Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Lyric Review: Woody Guthrie's "Pastures of Plenty"

Last week's lyric review concerned a song with few end rhymes, U2's "One Tree Hill." This week we go in the opposite direction with a song loaded with end rhymes, Woody Guthrie's "Pastures of Plenty." Artists as diverse as Alison Krauss and Union Station, Harry Belafonte, Bruce Hornsby, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, and Peter, Paul and Mary have recorded Guthrie's passionate tail of migrant workers from the depression era. Here are the lyrics:

PASTURES OF PLENTY by Woody Guthrie

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win

It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if need be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

Copyright Ludlow Music, Inc.

Guthrie himself is often regarded as the father (or grandfather, depending on where one fits Bob Dylan) of modern American folk music. Indeed, when Dylan was starting out in the early 60s, he'd often visit his hero Guthrie during Guthrie's last, hospital ridden years before he succumbed to the disease that had killed his mother.
Dylan's work, along with many since him, has carried with it echoes of Guthrie's poetry. Look at the second couplet of the second verse above:

On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

Dylan's song "Song To Woody" revisited the lines line this:

Here's to the hearts and the hands of the men
That come with the dust and are gone with the men.

This kind of homage, and the studiosness it takes to pull it off, is lacking in our generation. We don't learn from those who have gone before us. We don't learn from each other. We are islands to ourselves, and it shows.

"Pastures of Plenty" contains five verses with no chorus. The rhyme scheme is AABB except for the first verse, which uses the same end rhyme for all four lines. Guthrie also uses alliteration (repitition of beginning consonants in different words) partial consonance (repitition of end consonants in different words) and repetend (the repitition of words or phrases), all to great effect. As an exercise, you could print the lyrics out and circle all the examples of alliteration, consonance, and repetend you can find. This is the kind of exercise that is often performed in poetry classes and workshops.

Guthrie loved lyrics. He wasn't much of a musical master -- most of his songs borrowed the melody of earlier folk standards, occasionally at different speeds or in different time signatures. But he knew how to tell a story through the medium of music. Strong nouns and verbs, the occasional adjective -- and almost never an adverb -- this is what makes a poem, song, or story zing.

The song title is an excellent use of irony. Guthrie was a comman man who sang about the plight of the common man. "Pastures of Plenty" meant something different for them. To the rich, to the solid middle class, it means bounty, easy living, and never opening a cupboard that turns out to be bare.
To the characters in Guthrie's works, it means the opportunity for work. Hear it in:

Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine

and:

It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if need be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free.

Why must they always be free? Because he could then have a way to provide for himself. Freedom is tied up in "right to work" and easy immigration laws. It is not begging for the crumbs from a table, it is going up to the master of the table and saying "Give me a wage and I will set this table for you."
It is a way of life that many of us don't understand, but through evocative writing like Woody Guthrie's, we catch a glimpse.

Monday, March 28, 2005

A Little Afternoon Poetry

Usually I post a classical poem, but today I thought I'd share something more contemporary. This poem utilizes a female narrator who is watching her little girl navigate through those "in between childhood and adulthood" years. Note the crisp imagery, and strong verbs that don't need adverbs. Opinions?

Girl in the Doorway by Dorianne Laux
GIRL IN THE DOORWAY

She is twelve now, the door to her room
closed, telephone cord trailing the hallway
in tight curls. I stand at the dryer, listening
through the thin wall between us, her voice
rising and falling as she describes her new life.
Static flies in brief blue stars from her socks,
her hairbrush in the morning. Her silver braces
shine inside the velvet case of her mouth.
Her grades rise and fall, her friends call
or they don't, her dog chews her new shoes
to a canvas pulp. Some days she opens her door
and musk rises from the long crease in her bed,
fills the dim hall. She grabs a denim coat
and drags the floor. Dust swirls in gold eddies
behind her. She walks through the house, a goddess,
each window pulsing with summer. Outside,
the boys wait for her teeth to straighten.
They have a vibrant patience.
When she steps onto the front porch, sun shimmies
through the tips of her hair, the V of her legs,
fans out like wings under her arms
as she raises them and waves. Goodbye, Goodbye.
Then she turns to go, folds up
all that light in her arms like a blanket
and takes it with her.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

"THE BRAWL TO END IT ALL" ANNOUNCED FOR THIS FRIDAY

Due to events that transpired on the Friday, March 25th interview edition of Jive To The Monkey, a special contract signing took place over the weekend. We here at Jive To The Monkey are pleased to announce that this Friday, April 1, live on this very blog, we will carry exclusive coverage of "The Brawl To End It All," a special professional wrestling, no-holds-barred grudge match between Joel "The Metro" Anderson and Rabby, the Fighting Were-Rabbit.

"B-Dog" Bobby Gilles will call the action from ringside, and will be joined by color commentator "Random" Cheryl Rupp. Anderson has signed "Mannish Girl" Stacey Schneider as his manager. In Rabby's corner will be fellow stuffed animal fighting sensation, Tigey.

"That sissified, two-bit jughead is goin' down," said a confident Rabby, in between sets of bench presses at Gold's Gym. "I got me a plan, and that's to stomp a mud-hole in the fairy. And the little girl that acts like a boy, too."

"Rabby's a freak," countered Anderson. "I could squash him easily. I'm not worried about that, except that I'm afraid to touch him. I might get the mange or something."

We will have a special announcement concerning a Celebrity Guest Referee later in the week. Tell all your friends, and be sure to tune in this Friday to Jive To The Monkey, bell-time 12 noon, for "The Brawl To End It All."

Friday, March 25, 2005

Celebrity Interview #4

B-Dog is seated at his desk, sipping some coffee as the band plays a reggae version of Take Me Out To The Ballgame. The band finishes. Audience cheers.

B-Dog: Are we back from our commercial break already? Well, then, it's time for our weekly celebrity interview here on Jive To The Monkey. This week is the big one, people. We've had Lorie King, we've had Cheryl Rupp, and we even had the spirit of William Shakespeare, but this week we have my oldest friend ... my stuffed bunny rabbit, given to me by my Grandpa in St. Louis for my first Easter. Ladies and Gentlemen, make him welcome ... Rabby!

Thunderous applause as Rabby, a Rabbit-Man kind of creature who stands on two legs and is 10 inches tall, enters. He is a 32-year old rabbit with extremely worn fur, ears that are about to fall off, stitching in several places where his seams had burst and stuffing had escaped, and masking tape in many other places. A gruesome site, yet his dapper walk is enough to delight the crowd.

B-Dog: Welcome, old friend. Welcome to Jive To The Monkey.

Rabbit: Old friend, my foot. And my foot ain't so lucky. It's full a' gout. Now what's the deal, Gilles?

B-Dog: Well, I --

Rabby: I'm here. I showed up. Now where's that free Christmas ham?

B-Dog: It's actually a coupon.

Rabby: Boy, if you screw me over, we're gonna have us a pier-six brawl.

B-Dog: No, I ... just ... a few questions --

Rabby: Dagnabit! Do you know how old I am in stuffed animal years? 165! You don't disturb a 165-year old rabbit's rest for nothing!

B-Dog: No, but ... just --

Rabby: Tar-and-tarnation, boy! Don't you know me to be the orneriest stuffed critter you've ever seen?

B-Dog: Yes, but --

Rabby: Are you saying YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!?

B-Dog: Um, I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot.

Rabby: Never mention "foot" to a rabbit.

B-Dog: Uh, right ... let's just do this: I'll ask you questions and you answer. Now, tell me about your younger days, in that toy store in St. Louis, before my grandpa bought you for my Easter present.

Rabby: 1972. Those were the days!

B-Dog: Good times in the toy store?

Rabby: No, no, no. I'm talking about later. At nights, after the store closed. Me and Barbie -- Woooooo!

B-Dog: This is a family show.

Rabby: That was a short-lived romance anyway. What a dumb broad she was. Anyway, after I dumped Barb, a stuffed monkey and I --

B-Dog: Was it a Jive Monkey?

Rabby: SILENCE! Anyway, this monkey and I would bust outta the joint and head down town to the clubs.

B-Dog: In the streets of St. Louis?

Rabby: Boozin' and cruisin'! We'd find some shady dive, do a little dancin' and romancin', then end up bustin' the place up. Nothing like a good Friday Night Fight with a young punk that takes exception to a stuffed rabbit and monkey who steal the hearts of the local women.

B-Dog: Wow. So, that all changed when you came to live with me.

Rabby: Yeah it did. Stuck in a room with a snot-nosed brat --

B-Dog: We had some good times!

Rabby: Remember how your daddy had to tuck you in every night and give you a sip of wa-wa before you'd go to sleep?

B-Dog: What? I was a macho kid.

Rabby: Macho! You were a sissy. You'd get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and take me with you so the "monsters" wouldn't get you. Then you'd leave the bathroom light on so it wouldn't be so dark when you ran back to your room.

B-Dog: You're making this up.

Rabby: You used to pick your nose and wipe it on the bedsta--

B-Dog: LET'S PLAY THE NAME ASSOCIATION GAME! Joel Anderson.

Rabby: Is that your friend that nearly wets himself at the sight of me, when he comes over to the house?

B-Dog: One of them. He says you look freaky -- like "Chucky" or something.

Rabby: Little fairy, wears ear-rings?

B-Dog: I wouldn't say "fairy," but yes, he's quite a Metro.

Rabby: He melts in fear! He cannot look upon me. Hey Joel, why don't you just put on a little petticoat!

B-Dog: He's not gonna take kindly to this ....

Rabby: A little petticoat, and then frolic about with your imaginary tea set!
Rabby stands up and dances around the stage, mocking Joel Anderson

B-Dog: This is getting out of hand.

Rabby: (sitting down) What about that other boy who comes to your house? The other one who quakes in fear at the sight of me?

B-Dog: That's a girl. Stacey.

Rabby: A girl? No ....

B-Dog: Yeah. I went four years thinking she was a boy.

Rabby: A funny-looking boy, but still! Her mannerisms.

B-Dog: Mannish. Yes. But she's a she.

Rabby: What kind of a cad are you? Putting me up to challenging a girl to some fisticuffs?

B-Dog: I didn't ask you to challenge her! I didn't even bring her name up.

Rabby: Did so.

B-Dog: Did not.

Rabby: Did so.

B-Dog: Did not.

Rabby: Tain't neither.

B-Dog: What?

Rabby: What?

B-Dog: Huh?

Rabby: You said "What." What, what?

Elmer Fudd, gun in hand, begins to creep through the studio audience, heading toward the stage.

Fudd: Be vewy quiet. I'm hunting wabbits.

Rabby leaps to his feet.

Rabby: Feet, don't fail me now!

Rabby runs off stage and out the door.

Fudd: You wascalwy wabbit!

Elmer Fudd fires off a shot but misses. He too runs out the door, pursuing his game. A visible shaken B-Dog stares at the studio audience.

B-Dog: I'm not sure what happened here. I think we need to go to commercial break.

The End

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Classic Poem and Big Announcement

First, a classic poem by Robert Burns:

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE
by: Robert Burns (1759-1796)
I

O, MY Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

II

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

III

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

IV

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!


And now, all you MonkeyManiacs, I am pleased to announce that tomorrow's live interview segment on Jive To The Monkey will be the biggest yet. A HUGE star will be appearing with me on the set. Bigger than Lorie King. Bigger than Cheryl Rupp. Yes, even bigger than William Shakespeare. B-Dog has really scored a coup with this one. Stay tuned tomorrow, when I will reveal the name of my guest. Until then, toodle-e-ooh.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Tigey and Rabby in da house

When I was a kid, I had a fertile imagination. Okay, let's say it clearly -- I was nuts. I owned many stuffed animals, and they were REAL. I mean, r-e-a-l. I played with them all the time, and had wrestling tournaments with them. Two of my three favorites remain with me to this day, sitting in my closet. They come out whenever I have friends over for movies or games. I set them in prominent places because it totally freaks out Joel and Stacey.
These two favorites are a stuffed tiger named Tigey, whom I bought with Christmas money when I was about 5, and a rabbit named Rabby who was given to me by my grandpa on my first Easter. Actually Rabby is more like a Rabbit-man, or a WereBunny. He stands upright on two legs and he has two arms. Maybe that's why the mere sight of him makes Joel cry like a little girl and Stacey wet herself like a baby.
Or maybe it's the fact that he looks like a mummy. Like I said, I had wrestling tournaments with my animals, and we went on all kinds of rough-and-tumble adventures together, so they're not in such good shape now. In fact, poor Rabby was stitched together so many times by my Grandma, and masking-taped together so often by me, that he does look kind of macabre.
Tigey is in slightly better shape, but he's one-eyed and has a slit throat. Menacing, apparently (I got menaced by a real dog the other day at the TARC stop, but that's another story. If Rabby and Tigey would have been there, that dog would be pushing up daisies or sleeping with the fishes by now).
Speaking of fishes, you're probably asking (because I know this story has riveted you) what happened to the other of my Three Amigo stuffed animals. Well, he was a stuffed fish named Fishy (okay, when I said I was an imaginative kid, I wasn't refering to my animal-naming technique). Actually, he was a big pillow that my grandma had stitched for me, using a fish pattern. A stitched-pillow -- rather scratchy. He was great for pillow fights. No kid wanted to be slugged with Fishy, because the rough surface practically ripped skin off.
Fishy would be with me now, in his own place of honor within my closet, if my mom had not THROWN HIM AWAY BY "MISTAKE" ONE TIME. Don't think I've let her forget it.
I haven't. Nor shall I ever.
May you rest in peace, Fishy. Someday, Rabby, Tigey, and I will join you in that great wilderness in the sky. We shall swim in your stream and you shall dance in our meadow. Until then, old buddy, go rest high upon that mountain. Underwater mountain. Or whatever.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Lyric Analysis 5: "One Tree Hill" by U2

Time for this week's analysis, a review of One Tree Hill, by U2, from their Joshua Tree album. The song was dedicated to the memory of friend Greg Carroll, and "One Tree Hill" was written for his funeral. We'll be looking at the lyrics from a universal perspective, in other words, what we can draw from them, and what the song has to say about the human condition in general. To learn more about Greg Carroll, his death, his relationship with the band, and the inspiration for the song's title, go to http://www.geocities.com/dagsyfm/u2/onetreehill.html

Here are the lyrics:

We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill
As the day begs the night for mercy, love.
A sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars carved into stone on the face of earth.

The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes.
You run like a river on to the sea
You run like a river runs to the sea.

And in the world, a heart of darkness, a fire-zone
Where poets speak their heart then bleed for it
Jara sang, his song a weapon in the hands of love.
You know his blood still cries from the ground.
It runs like a river runs to the sea.
It runs like a river to the sea.

I don't believe in painted roses or bleeding hearts
While bullets rape the night of the merciful.
I'll see you again when the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red over One Tree Hill.

We run like a river runs to the sea
We run like a river to the sea.
And when it's rainin', rainin' hard
That's when the rain will break a heart.

Rainin', rainin' in your heart
Rainin' in your heart.
Rainin', rain into your heart
Rainin', rainin', rainin'
Rain into your heart.
Rainin', ooh, rain in your heart, yeah. Feel it.

Oh great ocean
Oh great sea
Run to the ocean
Run to the sea.

I chose this song in large part because of it's unusual rhyme scheme -- mostly due to the fact that few lines rhyme at all, and most that do so are because they are repeated lines. Now, B-Dog has nothing against rhyme. I love rhyme -- lotsa rhyme, rhyme on time, rhyme on a dime, rhyme with a twist of lime in a cool clime. But, songwriters and music lovers, do not be bound by a tyranny of rhyme. Sometimes you can improve a song by not rhyming, because you are able to draw from a much greater storehouse of words and images.
Another thing, for those of you with access to the recording: you'll notice that although this is a "sad" song, the music is uptempo -- you would even think, if you only heard the music track, that it could be a "happy" song (at least until close to the end). Amateur song-writers often think that every sad, or sometimes even serious, song must be sloooooooow, with lots of minor chords. Not necessarily (or as my childhood friend Terry Bartle used to say, "not sarily the ness). There are many famous "sad" lyrics that are paired with uptempo, often major key, instrumentation. This is often done on purpose, to highlight the absurdity of the human condition and/ or to convey a sense of wrong, or to make the sad lyrics even more effective by standing in contrast to the music.
Near the end of this song, The Edge's guitar playing gets more aggressive, more angry, as does Bono's vocals. The second-to-last stanza is uncontrolled emotion, suddenly switching in the final stanza to that slow, mournful dirge we might have expected from the beginning. Effective.

The first stanza jumps out because we have a strange mix of symbolism. This world in "One Tree Hill" is surreal -- one of extreme sorrow at both ends. The day has been so hot, with a sun so bright, that the sun has carved scars into the face of the earth. But now that the day is begging the night for mercy, the narrator expects a "cold, enduring chill." Talk about hopeless.

Bono uses the cliche "river to the sea" effectively in the second stanza, redeeming it from cliche status because he doesn't use it the way hundreds of writers do (river as metaphor for time). Instead, it is his deceased friend who has "run like a river to the sea". He has died suddenly. This phrase is repeated throughout the song, sometimes in slightly different form, always to compelling effect.

We have some Bible imagery in the third Stanza (Bono and Dylan use scripture more effectively, and often, than many CCM writers do), "his blood still cries from the ground." We get some more in the next stanza, when we are told the time of our narrator's next meeting with his deceased friend -- it will not be till "the stars fall from the sky and the moon has turned red"; a phrase used often in both Old and New Testaments to describe a time of sudden judgment on rebellious humans (most famously appropriated by Jesus in Matthew 24 to describe the Last Days).

This same stanza shows the writer's perspective on life, in the wake of a loved one's untimely death: "I don't believe in painted roses or bleeding hearts / while bullets rape the night of the merciful." How can we, the narrator asks, be so frivilous, so care-free, so nonchalant, in a world that has obviously gone wrong? And what is all of our fates? What hope do we have in the face of tragedy? That we too will run to the "great ocean," we will escape this wicked and perverse generation (I don't think Bono would mind my own use of scripture here). We will embrace the sea, and leave behind the depravity around us.

Notice the lack of adverbs, and the use of concise verbs and concrete nouns. It forces us into the song. We could quibble over minor editorial concerns -- perhaps the first line of the second stanza could say "The moon rises over One Tree Hill" rather than "The moon is up and over One Tree Hill." But that's a line-judgment call. The song as a whole is a testament to crisp, imagistic writing.

By the way, B-Dog is aware that there is a TV show called "One Tree Hill." I've not seen it, and have no idea if they got the title from this song, or if the show is of the same quality as the song. I have my doubts, but who knows. Anyone seen it?

Monday, March 21, 2005

Concert review: Chad Lewis/ Nikki Tatom at Narrow Path

Jam-packed little room, wasn't it, MonkeyManiacs? I'm not good at head counts, but we definitely filled the Narrow Path listening room to capacity for an intimate double-set of contemporary folk music by two promising local artists.
Nikki Tatom got things started with a set of well-chosen covers and insightful originals. You can tell a lot about a singer songwriter by the material they chose to cover -- it tells you why they write the way they do, what they aspire to, and even to an extent, whether they are likely to achieve their aspirations as songwriters. It's a simple principle: you are what you eat. If a songwriter takes in a steady diet of formulaic hits, then you can expect to hear music and lyrics that cause you to look at life in exactly the same way you always have, or even worse, don't cause you to think at all.
When a writer chooses to feast on Dylan, McCracken (Sandra, that is. Former Caedmon's Call member Derek Webb's wife, a great lyricist in her own right) and Patty Griffen, you can bet that their original music will aim for a certain richness of texture. Griffen is Nikki's musical hero, and it showed. We heard several Griffen covers, including a concise performance of "Moses," and perhaps Griffin's most familiar song (since it was turned into a country hit by the Dixie Chicks) "Truth #2."
Steve Moore performed impressively throughout the set on mandolin and guitar, as well as supplying strong vocal harmony. Lorie King, who would sound good singing a chapter of "begats" to the tune of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame," provided background vocals on several songs as well.
Nikki needlessly apologized for not sounding like Dylan before launching into his "Down in the Flood." Actually, Nikki's voice has the perfect silkiness for a folk singer, and remind B-Dog of Sarah Masen. And notwithstanding Dylan's legendary prowess as a songwriter and stylist, any young female whose voice DID smack of Dylan's gravelly whine should probably have to submit to an exorcism. Fortunately, that was not the case. And headliner Chad Lewis added Dylanesque harmonica chops to Down In The Flood, a pleasant surprise.
Nikki's originals were the highlight of her set, though. War Admiral is everything a folk song should be. "The Modesty Song" has all the positive attributes of a novelty song, while not actually being a mere novelty, since it actually has a timely message (which I was reminded of several times, sitting in a southern Indiana coffee house Saturday night, watching a parade of Britney wannabe's stream in for latte's -- and knowing that this is a Christian owned business next to a mega church, and thus draws local Christian youth as its primary customers).
Over time, I'd expect Nikki's writing to grow stronger and take more center stage, eventually relegating the covers to second-tier status in her live shows -- maybe two or three covers in a field of originals. I'd also expect that, as Nikki's confidence grows from more positive experiences like this concert, her vocal technique will come to the fore. She covers her nervousness well, and actually makes it a endearing part of her stage persona -- you feel like you're watching an old pal sing a song around a campfire, but the only downside of this is that you sometimes have to struggle to hear her over the instrumentation. When she cuts loose she'll find that she has nothing to be afraid of, because she clearly has talent.

Chad Lewis headlined the show, joined by backup singer and rhythm guitarist Jason Shaw. Chad sings like someone who knows who he is, knows how to steer a crowd and get us into his groove, and knows that it will lead to a successful concert -- all the attributes that a headliner needs. He performed many original songs from his four CD's. I'd describe his style as Nordic Folk. I'd imagine that if Lewis lived a few hundred years ago, he'd be some village's leading troubadoor of sea shanty's and woodland ballads. Here is someone who could alternately calm the townspeople or lead them into battle, as could Jason Shaw (the only trouble there was that Jason's mic wasn't loud enough - or wasn't on. Not sure which, but the mix wasn't quite right from where I was standing).
Highlights included "Georgia I'm Free," a poignant tale of love, loss, and recovery based off a true story, as Lewis's songs tend to be. "Remind Me" is a powerful prayer for God to remind us who He really is, and who we are in Him. "Suffering Song," the title cut from (I think) Chad's latest album, shows how God uses our weaknesses to draw us to him and accomplish His purpose. Chad writes like a pastor -- a Nordic folk-singing pastor, that is!
As a personal note to Mr. Lewis, who sported a new, shorter hairdo, a good product to use is American Crew Fiber. B-Dog uses it daily, to give my hair long-lastind hold while making it appear full. Gels don't cut it -- they make me look like God has decided my hair should be much thinner and less pre-eminent than it once was (which in fact, He has). Doesn't look like you have that problem yet, which makes me wonder why you wanted to cut your hair (B-Dog wishes he could have his long, loopy locks back, but that's another story).
Chad's banter is conversational and funny. He seems like someone who has been performing for many years, and knows how to draw people into the world he illuminates with his craft.
Chad's voice is big (see, like I was saying -- Nordic. Viking) and smooth. It says "Here I am. Pay attention to the words I'm singing." And so you do. And so we did. Good show. Good singers. Good musicians. Good songs. Check out www.chadlewis.net for more information about the headliner, music downloads, stories behind his songs, and pictures. www.nikkitatom.com is a newer site that doesn't have much info on it yet, but of course you can check out Nikki's blog from my links, or type in her address: http://nikkitatom.blogspot.com

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Smile, Smile, Smile

Tomorrow's Jive To The Monkey column will contain a review of the Chad Lewis / Nikki Tatom show this past Friday. I will quickly say that you bubba-heads who stayed home to watch Louisville sleepwalk to opening-round tournament victory really missed a good show. And congrats to the E Machine for winning her very own Frog Pen, courtesy of all the staff here at Jive To The Monkey -- your home for great concert giveaways.

Today I've been thinking about my friends' smiles. No two smiles are alike, you know -- much like fingerprints.

Cheryl has the perfect Welcoming Committee smile. Her smile is warmth and grace. You know when you receive her smile, she is not going to be gossiping about you, or giving you a boot to the head.

When Joel's smiling, you know some comedy has just gone down, or is about to. Check for a sign on your back. Either you'll soon be smiling along, or you're about to receive a pie in the face. And Joel, don't think I've forgotten that April Fool's Day is coming up. I'm watching my back.

Amanda cannot smile without laughing. Simply cannot. Her smile is a prelude to laughter. It may be a giggle, or it may be a full-out, Katie-bar-the-door laught attack, but it's coming, and you will be laughing too.

When Lorie's smiling, it's like Christmas morning, presents under the tree, and the WHOLE WORLD be smilin'.

Jason has perfected the sheepish grin. If he's smiling, you know that the World's Greatest Haunted House that he's just driven you two hours out into the country to see is really just a little carny ride. Or something like that.

Many more friends, many more smiles. I am blessed. Which is why I can stay jive to that monkey clawing at my back. With so many smiles, who can't help but stay jive?

Jive on, people!

B-Dog

Friday, March 18, 2005

Name Association With William Shakespeare

B-Dog: My guest today on Jive To The Monkey is Shakespeare. We're going to play the Name Association Game. I will say a name, and Mr. Shakespeare will pop off with the first comment that enters his brain. Are you ready, Will?

Will: I am.

B-Dog: But first, I have to ask. You've been dead now for awhile.

Will: Quite.

B-Dog: Heaven or hell?

Will: I'm not supposed to say.

B-Dog: Did the decision to let you through the pearly gates, or not, hinge on whether you really wrote all those plays, or whether you stole them from Christopher Marlowe or --

Will: Marlowe! Twit ....

B-Dog: Oh ... so we've already started the game. Well, how abo-

Will: Have you read Marlowe? Did you see what he did to Dr. Faustus?

B-Dog: Yes, I --

Will: Compared to Goethe's version? Do you suppose that I would have produced something inferior to that German pinhead?

B-Dog. I don't think it's necessarily inferior. And I'm starting to doubt how the person who wrote Hamlet could use words like "pinhead."

Will: A boot to the head! (Shakespeare kicks B-Dog out of his chair.)

B-Dog: Ow!

Will: Knave. Now let's proceed. I have croquet with Fanny Crosby at noon.

B-Dog: So you did make it to hea--

Will: Proceed!

B-Dog: Though I don't see how, what with all the violence and hostility.

Will: Do I get paid for this?

B-Dog: A coupon for a free Christmas ham. Lorie King didn't want hers from when she did the Paris interview.

Will: Now there's a girl with respect for language.

B-Dog: She reaks havoc upon people's self-esteem, always correcting their grammatical lapses.

Will: Someone needs to!

B-Dog: Okay. Well, what comes to your mind when I say "Will Wyman"?

Will: "Seizure later"? Please. Where did he grow up -- Marengo, Indiana?

B-Dog: Actually, yes.

Will: That's very telling.

B-Dog: Brian Laffin.

Will: Very punny. I enjoy a good pun.

B-Dog: Earnest Hemingway.

Will: Chap that blew his head off?

B-Dog: One of them.

Will: He wrote. Such short sentences. Some, mere fragments. Then he died.

B-Dog: Sarah Meador.

Will: I've got my eye on all those Frenchies.

B-Dog: Same here!

Will: If I've proven nothing, it is that the English language is all one needs.

B-Dog: Yes. Britney Spears.

Will: Boot to the head! (B-Dog goes down again. Shakespeare helps him up.)

B-Dog: Stop kicking me!

Will: This is the best blog ever about people kicking each other.

B-Dog: It's not about that! Stop it. Now ... Cheryl Rupp.

Will: Random.

B-Dog: Joel Anderson.

Will: Dangerously close to losing all ties with sanity.

B-Dog: Agreed. Bono.

Will: Irish dog. Has a way with words, though.

B-Dog: Yes. Well, that's all the time we have for now. Thanks for playing my word association game, Mr. Shakespeare. I know you need to be getting back home for your croquet match.

Will: Just kidding about that. I've never met her.

B-Dog: So you aren't necessarily in heaven! Which explains the hostility.

Will: It's not for mortals to know. But I'll be seeing you on the other side.

B-Dog: Huh? What did you mean by that? Am I ... am I ... hey, I'm washed in the blood of the Lamb, pal.

Will: Then you've got nothing to worry about. I'll see you shortly.

B-Dog: Shortly? What? What do you mean? What do you know? (Shakespeare vanishes, back to his place of eternal dwelling) Hey! What did you mean by that? I'm perfectly healthy! Hey! Come back here! Hey!

The End

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Harmonica Man Heading Down The Narrow Path

So yesterday my son Garrett took one of my harmonicas to school for Show And Tell. He told the class that his daddy can play harmonica and guitar at the same time! Now there are about 20 little kids who are amazed at my rather humble musical skills. Like I have special powers or something: faster than a jive monkey; stronger than spoiled milk ... I am -- Harmonica Man! (of course, the irony of this is that I really am a super hero. A Nightrider. See Nightrider post for proof.)

I will be traveling incognito (though I'm supposed to have bells on) to see Chad Lewis and Nikki Tatom at the Narrow Path Listening Room tomorrow at 7 pm. Yes, my peeps, that's "Guitar Chick Nikki From Sunday Nights," and you can read more about the concert at her blog, which is listed to the right of this column in my links section. Sounds like it will be a cool show. Nikki will be performing some originals, and PLUS, the artists that she has said she will be covering are all Jive To The Monkey-approved artists.

Also check out www.chadlewis.net for more about the headliner of tomorrow's show. His music sounds interesting, so it should be a Hot Time In The Old Town.

In fact, so sure am I of this, that I am going to dedicate my latest prize giveaway in the service of this show. I have, here in my prize bag, a brand spankin' new Frog pen. It writes. It has a frog head on it. AND it has two little arms on the side. The frog is wearing boxing gloves, and there is a lever on the back that lets him swing his little arms and punch objects. Be the envy of all your friends! Strike people who anger you! Avoid getting in trouble by telling them that it wasn't you, it was the frog! Run like crazy if they try to pummel you! Scream for help when they do!

All you have to do is be the first person to spot me at the show tomorrow night, and announce to me: "I'm here and I want the Frog pen."

By the way, The Narrow Path is located at 1829 Bardstown Road, but like I said, more info is available on Nikki's site (and for those who haven't noticed, I've added several new blogs to my list of Jive To The Monkey-approved links. Check them out).

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Mailbag

Time to dip into the mailbag again, folks. All of B-Dogs peeps have been writing in like crazy -- cards, letters, boxes of home made fudge ... there's just no end to all the Jive To The Monkey fan mail. Most of the letters are too redundant, and some are too personal, but here are a couple of fan letters I've received recently, along with my answers.

Dear B-Dog:
Jive To The Monkey is my favorite blog. It has given me new hope in humanity. I was just wondering if you could describe your physical fitness regimen.

Sincerely,
Toodlepip Farnsworth

Dear Toodlepip:

Thanks for the kind words. But think about it. When you dance around 24/7 with a monkey on your back, you don't really need to do any other exercises, now do you? Of course, as a former professional wrestling superstar villain, I am no stranger to intense fitness programs. I still lift a dumbbell every now and then. It's just that most of the dumbbells I deal with these days are people who think Prince is a true music legend.

Dear Bobby:
Why do some people call you "Gui-yas" or "Gilles, the Spanish spelling way"? Why not call you B-Dog, like the masses do?

Yours Truly,
Mandy Coruthers

Dear Mandy:

If only I knew. All we can do is pray for them.

Yo B-Dog:
I'm down with ya, bro. You all that.

Word
Zepheniah Wiggleton

Zeph: I appreciate you keeping it real.

Dear B-Dog:

I am twelve years old. I want to be just like you when I'm older. What do I have to do? What should my studies focus on?

Love,
Erica Larsen

Dear Erica:

I hope by "just like me," you don't mean "a man." B-Dog is all man, you know. Shaved armpits nothwithstanding.
Read everything. If you see words on something, read it. When you get hungry, go eat. Then get back to reading. Let me know how it turns out.

That's all the time I have for now, people. Keep all the cards and letters coming. Send them to B-Dog
c/o Jive To The Monkey
928 Capitol Hill Drive
Jeffersonville, IN 47130
I may use your letter in this very forum. No guarantees, though.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Lyric Analysis 4: "Reasons Why" by Nickel Creek

Time now for a discussion of Nickel Creek's "Reasons Why," a haunting, provocative song from their self-titled major label debut. Here are the lyrics:

"Reasons Why"
lyrics by David Pucket. music by Sean Watkins

Where am I today? I wish that I knew
'Cause looking around there's no sign of you
I don't remember one jump or one leap
Just quiet steps away from your lead

I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too
Feeling this short of a love that we once knew
I'm calling this home when it's not even close
Playing the role with nerves left exposed

Standing on a darkened stage,
stumbling through the lines
Others have excuses,
but I have my reasons why

We get distracted by dreams of our own
But nobody's happy while feeling alone
And knowing how hard it hurts when we fall
We lean another ladder against the wrong wall

And climb high to the highest rung,
to shake fists at the sky
While others have excuses,
tI have my reasons why

[Bridge:]With so much deception
it's hard not to wander away
It's hard not to wander away
It's hard not to wander away

So we have 3 verses, a bridge, and two choruses that are really more like bridges themselves, or turnarounds -- just extensions to the verses. The rhyme scheme for the verses is:

A
A
B
B
with two of the three "B" couplets ending on assonant rhymes (same vowel, different consonant)

For the chorus, it's

A
B
C
B

The bridge is "A" for the first line, then "B's" all the way since the last three lines are identical.

You'll notice that with good songs, the rhyme scheme of the chorus is often different from the verses. This is one way (melody and of course subject matter being others) to make the chorus stand out.

Another thing that Pucket does here is change the lyrics of the chorus slightly to continue developing the metaphor established in each verse. So when the second verse ends with:

Playing the role with nerves exposed

he continues with theater symbolism in the chorus:

Standing on a darkened stage
Stumbling through the lines

Likewise, the third verse ends:

We lean another ladder against the wrong wall

and the altered chorus begins:

And climb to the highest rung
To shake fists at the sky

This grouping and development of metaphorical content contributes to the integrity of the song's structure. The soft, mid-tempo, yearning music that Watkins built around the lyrics does so as well, by putting the listener in a contemplative mood before the first note is sung.

The song is about faith, and as is often the case, the "secular" band Nickel Creek (all group members are evangelical Christians, though they are not a "Christian band") has formed a song that is more in the spirit of the Psalms than what is sung in most churches. Yet there is no "churchiness" to the lyrics -- no ten-gallon theological words or phrases.

But it is more than just an ability to put Biblical concepts into "street language." It is about courage and freedom -- the freedom and courage required to say "I'm confused and cold right now." "Christian" artists can't say that -- or at least they think they can't. We Christians have to have all the answers (there is a difference between knowing The Answer and having the answers). We have to stand on a tower and shout "I Have Found The Way," lest anyone mock us when we wimper "I feel like I'm lost in a crowd." I think we figure that people won't want to follow Christ until we Christians can make them believe they will be perfect when they do. I'd be interested in reading anyone's thoughts on this matter.

This narrator has distilled a big truth of the human condition into a couplet:

I don't remember one jump or one leap
Just quiet steps away from your lead

We often don't lose sight of Christ overnight -- it's a gradual slipping away. And we want to return to our first love, while at the same time fearful of being rejected, of having played the prodigal once too often:

I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too
Feeling this short of a love that we once knew

The narrator is also unafraid to place the blame where it ultimately belongs, rather than a simple, lazy "devil made me do it":

We get distracted by the dreams of our own

At the same time, this is a narrator who is unable to approach full candor. She (the song is sung by Sara Watkins) wants us to know that, wink, wink, others offer the same sentiments as "excuses," but to her they're "reasons why." Watkins conveys a hint of irony in these lines. Of course "excuses" and "reasons why" amount to the same thing. And so while it is true that:

With so much deception
It's hard not to wander away

The truth is, this is just another "reason why." The genius of the Nickel Creek recording is their ability to convey the irony. We sing along, all the while realizing that our excuses are inadequate. We have drifted. Check out "Reasons Why" on their Sugar Hill debut Nickel Creek (2000).

Monday, March 14, 2005

Let's Celebrate Frost!

Robert Frost: what a poet. What a Man-of-Letters. Today is Robert Frost Day on Jive To The Monkey. And we celebrate in style: I recently wrote a song in homage of Frost's depictions of rural New England life. I call it "North of Boston," the title of Frost's second published collection of poems. Now, here for you, I, B-Dog will reprint the lyrics to my song, and follow it with links that will take you to four of the Frostian poems that inspired me: "Stopped By Woods On A Snowy Evening," "Dust Of Snow," "Birches," and "After Apple-Picking."

Any evil-doers who happen to be lurking in the shadows, be forewarned: B-Dog's songs are fully copyrighted. Attempts to steal North of Boston or any part thereof will result in a legal smackdown of the highest order.

North Of Boston

(first verse)

Top floor loft in the middle of the city. We lie in bed and read the Laureate.

Your voice so soft, recite a little ditty. Pastoral paradise, we’ll get there yet.

Close the book, we’ll drive all night, to see the sites we’ve seen so many times,

in our minds ….

(chorus)

We’ll go north of Boston, ride the tops on all the birches till they dip us down again;

Trees that crack their outer sheaths of green to show the white beneath.

Let’s out-walk the furthest city light, and stop between the woods and a frozen lake,

Feel the sweep of wind and downy flake …. Let’s get lost in love north of Boston.

(second verse)

We’ve run on fumes for quite awhile. Jams and deadlines lose us in the pack.

Smog can rob me of your smile. Winter in the pines could bring it back.

And in the Spring we’ll go again, or we could go at apple picking time;

I’ll help you climb.


(REPEAT CHORUS)

(bridge)

I bet that you would laugh to see the crow shake down on me

a dust of snow from a hemlock tree


(REPEAT CHORUS)

That's the end, folks. And now for the links to some great Frost poems. Enjoy:

http://www.online-literature.com/frost/751/
http://www.online-literature.com/frost/743/
http://www.online-literature.com/frost/742/
http://www.online-literature.com/frost/741/


Sunday, March 13, 2005

What A Book!

I was going to title this column, "What A Novel!" but realized I might lose some of you people. You see, it is intellectually fashionable to fill one's reading time with nonfiction. Fiction? That's escapist, right? Dime-store novels and boring old books from college lit classes. If you really want to learn about life, love, God, or whatever else it is that you have an interest in, read non-fiction, because it is true.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Good fiction is true in a way that nonfiction can rarely be. Now, I did not say it is real, I said true.
An illustration: I read an anecdote one time from a new mother. She read quite a few "how to care for your baby," "what to expect ..." kind of books. She picked up some valuable tidbits, but nothing really spoke to her. Then, by chance, she discovered a book of short fiction, where each story's protagonist was a new mother. She devoured the book, then read it again. Finally, something that spoke to her! The difficulties and resulting emotions of these fictional characters spoke to her in a way that the "real" books did not. This is the power of great fiction.
"Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson is great fiction. It is a finalist for this year's PEN/ Faulkner award; deservedly so. "Gilead" is told in the first person, from the point of view of an old minister, living in the 1950s, who is slowly dying of heart disease. Having been told that he only has months to live, he begins to write a memoir of his life, and that of his father and grandfather -- all ministers -- for his young son to read (after a long period as a widower when his first wife, and child, died in childbirth) he'd married a 30something woman several years previous, and she bore him his first-and-only son). Here is an excerpt:

I'd never have believed I'd see a wife of mine doting on a child of mine. It still amazes me every time I think of it. I'm writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you've done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God's grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle. You may not remember me very well at all, and it may seem to you to be no great thing to have been the good child of an old man in a shabby little town you will no doubt leave behind. If only I had the words to tell you.

He does have the words. And what follows is a tale that resonates with truths of the human condition, the bonds (and the severe testing of those bonds) between fathers and sons, the call to action by a righteous God, love lost and won, and the testing of friendship. The tale spans three generations, from the violent history of pre-civil war era Kansas and the abolitionist struggle, to mid-century America.

Read this book, my peeps. B-Dog says, "Yes, you will read it and you will grow in wisdom -- wider, deeper, higher." And it's entertaining to boot.

That's all I have to say about that.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Cheryl Rupp Interview Regarding Trip To Paris

B-Dog: I'm here today with another Frenchie, one Cheryl Rupp. Cheryl has recently returned from Paris and has agreed to an in-depth interview here on Jive To The Monkey. You will recall that last week, I interviewed one Lorie King about this same Paris vacation. Let's see if Cheryl can be more forthcoming with details.

Cheryl: Glad to be here. Your TV set is very cumbersome, by the way.

B-Dog: Cumbersome?

Cheryl: Not really. But I'm looking forward to using lots of big words in this interview. I really am intelligent, you know. It's just that my brain is too fast for my fingers, so I end up with lots of typos. But since your assistant will be typing this transcript, I can use any word I want.

B-Dog: Yes, Ms. Clarkson is a terrific typist. And, of course, an American Idol.

Cheryl: Transubstantiation.

B-Dog: Huh?

Cheryl: I can say it. Kelly can type it.

B-Dog: Oh ... yes. I see. Well, anyway, about this trip --

Cheryl: Rapprochement.

B-Dog: Huh?

Cheryl: Bet the Spelling Police can't touch that ....

B-Dog: Do you know the Paris Catacombs?

Cheryl: Onomatopoeia. Malapropos. Jabberwocky.

B-Dog: Rupp, I'm about to blow my gasket.

Cheryl: That's okay; I'm not in a hurry.

B-Dog: Do you know the Seinne?

Cheryl: Yes.

B-Dog: Is it real?

Cheryl: I knew you were going to ask that. You know, Lorie has a picture of our little group near the Seinne on her blog. http://lorieking.blogspot.com

B-Dog: Hey, what is this? An infomercial for a competitor?

Cheryl: Go there now, folks. Fantastic pictures from overseas. Shot many of them myself.

B-Dog: Rupp, I'm gonna pull the plug --

Cheryl: First 100 visitors to Lorie's blog will be registered to win a new --

B-Dog: THIS IS MY SHOW! You web viewers -- you stay right where you are! And tell all your friends about Jive To The Monkey, too.

Cheryl: You don't have any pictures on your blog.

B-Dog: I can't figure out how to post --

Cheryl: Lorie has lots of pictures. So does Nikki. And Tom has his own photo gallery. Then there's Jason, and --

B-Dog: Get off my set.

Cheryl: Folks, that's http://lorieking.blo-------------

We interrupt this program due to technical difficulties. Please visit other columns on this very blog. Do not bother with anyone else's blog. Stay Jive To The Monkey. Thank You

--editor

Thursday, March 10, 2005

The Skillet and The Tick

Last night I attended a birthday dinner for the lovely and gracious Twana at Don Pablos.
Jason (one of the many MonkeyManiacs who lurks in the shadows of this site but doesn't post) ordered a Fajita of some kind. As he was eating from the hot skillet, he came across a forkful of something that looked like a part of the skillet-bottom -- perhaps a piece that had chipped off. We all examined it, and decided (well, Amanda decided) that it was a clump of spices. No doubt this was true, but the rest of us were delighted to think of it as "Skillet," a tasty new dish.
Need to fix dinner, but short on time? Try Skillet. Short on ingredients, but want something the whole family can munch on for hours? Skillet is your dish. And it's very nutritious -- plenty of iron, anyway.

Now, on to other matters. I will now give you people great poetry. One of my own compositions. Following the poem, you will find some essay questions. Best essay wins a can of beets. (You may choose any question to base your essay) Here is the poem:

THE TICK by bobby gilles (B-Dog)

King of the wild, Lord of the tame, mighty
Is his name, the beast we call the tick;
How gracefully he moves, how wonderful
Indeed! To see his blood-swollen body
Is to behold beauty in the making;
To burn that body with a lighter is
The heighth of joy! For, though you may kill him,
Yet will he live on as a memory,
A reminder of happy times to all
Who recall the calm he brought when they pulled
Him from their head and watched him try to flee;
Man, this poem is sick. I'm very sorry.


Discussion Questions for "The Tick"

1. What point is Mr. Gilles making by choosing the tick as his subject? What does this say about the universal longing for peace? Can you apply the principles of the poem to the current peace process in the Middle East?

2. In the first stanza, what does the author mean by the phrase "blood-swollen body"? If he were writing for a modern audience, would he use the same imagery, or would he give up and order a pizza?

3. Describe how pulling a tick from your own head might have the calming effect the poet describes.

4. Divide yourselves up in groups and write an essay that begins "Reading 'The Tick' by Bobby Gilles has changed my life in many ways ...." (Girls and boys may work together, but may NOT hold hands.)

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Chess Anyone?

I really need to learn how to play chess.
Last night I took Logan (6) to Sunergos, because I took Garrett (8) a few weeks ago when Logan was sick, and what's done with one of them must be done with the other. And just like Garrett previously, Logan spotted the chess board within two seconds of entering.
"Let's play that!" he said.
"Do you know how to play?" I said.
"No. But you do."
"No, I don't."
"You don't know how to play this game?"
"No, son."
"Awww Daddy." He smiles. "Yes you do."
They think I know everything. So, given the fact that the day will come when they think I don't know anything, I sauntered up to the table with the chess set and sat down for a game (only, of course, after ordering a Caramel latte -- mmmmmmm -- for myself and a non-caffeinated chocolate freeze drink for him).
I know the Queen is very powerful, the King is a wimp who must be protected at all cost, and that various pieces can move in different ways. However, the Gilles boys' version of chess is simply one move per piece, and you keep trying to capture your opponents pieces until they are all gone. Last man standing wins. When the game started dragging (for me anyway -- he was enthralled) I allowed that certain impressive looking pieces could move two spaces per turn. This invigorated the process.
Logan won. It is smart to let him win, because then he doesn't cry in public and make me look like a heel. I'm also told it is good for his self-esteem. Of course, I can't let him win all the time, because then he wouldn't learn how to deal with defeat. But last night, the kid triumphed. And I'm sure the people sitting next to us were wondering what in the world kind of game we were playing with the chess pieces.
One day I shall learn chess. It just seems like such a useless way to deplete my brainwaves. I can only store so much up there, you know. If I learn chess, what will I forget in its place? How to write a sonnet? How to do my job? How to tie my shoes? Scary. Think about that before you decide to take up chess.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Lyric Review 3: Mystery Of Mercy by Caedmon's Call

Time for an in-depth analysis of Mystery of Mercy, an Andrew Peterson/ Randall Goodgame song from the record Back Home, by Caedmon's Call. Here are the lyrics:

I am the woman at the well, I am the harlot
I am the scattered seed that fell along the path
I am the son that ran away
And I am the bitter son that stayed

My God, my God why hast thou accepted me
When all my love was vinegar to a thirsty King?
My God, my God why hast thou accepted me?
It's a mystery of mercy and the song, the song I sing

I am the angry man who came to stone the lover
I am the woman there ashamed before the crowd
I am the leper that gave thanks
But I am the nine that never came

My God, my God why hast thou accepted me
When all my love was vinegar to a thirsty King?
My God, my God why hast thou accepted me?
It's a mystery of mercy and the song, the song I sing

You made the seed that made the tree
That made the cross that saved me
You gave me hope when there was none
You gave me only your Son

My God,My God,Lord you are my God.
My God,My God,Lord you are my God.
My God,My God,Lord you are my God.
My God,My God,Lord you are...my God.

c. Andrew Peterson, Randall Goodgame

Peterson and Goodgame have crafted a simple, profound song with two verses, a chorus, a bridge, and a coda.
The rhyme scheme for the verses is
A
B
C
C
although the final two lines do not present perfect rhymes, but rather, assonant (meaning that the vowels sound alike, but not the consonants. Ex: "thanks" and "came" both have the long A, but end with different consonants. An example of a perfect rhyme with "came" is "same.") When a writer is not afraid to stray from perfect rhymes (whether prefering assonants or another kind of imperfect/ slant rhyme, or no rhyme at all) he finds many possibilities. One mark of beginning, or poor, writers, is that every line ends with a perfect rhyme, meaning that their songs are filled with phrases and rhymes that have been used ad nauseum, like true/ blue and love/above. Perfect rhymes will always be a popular choice for writers of all levels, but the discriminating writer knows he has other choices in his arsenal.
The rhyme scheme for the chorus is
A
B
A
B
which aids the melody in differing it from the verses.
The scheme for the bridge is also different:
A
A
B
B
and the coda is
A
A
A
A
with all the rhymes being identical (identical rhymes are words that rhyme with themselves. In this case, it is achieved because all four lines are identical, meaning that the end rhyme is "God" each time).
Now that we've got the mechanics out of the way, let me say that:
My God, my God, why hast thou accepted me?
says more in one line than many songs say from first verse to final chorus. This line meets all the requirements of "Gray's Law" (see my post on Matt Redman's "Face Down"). 1. It is steeped in authentic Biblical teaching (making use of Jesus' echo of the prophet "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?") It is a passionate line. And it is both traditional (hearkening back to Jesus' words) and new, given how they've turned the quote around.
They've done so in a way that highlights the depths of God's love, the unfairness of Christ's passion, and the unfairness of our own redemption, paid for by that very passion. There is no end to the devotions and theological treatises that could be written based on that single line.
Caedmon's Call does this so often in their lyrics (both those they write and those they cull from the writers of their choosing) that I am confident the Church will be singing their songs long after most modern Christian songs have gasped their last.

The use of Biblical imagery in "Mystery Of Mercy", and the way the imagery is incorporated, assures that the Biblically astute Christian and the newcomer alike will understand what a great mystery it is that God would show us mercy. Take the line:
When all my love was vinegar to a thirsty King
Those of us who know the crucifixion story perk up at the reference. But the meaning was not lost on my six-and-eight-year old boys, listening with me in the car. "Why would a King drink vinegar?" they said. "Gross." "Who would give a King vinegar to drink?"
Do you see how this line is superior to so many lines in so many songs that express the sentiment in words like:
When the love I have to offer is not enough
or
When I say "I love you" but yet, still I sin.
Note that they also use contrast to show that "none is righteous; no, not one." Both the adulterer and the man with a stone are undeserving of this mercy. Both the prodigal and the grumbling stay-at-home son have fallen short of the glory.

This song works well thematically with the rest of the "Back Home" record. Randall Goodgame's "Only Hope" (an adaptation of Charles Wesley's hymn, "Depth of Mercy") starts:

Depth of mercy, can there be / Mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God, your wrath forbear / Me, the chief of sinners, spare?

and follows in the second verse with:

I have long withstood your grace / Long provoked you to your face.
Would not hearken to your calls / Grieved you by a thousand falls.

Caedmon's multi-instrumentalist Josh Moore contributes "You Created," a song that furthers the mystery of God's might and love, starting with the Biblical

Who is like unto the Lord our God / Who dwelleth on high, Who dwelleth on high

even as he offers glimpses of God's nature:

You created nothing that gives me more pleasure than You.
You won't give me something that gives me more pleasure than You.

and "Beautiful Mystery" by Aaron Tate, Derek Webb, and Cliff Young returns to the theme of God and His love for us, while offering the thought that this mystery is the most profound, and the simplest. They say it directly in the first verse:

'Cause most things true are simple and complex
So it is with you; what else should I expect?

and metaphorically in the bridge:

The truth is a river where the strong can swim down deep.
The weak and the broken can walk across so easily.

What a word-picture, and, again, what a mystery. The gospel is more than enough to puzzle and challenge the greatest thinker, yet simple enough for a child to understand.

"Mystery Of Mercy," coming at the end of the record, is a satisfying period (or should I say, question mark) on an album of significant theological weight and scriptural authority. The string section, a common enough device in CCM, is full yet understated, complimenting Cliff Young's vocal delivery rather than overwhelming it, as often happens in prototypical CCM bands -- providing yet another example of what sets Caedmon's Call apart from most bands with CCM success.

Monday, March 07, 2005

News and Notes

1. There is a movement afoot in certain circles to nickname me "Gui-yas" (or as Cheryl would type, "Gilles with the Spanish accent"). Nip it in the bud, folks. My nickname is B-Dog, plain and simple. B-Dog.

2. Sorry about failing to give you the corn, Nikki. I hope you hadn't planned a corn-eating party last night. I brought it with me, but a string of incidents last afternoon left me carrying and holding my rather large 6-year old Logan throughout the evening at Sojourn Gathered. Afterwards, I just wanted to corral the other two and head back to the Golden Land of Indiana ASAP to rest my back (and watch "The Ring" with Nightriders). Corn does await you, though.

3. On the car trip home last night, the kids were in a theological mood. Many questions concerning the nature of God and Christ, the power of the devil, and the battle between good and evil. If you ever want to test your understanding of scripture, forget debating with adults -- just try to explain things to children.
They were quite concerned to know that God would beat the devil in the end. I told them that He would throw Satan into the "lake of fire." Then this snippet of conversation ensued:
Garrett: But Daddy, I just had a horrible thought. What if God tries to grab the devil, but he
goes "poof."
Me: "Poof"?
Garrett: You know, "poof", and he disappears. "Poof away."
Me: He can't.
Garrett: But you said he was a spirit....

Which led to a discussion on the omnipotence of God and His power over all created things, even the angels, of which Satan was numbered, until he rebelled, etc., etc., etc.

4. Since you're a gracious audience, and your host cares very, very much about your entertainment and enlightenment, I will now give you great poetry. I give you -- Robert Browning (1812-1889). Enjoy. And tomorrow ... a critical analysis of "Mystery of Mercy" by Caedmon's Call.

SUMMUM BONUM, by Robert Browning

All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee:
All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem:
In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea:
Breath and bloom, shade and shine, wonder, wealth, and--how far above
them--Truth, that's brighter than gem,
Trust, that's purer than pearl,--
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe--all were for me
In the kiss of one girl

Friday, March 04, 2005

Interview w/ Lorie King about Paris

Good afternoon, you people. Today on Jive To The Monkey, my guest is Lorie King. Lorie has just returned from a week in Paris, a week, no doubt, of high adventure. Everyone, on your feet and give a big Jive To The Monkey welcome to Ms. Lorie King!

Thunderous applause as Lorie enters and sits in a fashionable, high-backed sofa next to the host's desk.

Bobby: Welcome to Jive To The Monkey.
Lorie: Well, I must say, that was quite an applause. Thanks, everybody.
Bobby: Let's get right to business. You know the Eiffel Tower?
Lorie: Yes.
Bobby: Is that real?
Silent Pause
Lorie: Real?
Bobby: The Eiffel Tower.
Lorie: It is real.
Pause
Bobby: How do you know?
Lorie: Huh?
Bobby: Are you sure it's real?
Lorie: I was there.
Bobby: Oh. Okay.
Lorie: Would you like to hear what happened when we --
Bobby: You know the Louvre?
Lorie: Yes.
Bobby: Is that real?
Pause
Lorie: What is this about?
Bobby: So it's not real?
Lorie: I saw the Louvre.
Bobby: You know Notre Dame?
Lorie: It's real.
Bobby: You saw it?
Lorie: I saw it.
Bobby: You know the Bastille?
Lorie: Can I ask if I'm getting paid for this interview?
Bobby: You get a coupon for a free Christmas ham.
Lorie: Oh, okay, well --
Bobby: It's expired, but the butcher can't see very well so he probably won't notice.
Lorie: You know, just let me say, this interview isn't quite what --
Bobby: But don't stand too close to the butcher when he's chopping. Because you know --
Lorie: -- he can't see very well?
Bobby: There have been some, uh, trajedies.
Lorie: Spelling Citation!
Bobby: Huh?
Lorie: You just misspelled "tragedies."
Bobby: Trajedies?
Lorie: You did it again.
Bobby: T-r-a-g-e-d-i-e-s.
Lorie: Yes, but when you say it, you misspell it.
Bobby: How can you know that?
Lorie: Your inflection.
Bobby: Dude, we're talking. This interview won't be transcribed till later. You can't know --
Lorie: Say it.
Bobby: Trajedies.
Lorie: Ha! You misspelled it again.
Bobby: You can't know that.
Lorie: Later, when your assistant types this interview up. It will be misspelled. Every time you say it.
Bobby: Then it's my assistant's mistake.
Lorie: No. She won't misspell it when I say it. Tragedies. See?
Bobby: You're really freaking me out.
Lorie: Say it.
Bobby: No.
Lorie: You can't. You can't say it without misspelling it.
Bobby: My head is spinning, but I'm still clear enough to know that your logic is somehow all wrong here.
Lorie: You misspell it every time. Tragedies.
Bobby: Trajedies.
Lorie: Ha!
Bobby: Get out of my show.
Lorie: (gets up, starts to leave) Thanks for your time. Tragedies.
Bobby: Trajedies.
Lorie: Ha!
The End
(Ms. Lorie King can be read at http:lorieking.blogspot.com)

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Enter The Nightrider

There is a group of superheroes, ladies and gentlemen, living in the very environs of Kentuckiana. They call themselves The Nightriders.
I am one of them.
I cannot reveal the names of the others but some of you have seen them. Some of them have been to this blog, although Nightriders are generally not internet-savvy (one is downright ignorant, but we still love her).
What does it mean to be a Nightrider? A Nightrider is, first and foremost, someone who grew up, came of age, or was born in, the 1980s. They take their name from the 80s TV show "Knightrider," featuring David Hasselhoff and the talking car "Kit." (I realize the show was spelled "Knightrider" but we call ourselves "Nightriders." It is a conundrum.)
A Nightrider is strong, brave, and true. Like the Knights of the Round Table, the Three Muskateers, or the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew.
Nightriders stick together. They watch films and play board games -- and eat. Oh yes, they LOVE to eat. When they are not doing these things, they are standing up against evil wherever it is found, and they are stamping it out with their superhero powers. The only weakness they have is a fondness for placing each other on probation, usually when one of them leads the others to watch a movie that turns out to be boring, or talks all of them into driving 50 freaking miles out into the sticks of Kentucky to visit "the scariest Halloween haunted house in America", only to have it turn out to be like some cheesy carny haunted house.
We have a theme song, written by yours truly. I will give you the lyrics now. Just remember: wherever there is evil, wherever there is mayhem, wherever there is a good buffet -- have no fear: WE will be there!

In troublesome times, the world needs a group of heroes.
Super-cool heroes to turn back the tide of evil.
Who is this now, riding through the storm, come to save us?
It's the Nightriders.
It's the Nightriders.

Forged in experiences of the 1980s,
this group of men and ladies, they know how to party.
They know how to paint and dance and write and fight for justice,
They're the Nightriders.
They're the Nightriders.

So if you're down and you need someone to call,
Don't look for Batman or the webslinger crawling on the wall.
Just say "Hey Nightriders, please come and save me!"
Then you'll feel the power of the 1980's.

No matter if Jeff, Louisville, Clarksville, or New Albany,
No thief is safe unless the Nightriders are busy watching TV.
Still, they make you laugh.
You know you want their autographs.
They're the Nightriders.
They're the Nightriders!

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

New Look, New Features

B-Dog here.
I finally figured out how to add links to the site. I had to change my whole template -- hence the new look.
Check out these links, people. Most are blogs, and each has its own feel. Want great film reviews on titles like "Garden State," or social commentary, or theological insights? Check out Alex Forrest's blog.
Want to hear some funny stories, hang out with a chick that gets more traffic in her blog than most cities get on Main Street, and occasionally read something moving and heartfelt? Guitar Chick Nikki's your girl (well, not your girl. Maybe Bert's girl. Who knows? You will, if you hang your hat in her wacky blog for a bit.
For some (I promise you) really cool photos, visit with Dr. Tom Branch, who previously won a can of corn on this site, though he didn't claim it on time (it is up for grabs again to the first person who visits my Dylan review and says "I don't care about Dylan, but I'd like some corn.")
And then there is my little pal Lorie King, who has a brand new blog that I'm sure will be as witty as she is (if that is possible).
Also check out my link to Nickel Creek. How does one describe NC? Let me try: Progressive Acoustic Indie Contemporary Folk Newgrass Alt. Country/pop. with Celtic, jazz, rock, and classical influences. Or something like that.
Last, check out Harold Best's insightful articles on worship and music. It may change the way you view both.
And check back here from time to time; I may add some more links in the near future. And I have some posts on tap for the next week that will improve your cool-quotient. You will be positively reaking of coolness. Reaking. So don't forget to shower.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Music Review 2: Bob Dylan's "Shelter From The Storm"

Last week we looked at the latest Matt Redman worship album, "Face Down." Today we will come to our standard format for this feature -- critically examining a single song (though often these examinations will look at other songs from the same album, or by the same artist -- context is important).

Let's look at the Bob Dylan song "Shelter From The Storm" (from his classic 1974 record, "Blood On The Tracks") this evening. Here are the lyrics:

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was a little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

Let's talk about "what it means" first, otherwise I'll lose some of you who don't read poetry and have little patience for anything that isn't clear. Of course, Dylan is famous for refusing to shed light on his lyrics when interviewed. One time he teased a reporter by saying he knew what his songs were about. The reporter said, "What are they about?"
Dylan responded, "Oh, some are about four minutes, some are about five minutes, and some, believe it or not, are about eleven or twelve."
"Shelter From The Storm" is not one of his most imagistic (some would say "surreal" songs), and we can easily see there is a story here. Multiple interpretations are possible, but here's my take:

The narrator (we'll call him "Bob" for brevity's sake) needed saving. A woman saved him. In verse six, something bad happens, something that is only hinted. He lets her down somehow. In verse seven, she is dead. From here on, Bob's repeated verse-ending refrain, " 'Come in,' she said, 'I'll give you shelter from the storm' " is his way of looking back to the time when she'd saved him, given him hope.

In verse nine, he is "crucified." She is not there to save him, and he can only look back with regret. In verse ten, there is the tiniest bit of hope (Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine). He is a stranger in a strange land (there is always an incredible amount of Biblical symbolism at work in Dylan's writing). We see in the last line what we know by now -- Bob is confusing God with the woman.

This mingling of Woman and Saviour occurs throughout Dylan's pre-conversion 1970s music. He'd been taking tentative steps toward Christianity since his motorcycle wreck in 1966. Here are some lyrics from "Sign On The Cross," on his 1967 Basement Tapes:

... I know in my head that we're all so misled
And it's that old sign on the cross that worries me ...
You might think you're weak, but I mean to say you're strong,
Yes you are, if that sign on the cross,
If it begins to worry you.

From the "Blood On The Tracks" record on through his post-salvation gospel album, "Slow Train Coming," (1979), Dylan begins, through his characters, to identify with Christ. Look at our subject lyrics again:

I came in from the wilderness ...

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns ...

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes ....

On the same record, another classic Dylan song ("Idiot Wind") offers this:

There's a lone soldier on the cross
Smoke pourin' out a box-car door
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done
In the final end he won the war
After losing every battle ....

Everyone was surprised when Dylan embraced Christianity at decade's end, but in retrospect, we can see that the seeds were there. He returned again and again in the mid-to-late 70s to his identification with Christ, but also to his belief that he could be "saved" through the love of a good woman, as we find here in "Shelter From The Storm." Yet deep down, he knew better all along, as the lyrics to "Shelter ..." suggest.

Let's look at the craft side of this song now. It is a simple folk template -- no chorus, no bridge, only verses (ten, here) that each tell a bit of the story. The last line of every verse is the same, however, and acts as a kind of chorus. The rhyme scheme is elementary:

A
A
B
B

Yet the song is powerful because of Dylan's strong and colorful use of language. Look at verse four, the verse where Dylan establishes how much he needed to be saved before the woman took him in. Look at the verbs:

burned ... buried ... poisoned ... blown out ... hunted ... ravaged ...

Lesser writers use obvious, and usually weak, verbs, which means they must stick it with an adverb to get their point across. For instance, instead of "ravaged," a writer might have used "hurt," only to decide that "hurt" didn't portray how badly his character had suffered, so he would use the adverb that I just used, "badly." Hurt badly.

It sucks. (Or, if I want to use a weaker verb than "sucks" to illustrate my point, I could change the sentence to "It looks bad.") Dylan engrosses us because his command of language is impecible. He knows that good writing is built on colorful, active verbs and solid nouns. If you can't see how "ravaged" improves upon "hurt badly," I will pray for you. Kidding. Sort of.

This is the kind of song that makes intelligent people want to write songs (or poems). Indeed, this is why Dylan succeeded in rock and roll. He's just a rough-voiced folky, but he brought poetry, real poetry, not a bunch of clap-trap sentimental tripe, to the world of popular music. Now, all you would-be writers out there -- Go and do likewise (Ha! Dylan ain't the only one who can appropriate Biblical language!)