Turner and arranger-extraordinaire, Stan Morse--staffed, outfitted, produced and transported hundreds of aspiring musicians to share stages with greats such as Dolly Parton, Jay Leno, Bob Hope, Tony Bennett and Pat Boone. My second year with AEP began with a newly launched rock group, the First National Band. We journeyed the US playing two to three shows per day for Jr. and Sr. high schools. We would do a short promo show and advertise that we'd be back for a big nighttime show in a few days. That added up to thirteen shows per week sometimes--often traveling two to three hours between performances. I remember crawling up to my hotel room one night in Nebraska and wondering if I would be alive when the alarm rang at three the next morning. How could a 21 year-old be so tired?

Gary has announced that he is selling the company after 37 years. This change makes turning the page on the past more difficult; it seems Gary Henley has always been there. I will forever be grateful to those guys at AEP who put up with me as I learned to adjust to road-life and being away from home for the first time. I grew up in AEP. Gary taught me some of the greatest lessons in life: don't give up; the show must go on; make it happen!

Sanctuary

Family is what Thanksgiving is all about. We are blessed with a home that is filled with love, food, rest and music--a place I want to run to when the day is through. Yesterday, our new daughter-in-law expressed to Brenda how much she appreciates the home we have. Really, our home is the sum total of what both Brenda and I have experienced in our lives--our own family, or others where warmth and acceptance were extended to all who entered. Even before Brenda and I met, we were making a list of the things we wanted in a home. Most of the qualities we observed and desired were things that happened naturally in family settings, not things that were forced--but genuine, sanctuaries and respites from the world.

All that I have avoided for my family can be found on the TV show, Cops: dads out in the street in wife-beater tank tops, or shirtless altogether; the living spaces strewn with dirty dishes and soiled floors; babies wandering around in filthy, ripe diapers; everyone scurrying about like headless chickens...Do you know the scene?

I have witnessed homes like this, real and up-close, and I won't have any of it. When I was in elementary school, I planned to stay the night with a friend. His mom and dad started drinking before I got there, and in a few hours they were completely sauced and going for each others throats, both physically and verbally. I didn't feel safe. I called my dad to pick me up and I spent the rest of the night in the peaceful sanctuary of my own home.

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving this Thursday. I know that our house will be filled with the aroma of food, the TV will stay on constantly, and by 2 o'clock, a coma will overtake each person until we all head out to our customary Thanksgiving visit to the theater. When we return, the countdown to Christmas will have already commenced and we'll peruse the paper for Black Friday bargains.

I have found a resting place, and it's called home.

Traditions

Traditions are good. They are predictable, anticipated and usually meet our expectations. We look at our calendars and make our annual plans for Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving, etc. Our immediate family have inadvertently created traditions that Brenda and I didn't realize were so until our kids, Josh and Betsy, brought them to our attention.

One big tradition has been on Thanksgiving. Right before dinner we all gather and stand at the table for a family photo which usually ends up being our Christmas portrait of sorts. Then after the feast we go to the computer and choose a new movie to see at a local theater. It's simple, and almost sounds dull, but it has become a powerful tradition to which we all look forward.

Since Josh and Betsy have both married, and their spouses rightfully have a say in their holiday schedules, Thanksgiving this year will have to be tweaked. Josh an Amber will visit her family three hours away, and Betsy and Adam will share the weekend between his and our family. As Brenda and I look back over our 25 years of marriage, we see the changes that have inevitably happened to us as our family grew. Sometimes with a move, a death, or as the children grew up and moved away, our long-standing traditions had to be altered. It is a change we must ultimately accept.

Change is a good thing. Maybe within a few years we will have additions to our family and my name will go from Dad to Grandpa. In that case, I will look forward to the holidays all the more. I know that Josh and Betsy's families will grow--new traditions will evolve and schedules will need to be adjusted. But being a grandpa is a change for which I can easily adjust. No pressure, kids!

Guitar Men

I had lunch this week with two guys who build musical instruments: Mario Martin (Guitar Mill) builds guitars and Kevin Shaw (Shaw Audio) builds amplifiers. When I get the opportunity to hang out with guys like these I am both delighted and intimidated. As a musician I've learned to focus on the playing and leave the technical stuff to the experts. I can be intimidated because I am not an electrical engineer or a carpenter. But I know what I like when it comes to tone and functionality. When it all boils down, I am simply a guitar picker--and these guys make me sound good when I play through their awesome tone machines.

Here's a video produced by Nashville Public Television--a great piece about my friend, Mario Martin.

Southgate Avenue

I, along with a host of other Southgate Avenue children, found ways to pass the after-school hours by playing games like Red Rover and Hide & Seek. In the summertime we would buddy up to those on the block who had a pool. We were absolutely free to roam the neighborhood if it was light outside. Mom would kick us out of the house to play in the afternoon sun until the collective smell of onions, garlic, fried meats and cooking oil wafted through the neighborhood exhaust vents, and someone from each clan would scream at the top of their lungs, "Dinner's ready!"

After the feast we would run back out to re-join the neighborhood activity, sometimes with the last bite of dinner still in our mouths when we caught up with our friends. We would run and play so hard, all the while sweat pouring off our shaved heads. We would itch from sliding on the grass and the occasional run-in with a nasty ant bed. Nevertheless, nothing could stop us until the sun began to set and we would wind-down our activity, based on how much light was left. Then in an instant, the street lights would come on and beckon us toward our individual homes.

Bath time was a challenge for my mother and her 3 boys. More water ended up on the floor than in the tub, and a soap ring appeared each time. Mom had to scrub everything the next day knowing all would be destroyed again that night. We battled our arms and legs into clean pajamas with the smell of Safeguard replacing the pungent odors of sweat and soil. Then we'd settle in with our favorite evening TV shows and beg to stay up one more hour. Before we knew it, our sleepy heads were ready to hit the pillow. It was time to slip into our clothes-line-fresh beds and lay there listening to crickets as we fell off to sleep. Nothing was more secure, safe or satisfying: knowing that mom and dad were standing guard from the other room...all was well.

Tonight, as a dog barks in a distant yard, and a fall breeze gently rustles the bushes around my house, I am thankful for my parents. I pray that my kids have the same memories of security and warmth that I knew while growing up on Southgate Avenue.

Rule Of Three

Last night our pastor made a bold statement while addressing 1500+ men who gathered together to eat, worship God, and focus on our men's initiative for 2011. It was clear and there was no uncertainty with the points he wanted to make. The visual that brought the first point home was probably not unusual to many churches, especially during a Christmas pageant. But it was certainly a first for our church in the new sanctuary which opened earlier this year.

People, especially men, are prone to tuning-out when a lot of information is coming at them like X-wing fighters in a battle scene from Star Wars. Sgt. Friday from Dragnet summed it up best by saying, "Just the facts, ma'am." Last night's men's gathering began with a huge barbecue feast that made focusing on the message more difficult. It took a lot of distorted guitars with ear-cracking drums to wake the guys from their chicken and pork-induced coma before Allen took the stage.

I am a proponent of the "rule of three" when it comes to speaking and writing. It is somewhat inherent in humans to better retain information, with increased comprehension, by using a three point outline. My dad, a great writer and a former Toastmaster, taught me this simple, yet effective form of communication: tell the audience what your going to say, say it in three simple points and, in conclusion, remind them what you just told them. Some might contend that this approach is too simplistic, but if you want to get your point across--it works!

The first of the three points that Pastor Allen introduced last night involved bringing a live, 1-ton bull out on stage (a point is always more effectively communicated with a visual!). "No more bull, guys!" was his statement. The second point was: we gotta move- you can't stand still and progress in God. The third point: it takes an over-comer to continue on the journey as a Christ-follower. We all got the message and look forward to implementing it into our lives in the coming year.

Brilliant! The power of the "rule of three" was evidenced last night. Buster the bull also left evidence of his visit back stage, by the way.

20 Years

As happens each Tuesday, new CDs, DVD's and books arrive on store shelves to await the anxious hands of perspective buyers. This week, former president George W. Bush's memoir, Decision Points, was among those fresh releases. I was able to get my hands on a sample portion of the book through my Kindle, via Amazon.com. In it, Mr. Bush takes a rather clear, simply-stated approach in his writing. The straight-to-the-point honesty of some of the anecdotes he offers point to his desire to "set the record straight"--at least in his viewpoint.

I think that it's important to step away from a given situation to enable a clear assessment. In the case of an object, I am forced to stretch it as far away from my eyes as possible to see the small details clearly. It also helps that I have my reading glasses handy. Viewing history can be very similar. In order to judge a particular era, person or social movement, it is helpful to be distanced from it. It takes as little as a generation to properly make accurate judgments, maybe even several generations. It is unfair to judge a president during the time he is in office, although it is clear when someone makes a mistake in the immediate. As a Christian, I have a strong set of values which influence my point of view about an issue. But to actually judge his decisions and motivations, one must pull back and look at a bigger panorama. In my humble opinion, I think 20 years is the least amount of time it takes to stamp a judgment on history.

Remember, Abraham Lincoln was despised throughout his tenure as president by many, including some within his own cabinet. Time has changed that perspective. Many now say that Lincoln was our greatest president. Reagan was championed in political speeches of some Democrats during this past mid-term election cycle. Time heals wounds. Time brings clarity and sometime reverses what once was a positive to be seen as negative--take the Mad Men, male-chauvinistic, cigarette-smoking culture of the 60's, for instance. Even enemies can appreciate a well fought battle when time separates one from the passions of the moment.

As I have agreed with most of Mr. Bush's policies, I have also disagreed with many, including his lax stand on border security. In his book, he makes a case for several policy decisions including the bank bailouts of the last months of his presidency. I do know that Bush is a decent, God-fearing man who overcame many obstacles to reach the high office he was elected twice to fill. His legacy will find it's true place in history, maybe not after reading the book, or hearing him personally set the record straight on talk shows over these next few months. His legacy will be better judged from an arm's length away, focused through the lens of wisdom and truth.

Running In the Dark

Character is what we do when no one is watching, as the saying goes. At 34 Edison Pena is a man whom the world now knows as miner No. 12, or "The Running Miner." Edison, along with 32 fellow coal miners, was trapped a half-mile below the earth's surface in Copiapo, Chile for 69 days. His story of survival, hope, determination, and triumph was punctuated this weekend as he ran the New York Marathon. The interesting thing was that it was in the dark, dank recesses of that looming and potential grave where Edison made a pact with himself to not simply wait for a rescue but to become a better man in the process.

In a report from the NY Daily News Pena said,

"I ran to forget that I was trapped...I ran in the dark. It was tremendous for me." He paused for a moment. "I went to the depths, the lowest of the low, but I kept running. If you show God you can fight, He will listen much more than if you give up. God doesn't like us to give up."

In his captivity he would train by dragging a wooden pallet behind him - cargo that not only added resistance, but helped him deal with all of the emotion that was building up as days stretched into weeks and then months. Pena would tie a telephone cord around his waist, hook it to the pallet, and off he'd go, with a flashlight in hand and no idea if he'd ever see daylight, or his family again.

"I became two people: the weak person who wanted simply to give up, and the person who chose to be strong - to run and to survive," he said. "Eventually, I chose to live." Pena is a devout Christian and humble man who wants to please God and not put anyone out.

He didn't even want to ask New York Road Runners for shoes; when he learned that marathon sponsor, Asics, would be happy to provide him with some, he could hardly believe it. He finished the marathon on Sunday in 5-hours, 40 minutes, enduring severe knee pain that Pena said has plagued him since the days he was trapped in the mine. At one point during the race he said he thought about dropping out due to the pain. But after he applied ice packs to the knee, he was able to finish the race.

I am humbled this morning and encouraged. God will shine a glimmer of light into a sea of darkness to bring hope to a weary soul. Even as we wait for God's deliverance, maybe there is a purpose to be fulfilled. We often search for meaning in the trials we face, sometimes coming up empty handed. Like Edison Pena, we can turn our most harrowing difficulties into a brand-new and exciting journey. Who knows what is waiting on the surface of the mine.

Work

“The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary,” writes Donald Kendall, former Chairman and Chief Executive Officer PepsiCo. Success in life is usually hewn out of a proverbial rock and requires sweat, persistence, faith, tenacity and pride. The unfortunate reality is that many times some lazy loser is waiting on the sidelines to haul it all away, or at least take credit for your hard work. The truth is, we may never see the full fruit of our efforts, but hope and pray that our loved ones will benefit from our toil. If life's ultimate goal is retirement, and then to sit around waiting for our heart to stop beating, I would rather be out there rocking until they peel the guitar away from my cold, dead hands.

Work has such a nasty connotation in our free-loading society. There is an attitude of entitlement that is pervasive in our culture. Several of the government programs meant to help the poor have only hindered folks from getting off of their rear ends and actually becoming a producer rather than a taker in society. I was raised in a hard-working, blue-collar household where you went to work after high school. There was none of this sitting around crap in my home. I left home to play music and, after 6 years of doing so, realized that my future was limited if I didn't have a college education. So, at 25 years of age, and newly married, I re-started my freshman year (first attempt was in 1978, right out of high school) to begin a new 4-year journey as a professional student. Don't get me wrong--I had two part-time jobs as well to provide income for my new family.

Author, Julia Cameron writes, “What we really want to do is what we are really meant to do. When we do what we are meant to do, money comes to us, doors open for us, we feel useful, and the work we do feels like play to us.” This statement, in my opinion, doesn't equate "money comes to us" as wealth, necessarily. The wonderful thing about America is that we have options. Marco Rubio, the newly elected senator from Florida, in his acceptance speech said of his late father,

"No matter where I go, whatever title I may achieve, I will always be the son of exiles and will always be the heir of two generations of unfulfilled dreams...He [my father] grew up largely in a society where what you were going to be when you grew up was decided for you. This is like almost every other place in the world. Think about what that means. That means that before you are even born, how far you're going to get to go in life is decided for you by who your parents are or are not. He was fortunate enough to make it here to America where he was never able to capture his own dreams of his own youth. Instead, he made it the mission of his life to ensure that his children would have every opportunity he did not, that every door that was closed for him would be open for them, that the day would never come for them that came for him: The day when he realized that his own dreams would not be possible, and so now life was about opening the pathways for his children. This story I know well, and it verifies to me the greatness of our country. Because tonight, with your vote, you have elected his son to the United States Senate."

My goal in work is to finish what God has given my hands to do on earth with skill and excellence, to bring Him glory, to provide for my wife and family, and ultimately to leave this world a better place than the one into which I was born.

A Song In the Night

Two nights ago I woke at 3:45 AM with a song that wouldn't go away. Funny, it was one I never heard before. I decided to get up, go to my studio, spark up the Mac and, with my acoustic, begin to make sense of the melody that was rolling around in my head.

As I wrote recently, I can easily lose a song that comes to me in a dream. This time the tune was so persistent it wouldn't take "later" for an answer. I remember the same thing happened when I wrote "Garments of Praise." That song came to me when I was going through an emotionally tough time. I sang the lyric and melody in my mind as I pondered Isaiah 61:3. It was so comforting in that even as I was feeling lousy, by focusing on God's view of my situation, I could actually feel hope and relief.

The same thing happened the other night. I was dreaming about being in a worship service at our church. This time I wasn't leading worship but was in the congregation. I was imagining that we were gathered at the altar, waiting for the Spirit of the Lord to fall. Actually, it was similar to the Biblical scene from Isaiah 6 where the prophet saw the Lord high and lifted up, the train of His robe filling the temple. The phrase "saints and angels singing together" came to my mind. That was it! I had a song.

Again, it doesn't happen as often as I would like, but I'll take the early-morning interruption of sleep to jot down this inspiration from heaven.

Neil Young

I am a huge fan of Neil Young. I don't particularly like it when he complains about the US, yet continues to live here as a Canadian citizen. But when it comes to his music, he's up there on my favorites list.

I was introduced to Neil's unique music when my older brother, Rob, brought home both of the albums "Harvest," and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's "Deja Vu." The song "A Man Needs a Maid," from the 1972 "Harvest" record, floored me, even as a young teen. Of course, "Heart of Gold" took both the nation and me by storm with this, his only #1 hit song. My musical life was changed during those moments listening to this great artist.

In 2003, Rolling Stone Magazine listed "Harvest" as one of the 500 Greatest Albums of All time at #78. In 2004, Rolling Stone magazine selected "Heart of Gold" as one of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time, stating:

"Harvest yielded Young's only Number One hit, 'Heart of Gold,' and helped set the stage for the Seventies soft-rock explosion -- both James Taylor and Linda Ronstadt sing on the album. Along with Young, they were in Nashville to appear on Johnny Cash's variety show the week that Harvest was cut with an odd group of accomplished session players that included bassist Tim Drummond, who had played with James Brown. The sound was Americana -- steel guitar, slide guitar, banjo -- stripped down and rebuilt with every jagged edge exposed. The standout tracks include 'Old Man' and 'The Needle and the Damage Done.'"

When some first heard the group America, and it's mega-hit "A Horse With No Name," they thought it was a Neil Young recording. Young's influence, going back to his previous group, the Buffalo Springfield, along with other groups like the Byrds, the Dillards and singer Linda Ronstadt, had unmistakeably contributed to the birth of new groups like America and the Eagles. This fresh take on American roots music began as a ripple, then a wave, and rose to tsunami strength known as the Southern California Sound. It was an amalgam of bluegrass, country, folk, gospel, rock, and a hefty dose of vocal harmony and instrumental prowess . The new sonic hybrid captivated radio airwaves through to the end of the decade when punk and New Wave began to take the top spots on the Billboard charts. Neil Young was at the center of it all from the beginning, and continues to release great music today.

I saw an uncanny Neil Young impression artfully done by Jimmy Fallon the other day. It was dead-on! In it, Jimmy nails the essence of Neils style while singing the song made famous on American Idol, "Pants On the Ground." Neil may be an acquired taste for some, but to me, a child of the 60's and 70's, he is a genius.

Gadget Freak

I broke down and did it. I succumbed to the iPad G.A.S. attack (Gadget Acquisition Syndrome). I covet those that my friends have purchased and I finally found the right excuse(s) to acquire my own: tax write-off, Christmas, 25th wedding anniversary, my great-grandmother's birthday...

As many already know, I am the guy who gets the new gadget as soon as it comes out. Sometimes I have made mistakes like in the case of the ill-fated HD disc player that was obliterated by the Blu-ray a few years ago. I am now the proud owner of an HD boat anchor. Also, Apple's hand-held Newton comes to mind. I bought one of those several years ago and it became a door stop after it failed to catch on with the masses. Even as I strive to keep up with ever-evolving technology, new stuff gets released that makes what I bought yesterday seem as sophisticated as a button on a string.

It's a sickness. I love to surround myself with cool things replete with buttons, touch screens, WiFi, email, Twitter, Facebook, etc. There is probably a saturation point, but I obviously haven't found it yet. Just yesterday my Droid died for no reason. I fiddled around with it and then, suddenly, the screen filled with a great-big, scary, red exclamation point. I went into panic mode and rushed to my neighborhood Verizon store. The guy, who seemed to be about 12 years old, greeted me, snatched the phone from my sweaty palm, did a quick blur of what seemed to be ninja-type moves, and handed me the phone back. At that point I realized my dependence on gadgets had moved past a "mild sickness" into the "insane" realm. I put too much trust in these plastic wonder boxes to bring me happiness.

I know that my gadget insanity will need to be dealt with, but not before I order my iPad. I hear there are great apps available to help neurotic gadget freaks like me.

Y'all Come Back

North, south, east and west--it's confusing to try and divide the US into such distinct sections these days. But when speaking of American culture, we are forced to do it. When relocating to the south, after growing up in southern California, there was much to learn and plenty of adjustments to make. Southern Californians are, by nature, rebellious. Not in an overt manner, it's just that our forefathers who moved west were leaving the east for a reason. Some were looking to make a better life for their families--a life to be carved out of the wilderness, where wealth wasn't required as much as a strong back, courage and tenacity. The statement, "That's the way we've always done it...," can only hold people back for so long. Some folks just wanted to re-invent their lives. So when opportunity showed up, our brave, rebellious predecessors took the chance and bolted through the open door of opportunity.


It's not that everyone in California is aware or even remotely connected to the adventurous motivations of their ancestors. Most of the time we perpetuate the culture we've been handed only to pass it down without figuring out it's origin. One such cultural difference between east and west is how people respond to their elders here in Tennessee. It's appropriate to say, as a show of respect, "Mr. Jamie," rather than calling me by my first name alone. In the case of a new acquaintance, it is appropriate to say, "Mr. Harvill." When westerners tell a southern kid to drop the "yes sir, no sir," the child will usually answer, "Yes sir!" So don't even try to correct them--it's in their genes. It is an indelible part of the southern fabric.

As a native Californian I can say that we are ego-centric. Because so much cultural change has come out of Hollywood like movies, music and television, it's mistakenly easy to think that the US takes it's marching orders from us. When I visit California, my family always asks me how it is living in the south...kind of in a precious manner, head tilted to show curiosity, with a little dose of, "bless their hearts!" California can sometimes come off as the center of the universe and the rest of the world resents it! I know it's not done on purpose, but it comes across that way sometimes.

Since I am an adopted southern son, I will poke fun at one of the south's cultural idiosyncrasies. If a southerner ever says to you, "Y'all come back," don't show up next week, because they probably forgot, as they didn't really mean it to begin with--it's just an expression.

The truth is, we make our home where our heart is. My heart is in Tennessee. Y'all come and see us...just kidding!

The Harvest

It rained last night--probably the first time our soil has seen significant moisture in two months. Our lawn has taken a serious hit this summer. We made the decision to prepare the lawn for seeding in the fall by doing severe weed killing and fertilizing from the beginning of spring until now. The only thing that we've gleaned up to this point is a desert in the front yard. The poor lawn looks like a guy losing his hair. The only difference is that a lawn can't do a comb-over. There are spots in our front yard that look so pitiful, I've almost given up hope.

A buddy of mine who owns a landscaping business said to call him in October and he'll come over and make an estimate on aerating and seeding the lawn. He assured me that in the process the seeds will stay in the ground via a device called the super-seeder. It sounds dangerous...that's why I want to watch from the sidelines when he pulls that sucker off his trailer. He can't promise me anything, but if all goes as planned, and I do my job as the lawn daddy this winter, I just might be playing golf on the new turf by early summer (high hopes!).

I have made efforts in my personal and professional life over several months where, like the lawn, I hope to see a harvest from all the effort expended. My pesky flesh struggles with delayed gratification. I'm smart enough not to side with my inner child, but rather to take the adult route and wait for the harvest, knowing that good things come to those who are somewhat patient. I can get fidgety in the process, but I know that if I prepare the "soil," plant the "seed," and nurture it with prayer, I'll enjoy a bountiful harvest that only God can bring.

Chilling, Thrilling Halloween

Hey, I admit, I went trick-or-treating as a kid. I understand the spiritual reasons why our children need an alternative these days, not to mention the safety factor. But I did--and I had a blast. My family didn't know Christ back in those days, so we really didn't consider that the holiday celebrated death, the devil and spiritual darkness. I now know the origin of Halloween began as a religious observance of saints in the church. But as a kid, it was a chance to fill our pillow cases with as much free candy that we could gather in a few hours.

A few days out, my mom would let my brothers and I make a trip around the corner to Owl Rexall drugstore to purchase a Halloween costume. They were made of a cheap material that you would pull over your regular clothes. I'm sure that if a lit match touched the material, one would become a human torch. The mask was plastic and held to the back of the head with a stretch band that always hurt because it would get caught in my hair. There was usually a hole where the character's mouth was. I would spend all night unconsciously pushing the tip of my tongue through the slit. I had cuts on my tongue for days afterward. Some years, as we got older, we wouldn't even wear a costume. The anticipation that built up amongst the friends on my block was like a balloon about to pop. Just moments before we were to begin our evening of gathering candy, I would rip the pillow case from my bed and race out the door to haunt the neighborhood.

Some houses went all out with decorations and sound effects. We're talking the 60's here, where technical challenges like sound systems, lighting and fog were insurmountable by the average family. Nowadays you can find all you need at Walmart. I loved the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland and they had a really scary (for that time) record called Chilling, Thrilling Sounds of the Haunted House. Creative folks had the record playing over their stereo that they hid somewhere in the bushes in front of their house. One family decorated their porch with spider webs and a stuffed dummy next to the candy bowl. In one case, a neighbor rigged a speaker in a dummy's mouth and stood to the side with a microphone, out of view, to scare the kids who dared to snag the candy. We were frightened out of our minds when the dummy started talking. At that point, the candy wasn't worth it.

Halloween is a great time of year for our church in Murfreesboro. We serve some 20,000 locals with free candy, music, rides and a humongous cake walk. We take the opportunity to show families that Jesus loves them. Many people start coming to our church because of our Hoedown event every year. I enjoy seeing the creativity of the costumes. Even so, I still have great memories of our simple Halloween adventures back in the day. My mom told me many years after that as soon as we crashed into bed with exhaustion from trick-or-treating, she and my dad would rummage through our candy bags to pilfer some of the good stuff for themselves like Snickers bars and M & M's. She said they left plenty for us. Funny, I never noticed any missing.

The Mighty Pen

I have been writing almost everyday for six months. In that time this blog has come to life. I have discovered that I really enjoy the process of jotting down my thoughts. Sometimes I feel that it is a self-centered activity--writing about my journey through life. As I receive responses from folks all over the USA, I have reconsidered my stance on writing about what I know best: my sphere of experience.

Twitter is fun. I like to read tidbits from other people's experiences and not necessarily have to wade through all the extras that a place like Facebook offers (don't get me wrong, I LOVE the opportunity Facebook has given me to connect with lost friends). The ability to quickly and succinctly convey a thought to other people around the world is a remarkable benefit made possible by our nifty, Dick Tracy-like phones. My favorite person on Twitter is pastor Rick Warren. He seems to deliver the most power-packed statements related to being a Christ-follower. I am encouraged every time a new Rick-tweet makes it's way to my Android smart-phone. I would really be bummed if he stopped delivering his golden nuggets of wisdom throughout the day.

I realize the benefit of writing is for me more than the reader. I have the opportunity to think through what I want to say and, in the process, refine my thoughts to enable a more disciplined delivery. Like with the process of songwriting, I mull over everything, making sure that I am communicating my point in the clearest fashion while considering the grammar and spelling (sometimes a mistake eludes my attention and I have to quickly make repairs after they are later discovered). The process of writing is the only way one will discover his own voice. Over the past months I have had the opportunity to find my own.

I am excited about the future as I branch out with the prospect of several book projects that I have been dreaming about lately. In fact, today I start the outline for what I hope is my entree into the literary world. The pen is powerful--reading has changed my own life tremendously. With my keyboard before me, I am taking steps toward a new and powerful way to express my mind, faith and experience as a fellow traveler to all who will stop and read the words I put to an empty page.

Songwriters

We are a unique bunch. Every waking moment we seem to be meandering through our day like Mr. Magoo, dreaming up new melodies, the perfect rhyme, new ways to say what everyone is thinking, and praying that no one beats us to the idea first. It's a curious thing--making money with things that we made up in our minds.

I don't really know where the songs come from. Some say we catch them as they fall from heaven. I know that some songs have escaped me--especially those that come to me in dreams. Whatever the source, songs are never just written--the best ones are re-written--scrubbed, sifted, re-worked, over and over, until they are ready to face an audience.

I admire the songwriters who labor over their works of art. Mac McAnally is one of those writers. He is little known as an artist (a great singer, and multi-instrumentalist), but his songs are masterpieces. Another master songsmith is Jimmy Webb. He just released a country album of remakes from his illustrious library of songs recorded by other artists. Tunes like By the Time I Get to Phoenix, Wichita Lineman and Galveston are all his progeny.

Some of my favorite writers are of the Tin Pan Alley days--writers who wrote for Broadway shows and movies. Their lyrics and melodies are even being recorded today. I loved the tradition where a prelude was introduced before the song actually started. The craft of those artisans still serve as benchmarks for serious writers today.

I am blessed to be a songwriter. I have always made up stuff in my head that I thought was useless until I realized that other people liked to sing my songs, too. The day I signed my first writer's deal was a dream come true. I look forward to the songs that are in my future. I think the best ones are yet to come.

E-Ticket

In southern California, from which I hail, Disneyland was a frequented attraction for my family. Growing up just a few miles from the park, we were within ear and eye-shot of the Disney experience. We could hear the popping of the fireworks outside, through our screen door in the summer and, like clockwork every evening, knew it was 9:25 PM. It was Tinkerbell's cue to fly from the top of Matterhorn Mountain (via a tight wire, for the "non-believer"). Even when we weren't in the park, the park came to us.

Living so close didn't stifle the desire to visit as often as possible. One favorite stocking-stuffer at Christmastime was a book of tickets (coupons, as they called them) for a visit to Disneyland. The book came with tickets lettered from A to E. The progressing letters represented rides that were increasingly more desirable. Usually we'd come home with unused A and B tickets in the book. The reason was simple: the cool rides like the Pirates of the Caribbean, The Haunted Mansion, Space Mountain, The Matterhorn and the Monorail required an "E-ticket".

According to the meticulous historical research done by the folks at the website Yesterland.com,

"The beginning of the end for “A” through “E” tickets was the 1971 opening of Magic Mountain (now Six Flags Magic Mountain), northwest of Los Angeles. Magic Mountain sold all-inclusive admission tickets for $5.00. Tickets were phased out in the late 1970s and early 1980s and were eliminated (altogether) in June, 1982, when all-inclusive passports became the only form of Disneyland admission."

In Southern California slang, the expression “E-ticket" came to mean any activity or event that was especially worthwhile or exciting. The term barely made it across the California line into the vernacular of other regions and states. I have seen people give me a strange look when I use the term, "That was E-Ticket!" Obviously, obscure Disney references escape the awareness of the general public.

I guess superlatives such as: "excellent", "extraordinary", "incredible", or "awesome" fit the bill for the masses as to what is considered the ultimate. For me, a kid from Fullerton, growing up in the 60's and 70's, "E-ticket" says it all.

Faces

Faces. No, I'm not talking about Rod Stewart's early band, but the thing that glares back at us in the bathroom mirror.

Mom's face is the first thing a child sees in this world (second to the scary men and women wearing funny, surgical outfits). We look to see if someone is pleased or annoyed with us by their facial expressions. I'm lousy at the "poker face" because what you see on my mug is probably what's going on in my head. People say I smile a lot--especially when I'm playing my guitar and singing. I am not aware of it, but they can see by my face that I really enjoy what I do.

I was watching a show recently where people were caught on tape, by a night-vision camera, as they walked through a Halloween haunted house. It's hard to hide your frightened facial contortions when a costumed ghoul jumps out at you from a dark corner. It's also difficult to hide when an expert in human behavior analyzes whether you are lying or telling the truth through subtle facial responses when answering a question.

All in all, our faces tell our story. I ran across some photos of inanimate objects that really tease the brain. They aren't Disney anthropomorphic characters--but real, every-day things we might miss if we are in a hurry. I thought you might get a kick out of them, too.

AM Radio Days

I listened to my parent's car radio as a kid with a different set of ears than when I listened to my stereo as a teen. The same is true now when I listen to new music through my iPod. I am obviously the same person, but the passage of time and my refinement as a musician has changed the way I hear music.

I was transported into another world through an imaginary portal inside the AM radio next to my bed. I turned it off just before I fell asleep--and when I woke up the next morning--I would switch it back on. I can tell you the release date of many of the songs from that era based on the years I had that little bed-side box. I didn't hear with a critical ear back then--I simply listened to songs as a whole. I wasn't concerned about stereo, just moved by the songs as they rolled out over the static and into my head and heart.

Now, with the search for those recordings on the internet to recapture that emotional experience from the AM radio days, I am disappointed. It's hard to ignore the out-of-tune vocals. The drums sound like dull, cardboard boxes, and the liberal use of reverb seems to make the mixes sound cloudy and dark. I want to re-connect with the way those songs once made me feel. Maybe the youthful wonder has been spoiled by knowing too much about the process of making music.

I remember hearing Black Sabbath's Paranoid and Deep Purple's Machine Head for the first time. Without realizing it, I was delving into the beginnings of of heavy metal music. I was mesmerized. I was blown away by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's Deja Vu. The Beach Boys probably had the greatest emotional effect on me. When I listen to these records today, it's hard to dismiss the flaws.

Flaws or not, those records changed my life. Today, many a vocal is tuned to keyboard-like perfection, drums are scooted around and tightened up, and the recordings are hiss-free and crystal-clear. I have learned that these changes don't necessarily make for better records. I'll always cherish that little AM radio. Static and all, it introduced me to the fantasy that I am living today.

A Constant Companion

Just yesterday morning on Facebook my sister-in-law posted that my nephew Peter had an eye exam. They found out that he was half blind. Brenda shot back a reply and said we found out the same thing about Betsy when she was in school. In Betsy's case, poor eyesight was handed down through me and my dad. Who knows how far back this malady goes in my family? I shudder to think what she missed all those years that we were unaware of her ablepsy.

Glasses have been plastered to my face since I was 13. The month my braces were removed, following a 2-year tangle with the orthodontist, an optometrist took his place with my diagnosis of near-sightedness. I remember borrowing a friend's glasses and being surprised to behold vivid colors and solid lines replacing the fuzzy, undefined shapes I was used to seeing. I had a terrible headache one Saturday after going to the movies, so my dad booked a visit to the eye doctor only to confirm what he already suspected.

Brenda's eyesight has always been perfect until recently. Only a few years ago she began to need a little help from readers to enjoy her beloved Kindle. Joshua takes after his mother in that his eyes have needed no assistance whatsoever in seeing the world around him. I have never known a morning when I woke up without patting down the bedside table in search of my glasses. In fact, I have an over-sized digital clock next to me so I can see the time without them when nature calls in the middle of the night ( a whole other story for another time!). For a decade I have carried reading glasses to accompany my contact lenses. It didn't seem fair when my doctor told me I'd have to wear both. That revelation sucked.

I guess the only remedy would be surgery. It makes me cringe to think about that. I can't stand the thought of someone dragging a knife across my cornea. Trifocals do the job pretty well for me these days, as do contact lenses when I play on stage. So, to add to a challenged prostate, failing teeth, ear hair and rosy cheeks, glasses will continue be a constant companion.

Pretty When It's New

Merle Haggard has an extraordinary way with words. He has crafted many a hit that still find their way, via his greatest hits releases, into my iPod. As a master songwriter, his material should be studied by future songsmiths. Today I was listening through his new release called, I Am What I Am. In his 76th album, this 73 year old sings about love from an old and wise perspective, and says in a recent interview with American Songwriter magazine , “I’ve seen it all, and I’ve seen it go away.” His wife Teresa joins him on many of the tunes, one of which caught my heart when I first heard it:

Pretty When It's New

Love’s always lovely, when first two lovers meet.
Hand in hand, arm in arm, walkin’ down the street.
Always seen together, in everything they do.
Love is always pretty, when it’s new.

Love is always special, especially to the heart.
When it’s love on sight, and all is right, and there’s no doubt from the start.
Before it starts to crumble, there’ll be many shades of blue.
Ah, but love is always pretty when it’s new.

Love is always pretty, when it’s new.
Hey, there’s nothing bad about it, ‘til your lover says, “We’re through.”
Old love’s even sweeter, that old saying’s really true.
Love is always pretty when it’s new.

It's a sad commentary on our society when the statistic remains that half of all marriages fail. I heard that warning a lot when I was dating Brenda. People would say, "You better be sure before you take the plunge." The truth is, we all go into marriage with a bright hope for tomorrow, and plan to grow old and gray together. Somewhere along the road, some couples just find that life will be better splitting up and heading in different directions. Haggard's song says it well, "Love is always pretty, when it’s new. Hey, there’s nothing bad about it, ‘til your lover says, 'We’re through'." The only advice I can give potential partners is that marriage is a series of decisions made along the way in the interest of staying together on the same path. Feelings don't always accompany those moments of decision, but they will follow if given time. I heard it said that there's no better mate than the one you already have. That sounds rough to those in a marital crisis. But when you bring your old baggage to a new marriage, and factor in the blended family with all of it's challenges, you are better off working at sticking together.

I've been a witness to a 50 year love affair between my parents. Brenda's folks celebrated their 50th last December. Yes, love is exciting and invigorating when it's shiny and new. But, as the song implies in it's closing stanza, "Old love’s even sweeter, that old saying’s really true." As Brenda and I reach our 25th anniversary this December, I can say, "Amen," to that, Mr. Haggard. I am still madly in love.