I remember the first time Korey played them for me... we were in high school, and I thought he was crazy. I didn't get it.
But I've loved them ever since.
Korey's tastes have changed since then, and mine have, too, but this has been one group that I just keep going back to. Especially their first album, Pornografitti. It's a concept album about a boy who goes through varying ways of trying to find fulfillment... sex, status, power, materialism... before discovering the pitfall of sin and self-centeredness. He tries to find a way out of being who he is, to be who he knows he should be, and the story turns to redemption and love. It's quite the album.
And it hauls.
It's heavy, it's funky, the guitar-playing is beyond belief and it MUST be listened to at a pretty substantial volume. When I listen to it, I swagger like a very, very happy drunk man. This morning it took me 40 minutes to walk to work. I went once, trying (with some success) to control my desire to air-guitar - or at least make guitarist-face - at the good parts. And there are a lot of good parts. The problem is that, once I got there, there was another great song on, so I had to keep walking and air-drum my way through two more tunes. Finally, I danced my way back in time to get to my meeting.
But just barely.
Now, I got some new filters for my in-ear monitors (they collect the ear wax, which, it seems, I produce quite a bit of) and all of a sudden I can hear the sizzle of the cymbals and the crush of the bass drum again.
It's beautiful.
You really should listen to it.
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Wedding (Again)
Well, yesterday was another wedding for a wonderful close friend. It was a busy day, but it was great. Busy because:
I was in the bridal party
I was playing drums and singing for the 8 or so songs they had during the ceremony
I was giving the toast to the groom (tag-team with another groomsman)
I was the emcee for the reception
I sat in on drums with the groom and the band for a few tunes at the dance
Great because I love the people who got married, and it was beautiful to see them taking this step, to hear them promising their love and faithfulness to each other. And it was good because I loved being able to participate in their day and give them something that maybe wasn't better than what someone else could have given them, but was, at least, unique, and could only have been from me, in how I played and supported and spoke.
And since I don't think that there was anyone there who regularly reads (or at least comments) here, I'm going to take a minute to just say that I nailed it. It was a good feeling.
Music is pretty much not a problem - I love to play, love to perform, so that's all good.
The toast was a bit tricky... the friend I was giving it with was quite nervous, and our styles are pretty different - I like to figure out the main points I want to hit and then just get up and talk. He likes to have everything written out, to be able to read it. But we got it figured... decided on a theme (a user's guide about the groom, for the bride), figured out which stories to tell and who would do what, got his part written out and mine outlined, and it went over really well. Funny in parts (okay, for most of it), but also really honest and sincere and appreciative from both of us. I think that best compliment that I received after (except for a hug and "I love you, man" from the groom) was this: "you really showed a side of him that most people here wouldn't know, and though speeches like that sometimes feel forced and a little put on, it was just so sincere and natural - I could tell it came from your heart. I think you really presented him well to the bride's family".
That made me happy.
The other part of my talking was a bit of an adventure. To MC a wedding with a lot of structure is not so hard... you just make sure things are moving along from one event to the next, more or less as close to on-time as you can manage. But this was not a highly structured affair.
I also realized as we were driving from the church to the reception hall that I had meant to think of some stories to tell, some jokes or something... and had completely forgotten. Oh well.
So I winged it. And I'm glad I did... it meant I could be casual, relaxed (I had one person after comment that it felt like I was just talking to one person... and after struggling for YEARS to get past my "now I'm giving a presentation" voice, that was a huge compliment for me) and funny on my own. And it went really well - I think it helped to give the rest of the evening a casual, relaxed, and confident foundation to kind of float along on. It was cool.
So, turns out this post is mostly just bragging so far... not my usual fare, and if you're a newcomer to The Yellow Couch, please don't be scared away without reading a bit more. I'm not usually quite like this. But I'm really happy with how it went, and wanted to share it with you.
It was a pretty significant day for me for another reason.
I don't dance (except at concerts, where I move pretty much non-stop from start to finish).
Or, at least, I didn't.
As the dance started, I kind of slumped into my seat. Usually, I start figuring out how I can get home and into bed at this point. But I had to be there till the end, tonight. I was ready for a long, long night.
I was sitting next to one of the bridesmaids, a friend from a long time ago who had come back to Geneva for the wedding. I said something to her about always dreading this part of the wedding. She was surprised. So was my co-speech-giver's girlfriend, on the other side of me. "You're musical," she said (which, actually, pretty much everyone does at this point in the conversation), "you must be able to dance". I tried to explain that having good rhythm is not the same as being a good dancer, but she would have none of it. They both decided that I was incapable of not being able to dance. Meanwhile the band started into the second tune, a 60's rocker. My bridal party counterpart looked at me and said, "hey, you know, it's a fast one, and there are a lot of people out there - no one is even going to notice you if it doesn't work". I decided she was right.
"Okay," I said, "do you want to dance?"
She did, so out we went, and you know what? It was fun. I liked it, and I kept dancing until I realized that it was going to be the first time I would ever have to get a suit dry-cleaned within the first week that I had owned it. But it was worth it. Turns out I can dance - not stunningly well, but well enough. So I danced with her, with other friends, with women I didn't know, with a whole bunch of people, with no one in particular. I danced with the bride, and even with the groom. It was pretty good.
Yeah, good wedding. And it left me thinking the same thing as the groom as we stepped off the dance floor for a drink and a bit of time to talk. We sat down and he looked at me, and said in his usual, direct way "Well, that's good. Done. Now, D... when is yours?".
I was in the bridal party
I was playing drums and singing for the 8 or so songs they had during the ceremony
I was giving the toast to the groom (tag-team with another groomsman)
I was the emcee for the reception
I sat in on drums with the groom and the band for a few tunes at the dance
Great because I love the people who got married, and it was beautiful to see them taking this step, to hear them promising their love and faithfulness to each other. And it was good because I loved being able to participate in their day and give them something that maybe wasn't better than what someone else could have given them, but was, at least, unique, and could only have been from me, in how I played and supported and spoke.
And since I don't think that there was anyone there who regularly reads (or at least comments) here, I'm going to take a minute to just say that I nailed it. It was a good feeling.
Music is pretty much not a problem - I love to play, love to perform, so that's all good.
The toast was a bit tricky... the friend I was giving it with was quite nervous, and our styles are pretty different - I like to figure out the main points I want to hit and then just get up and talk. He likes to have everything written out, to be able to read it. But we got it figured... decided on a theme (a user's guide about the groom, for the bride), figured out which stories to tell and who would do what, got his part written out and mine outlined, and it went over really well. Funny in parts (okay, for most of it), but also really honest and sincere and appreciative from both of us. I think that best compliment that I received after (except for a hug and "I love you, man" from the groom) was this: "you really showed a side of him that most people here wouldn't know, and though speeches like that sometimes feel forced and a little put on, it was just so sincere and natural - I could tell it came from your heart. I think you really presented him well to the bride's family".
That made me happy.
The other part of my talking was a bit of an adventure. To MC a wedding with a lot of structure is not so hard... you just make sure things are moving along from one event to the next, more or less as close to on-time as you can manage. But this was not a highly structured affair.
I also realized as we were driving from the church to the reception hall that I had meant to think of some stories to tell, some jokes or something... and had completely forgotten. Oh well.
So I winged it. And I'm glad I did... it meant I could be casual, relaxed (I had one person after comment that it felt like I was just talking to one person... and after struggling for YEARS to get past my "now I'm giving a presentation" voice, that was a huge compliment for me) and funny on my own. And it went really well - I think it helped to give the rest of the evening a casual, relaxed, and confident foundation to kind of float along on. It was cool.
So, turns out this post is mostly just bragging so far... not my usual fare, and if you're a newcomer to The Yellow Couch, please don't be scared away without reading a bit more. I'm not usually quite like this. But I'm really happy with how it went, and wanted to share it with you.
It was a pretty significant day for me for another reason.
I don't dance (except at concerts, where I move pretty much non-stop from start to finish).
Or, at least, I didn't.
As the dance started, I kind of slumped into my seat. Usually, I start figuring out how I can get home and into bed at this point. But I had to be there till the end, tonight. I was ready for a long, long night.
I was sitting next to one of the bridesmaids, a friend from a long time ago who had come back to Geneva for the wedding. I said something to her about always dreading this part of the wedding. She was surprised. So was my co-speech-giver's girlfriend, on the other side of me. "You're musical," she said (which, actually, pretty much everyone does at this point in the conversation), "you must be able to dance". I tried to explain that having good rhythm is not the same as being a good dancer, but she would have none of it. They both decided that I was incapable of not being able to dance. Meanwhile the band started into the second tune, a 60's rocker. My bridal party counterpart looked at me and said, "hey, you know, it's a fast one, and there are a lot of people out there - no one is even going to notice you if it doesn't work". I decided she was right.
"Okay," I said, "do you want to dance?"
She did, so out we went, and you know what? It was fun. I liked it, and I kept dancing until I realized that it was going to be the first time I would ever have to get a suit dry-cleaned within the first week that I had owned it. But it was worth it. Turns out I can dance - not stunningly well, but well enough. So I danced with her, with other friends, with women I didn't know, with a whole bunch of people, with no one in particular. I danced with the bride, and even with the groom. It was pretty good.
Yeah, good wedding. And it left me thinking the same thing as the groom as we stepped off the dance floor for a drink and a bit of time to talk. We sat down and he looked at me, and said in his usual, direct way "Well, that's good. Done. Now, D... when is yours?".
Sunday, December 2, 2007
The Holy Season
It's interesting - as we enter the Christmas season I'm always faced with the same realization: it just doesn't feel like a spiritual time to me.
I'm not sure what it is... maybe the fact that it seems to be a pagan festival co-opted by the church. Maybe it's because we have no idea of the actual day of Jesus' birth, so celebrating on that particular one seems a bit odd. But I think that most of it is that I can't help but to compare it to Easter.
At Easter, Christ chose to give up his life. And, more significantly than that, he chose to become sin for us. I don't think most of us can begin to comprehend giving up our life for someone else, but we do know that it's something that some people choose to do. They do it because they love their children, or love their country, or just believe that if they see someone in need and can meet it, they must, regardless of how it may put their own lives at risk.
But I believe that the horror and utter, unimaginable gulf between a perfect God and the sin that he was faced with was like nothing that we can begin to understand. We don't have an equivalent; we can't comprehend what Christ became willing to take on. We can't even come close.
I guess it's in those terms that I think of Christmas. The thought of God becoming man is amazing, and beautiful, and worthy of celebration. But the idea of him dying for man is much more. So if we're sitting together at a Christmas service, singing about joy, and I look somewhat less than joyful, it's not just the carols: I've skipped ahead to where the story gets serious. It's good and it's beautiful and perfect. But it's heavy.
I'm not sure what it is... maybe the fact that it seems to be a pagan festival co-opted by the church. Maybe it's because we have no idea of the actual day of Jesus' birth, so celebrating on that particular one seems a bit odd. But I think that most of it is that I can't help but to compare it to Easter.
At Easter, Christ chose to give up his life. And, more significantly than that, he chose to become sin for us. I don't think most of us can begin to comprehend giving up our life for someone else, but we do know that it's something that some people choose to do. They do it because they love their children, or love their country, or just believe that if they see someone in need and can meet it, they must, regardless of how it may put their own lives at risk.
But I believe that the horror and utter, unimaginable gulf between a perfect God and the sin that he was faced with was like nothing that we can begin to understand. We don't have an equivalent; we can't comprehend what Christ became willing to take on. We can't even come close.
I guess it's in those terms that I think of Christmas. The thought of God becoming man is amazing, and beautiful, and worthy of celebration. But the idea of him dying for man is much more. So if we're sitting together at a Christmas service, singing about joy, and I look somewhat less than joyful, it's not just the carols: I've skipped ahead to where the story gets serious. It's good and it's beautiful and perfect. But it's heavy.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wow
I've taken the flight between Lugano and Geneva... well, most weeks for almost the last two years.
I've seen a lot of Alps, and a lot of sunsets.
But I've never seen it like it was tonight. The clouds were thick, so there was only a hint of mountain beneath them every once in a while, but far from ruining the view, that's what made it.
I've always loved clouds... I love the fantastic shapes they make, the way they seem so artificially three-dimensional poised against the flat backdrop of sky, like someone painted them there just a little too vividly to be real. I love the way the sun never leaves them unchanged... some tonight had rich, honey-colored highlights as the setting sun lit them up like giant rambling towers of wool. Some held the light within them but glowed ferociously at their edges, like they were unable to contain it. And some, dark with rain, just blotted it out and seemed, somehow, even darker and more impenetrable.
There are times when I see an absolutely stunning woman and I can't help but catch my breath - it's impossible not to react. And the flight tonight was like that, I started out absorbed in my book but by the end I was staring out the window, just wanting it to last forever. I didn't get any pictures... I knew that they would never equal what I had seen, so I didn't even try. But I wish you had been there.
It was beautiful.
I've seen a lot of Alps, and a lot of sunsets.
But I've never seen it like it was tonight. The clouds were thick, so there was only a hint of mountain beneath them every once in a while, but far from ruining the view, that's what made it.
I've always loved clouds... I love the fantastic shapes they make, the way they seem so artificially three-dimensional poised against the flat backdrop of sky, like someone painted them there just a little too vividly to be real. I love the way the sun never leaves them unchanged... some tonight had rich, honey-colored highlights as the setting sun lit them up like giant rambling towers of wool. Some held the light within them but glowed ferociously at their edges, like they were unable to contain it. And some, dark with rain, just blotted it out and seemed, somehow, even darker and more impenetrable.
There are times when I see an absolutely stunning woman and I can't help but catch my breath - it's impossible not to react. And the flight tonight was like that, I started out absorbed in my book but by the end I was staring out the window, just wanting it to last forever. I didn't get any pictures... I knew that they would never equal what I had seen, so I didn't even try. But I wish you had been there.
It was beautiful.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Salmon
I think salmon is amazing. It is, in fact, the only food that I ever remember consciously choosing over good beef. And that's what the little chick and I are having for supper tonight... I'm pretty excited. I'm also pretty excited about some pictures of bees that I took at lunch time, but I'm definitely more excited about the salmon.
The bad news is, I'm almost out of popcorn. I usually use white popping corn (Jiffy Time, if I can get it) but I haven't been able to source it here. I wonder if they sell popcorn on eBay? You would think that something that's dried out like that could last forever, but I tried buying popcorn in Switzerland and it was pretty nasty once I popped it. They should warn people about stuff like that. Maybe in school, or public service announcements or something. I wonder if there are t-shirts on this theme...
The bad news is, I'm almost out of popcorn. I usually use white popping corn (Jiffy Time, if I can get it) but I haven't been able to source it here. I wonder if they sell popcorn on eBay? You would think that something that's dried out like that could last forever, but I tried buying popcorn in Switzerland and it was pretty nasty once I popped it. They should warn people about stuff like that. Maybe in school, or public service announcements or something. I wonder if there are t-shirts on this theme...
Friday, April 27, 2007
For Those About To Rock
I usually love my walk to work in the morning - but today I drove and it was cool, cool, cool. I was listening to the MNB practice cd's, picking out some of the drum stuff that I had missed (or, more likely, forgotten) and singing along at the top of my lungs. It made me realize how long it's been since I've performed.
I'm happy we have a bass player. I'm happy the tunes are coming together. 'Cause I can't wait to get out and play again... I hope we can get a date before Pickwick's stops for the summer.
Happy weekend, everybody.
I'm happy we have a bass player. I'm happy the tunes are coming together. 'Cause I can't wait to get out and play again... I hope we can get a date before Pickwick's stops for the summer.
Happy weekend, everybody.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Work Of Wisdom
Some continued thoughts (with no resolution, yet) from On My Mind...
Time for a little transparency - I'm going to drop any pretense, because this is important to me. I want to be wise.
I want to understand, I want to be a man who sees what other people don't see. I want to be a man who can sense (and move to) the rhythm of holiness in everyday life. I want to give counsel that will lead people to truth and peace; to be not just patient or loving gentle or strong with my daughter, but to raise her to know and love truth. I want my decisions and my words to reflect the very will of God.
Is it asking a lot? Yeah, probably. Am I going to stop asking for it? No.
I don't think much about promotion. I don' t care very deeply if some people don't get me (a little or at all). I could care less about becoming wealthy, or prominent. But I want, at my core, to be wise.
Or, at least, I thought I did. But then I started to read:
I like this a lot better:
But maybe a little work is just what I need.
If I sit at a table full of food and decide that, out of faith, I am going to ask God to nourish me but I will not raise one bite to my lips, I will starve. It's not that God doesn't want me to live or to be strong, but when he has given a way that I have refused to accept, he rarely seems to offer a second one. I may pray, in faith, "Father, I believe that you are able to care for my physical needs". His response? "I am not just able - I have already done it. Look in front of you."
In the same way, when I ask for wisdom through a special revelation but neglect the words that God has said time and time again that I need to live my life by if I expect to do it right, I am a fool. Instead of getting me closer to wisdom, it takes me ever further from it. Like so many aspects of this physical/spiritual life we lead, the act of faith without the work of obedience is empty.
And then I have a second understanding: I am not sure that what I am asking for is even wisdom at all.
Imagine a man prays, day after day, for wisdom and for understanding. And, day after day, he has nothing but trouble. Financial problems, issues with relationships failing at work, discord in his family, and no sense of a foundation upon which life may be lived in security. At first, he assumes his prayers are not being heard. He practices patience, and continues to pray. But after a time, he gives up and curses God - "All I asked for was wisdom, and all you gave me was trouble!"
"He who hates correction is stupid."
When I am asking for wisdom, am I asking to be shown what is good, and right, and true? Am I asking to be refined until what is impure and worthless in me is destroyed by fire? Or am I asking God to show me the path of maximum benefit and minimal cost - a spiritual Cole's Notes? Am I not just asking God to give me something that is abhorrent to him, but failing to recognize what is truly priceless when he provides it at the same time?
What is it that I really want?
Time for a little transparency - I'm going to drop any pretense, because this is important to me. I want to be wise.
I want to understand, I want to be a man who sees what other people don't see. I want to be a man who can sense (and move to) the rhythm of holiness in everyday life. I want to give counsel that will lead people to truth and peace; to be not just patient or loving gentle or strong with my daughter, but to raise her to know and love truth. I want my decisions and my words to reflect the very will of God.
Is it asking a lot? Yeah, probably. Am I going to stop asking for it? No.
I don't think much about promotion. I don' t care very deeply if some people don't get me (a little or at all). I could care less about becoming wealthy, or prominent. But I want, at my core, to be wise.
Or, at least, I thought I did. But then I started to read:
Proverbs 9:10 "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding."How much time and effort have I put in to gaining a true and deep knowledge of God? How many hours of study have I invested? Some, certainly. But not as many as would seem to lead to the kind of wisdom I claim to thirst for. It's like saying I want to get into shape.... just not by running, or working, or sweating. Can't I order something off of the TV for that?
I like this a lot better:
James 1:5 "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."That's the kind of wisdom I want... a supernatural wisdom that God gives me. It's by faith, right? I'm not going to try to live by works. And I especially like the "without finding fault" part.
But maybe a little work is just what I need.
If I sit at a table full of food and decide that, out of faith, I am going to ask God to nourish me but I will not raise one bite to my lips, I will starve. It's not that God doesn't want me to live or to be strong, but when he has given a way that I have refused to accept, he rarely seems to offer a second one. I may pray, in faith, "Father, I believe that you are able to care for my physical needs". His response? "I am not just able - I have already done it. Look in front of you."
In the same way, when I ask for wisdom through a special revelation but neglect the words that God has said time and time again that I need to live my life by if I expect to do it right, I am a fool. Instead of getting me closer to wisdom, it takes me ever further from it. Like so many aspects of this physical/spiritual life we lead, the act of faith without the work of obedience is empty.
And then I have a second understanding: I am not sure that what I am asking for is even wisdom at all.
Proverbs 12:1 "Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates correction is stupid."Am I asking for discipline? Am I submitting to correction, and, beyond that, welcoming it? Am I seeking to understand what is right and just and fair, or do I want a crystal ball to tell me the optimal time to ask for a raise?
Proverbs 1:9 "Then you will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path."
Imagine a man prays, day after day, for wisdom and for understanding. And, day after day, he has nothing but trouble. Financial problems, issues with relationships failing at work, discord in his family, and no sense of a foundation upon which life may be lived in security. At first, he assumes his prayers are not being heard. He practices patience, and continues to pray. But after a time, he gives up and curses God - "All I asked for was wisdom, and all you gave me was trouble!"
"He who hates correction is stupid."
When I am asking for wisdom, am I asking to be shown what is good, and right, and true? Am I asking to be refined until what is impure and worthless in me is destroyed by fire? Or am I asking God to show me the path of maximum benefit and minimal cost - a spiritual Cole's Notes? Am I not just asking God to give me something that is abhorrent to him, but failing to recognize what is truly priceless when he provides it at the same time?
What is it that I really want?
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Drummer Face
No, I'm not going to post a picture. But some of you have seen it. And, if you haven't, if you show up when the MNB finally ends up playing (we're hoping for May), you will most certainly see it. It's drummer face.
It looks a little like I'm constipated (but happy, as we determined in practice today), but it means that we are rocking. It means I am ready to pound my drums into the ground and hit you with a wall of sound that will snap your head back like student driver in an F18. It means you better look out.
I get it pretty frequently when I'm playing, because, at least some of the time, it rocks. But I also get it when I'm watching a band. Or listening. So if you see me walking down the street and I appear to be in trouble of some sort, it's probably just a monster groove going on in my earbuds.
And here's something I love: Andy gets it, too.
What makes that unique is that Andy is not a drummer. He's a bass player, which is almost like a drummer but they don't use their feet at all, and they rely on amplifiers to be heard. Anyways, when Andy is laying down a deep, nasty groove, he gets a look on his face that says, "if you even try to stop this I will crush you like a little Ukrainian easter egg that wasn't allowed to dry properly and had all the ink run until it wasn't suitable for display or resale." He's one of the nicest guys you could hope to know, but if you see Andy when he's laying down a beat you would think he may be getting ready to kill you.
Anyways, today it happened a couple of times, but the best, for me, was on another Keane song: Somewhere Only We Know. It was cool to hear Kristy taking over and hammering it out on the piano (most of the rocking songs we play are guitar-driven). But that song just soars... wide open chords ringing out, funky kick drum hammering down some triplets and the snare ripping your face off on 2 and 4. It's beautiful. I love it, and I can't wait to perform it. Can't wait!
It looks a little like I'm constipated (but happy, as we determined in practice today), but it means that we are rocking. It means I am ready to pound my drums into the ground and hit you with a wall of sound that will snap your head back like student driver in an F18. It means you better look out.
I get it pretty frequently when I'm playing, because, at least some of the time, it rocks. But I also get it when I'm watching a band. Or listening. So if you see me walking down the street and I appear to be in trouble of some sort, it's probably just a monster groove going on in my earbuds.
And here's something I love: Andy gets it, too.
What makes that unique is that Andy is not a drummer. He's a bass player, which is almost like a drummer but they don't use their feet at all, and they rely on amplifiers to be heard. Anyways, when Andy is laying down a deep, nasty groove, he gets a look on his face that says, "if you even try to stop this I will crush you like a little Ukrainian easter egg that wasn't allowed to dry properly and had all the ink run until it wasn't suitable for display or resale." He's one of the nicest guys you could hope to know, but if you see Andy when he's laying down a beat you would think he may be getting ready to kill you.
Anyways, today it happened a couple of times, but the best, for me, was on another Keane song: Somewhere Only We Know. It was cool to hear Kristy taking over and hammering it out on the piano (most of the rocking songs we play are guitar-driven). But that song just soars... wide open chords ringing out, funky kick drum hammering down some triplets and the snare ripping your face off on 2 and 4. It's beautiful. I love it, and I can't wait to perform it. Can't wait!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Questions And Answers
So following an interesting discussion with John and some reflecting at the retreat on the weekend, I have been wondering a lot about whether I am looking for questions or for answers. Or, stated in other words with tongue firmly in cheek, exactly how post-modern am I?
If you know me, you know that I love questions. I love to consider them, I love to ask them and explore them with other people, and I think that, more than just giving an answer, they can be a very effective tool in leading people to truth and to a greater understanding of what matters. I don't shy away from asking, or answering, tough questions.
At the same time, I don't believe that it's all in the journey, that what matters is only that you are asking the questions, or that the answers are less important. But it has really got me thinking: what is the relative value of a question and an answer?
It was Aristotle who said in his Nicomachean Ethics that, when we discuss any given subject, we would do well to treat it with as much precision as it demands: to expect more is an exercise in futility, and to accept less is foolish. So on a grand scale, here is how I think of it:
The first case is that of an answer without a question. Not that there is no question behind it in principle, but the person receiving the answer has not asked the question that demands it.
I think this can be of some value, especially with children. I don't wait for my daughter to be able to understand everything I explain to her. I teach her about art, about physics, about math and language, and about faith, knowing that much of what she hears will mean nothing to her now... the present value is almost nothing. But there will come a point where she will start to consider these things, and then she will have this storehouse of knowledge available to her. One of my favorite authors, Robertson Davies has written about this in reference to poetry... that teaching children poems they can't understand gives them a store of beauty, mystery, and insight that they will be able to draw upon later, and I agree. In fact, sometimes, without starting with an answer, those questions may never come.
I'm not so sure, though, how closely this parallels the intellectual journey that we are on as adults. If someone is not concerned with the question, how much value is there in giving them the answer? Some, I think, but it is limited. We don't care about what doesn't cost us anything, and without the cost of struggling with an issue, I don't think that having the answer will have a great impact on most people.
Does this mean that we shouldn't bother with answers for people who aren't asking? No, I don't think so. But it does mean that we need to include the questions with the answers, to allow people to consider, think, and explore after the fact, if not before. We don't need to be spoon-fed; we need to be molded, and this cannot come without the conflict that questions bring.
The second case is a question which cannot be answered, or (at least) to which the answer cannot be assured. In my view, this won't be because there is no truth or answer, but may well be because it is not possible for us to know or understand it.
With these questions, if the value is truly in the answer, then we are perhaps better not to even ask the questions - and this is clearly the line some people feel most comfortable taking. "We can't know that" or "People have discussed this for centuries and not had an answer - what do you expect to be different when we talk about it?". They would prefer not to explore what seems unlikely to have a solid outcome.
But I think that there is still value - a lot of value - in exploring these questions, for a number of reasons.
1. Any question that has been answered has, at one time, been a question without an answer. Who is to say that what has not been understood in the past can't be understood now?
2. We get stronger by doing things our body is not capable of doing comfortably. We gain wisdom and an ability to reason by thinking about things which are brains cannot easily contain or comprehend.
3. The exploration of "unsolvable" problems may well lead us to other issues that do have a possible resolution, and without starting on the journey we have no way to know what is down the path. What we do know, though, is that if we are static (spiritually, intellectually, or emotionally) we will discover nothing.
4. These questions force us to acknowledge mystery and uncertainty. For many years, I longed for a black-and-white life. Actions were right or wrong. Theology was sound or heretical. Music was good or crap. Well, I still hold that to be the truth on the music front, but I have learned to see and appreciate and even love mystery in faith. It gives me a more accurate understanding of who God is, relative to who I am, and that is a sobering but healthy thing. That's also the topic of a whole other post...
In the final view, the value of a question without an answer is limited. It may provide an avenue of stimulation, but what I want is not just to get my neurons firing: I want my life to be dynamic, to be transformed and renewed, and without answers I may know that there is a direction that I need to take, but not which one it is. So the time and effort I will devote to these questions is limited.
The third case is a question which can be answered.
For me, this is where the magic happens. When someone is intent on honestly seeking out an answer for a question - regardless of how that answer fits in with their initial ideas - there is an opportunity for growth and maturity and change that takes my breath away. This is what lights me up, when I can explore it on my own or join with others in it. Why is it so special?
First, it starts with a willingness to explore. When we come to an issue with humility and a hunger for truth, we can leave behind our own road maps and truly be ready for change. The stance that I live my life in is "I know, but I might be wrong". I am ready to act, ready to commit to what I believe, but also ready to give it up as I see that I have been mistaken. And this somewhat contradictory position gives me the opportunity to really examine my own beliefs and understanding in a much greater way than either assuming that I have the final word and that it will not change, or that I know nothing and may as well not try to reach any kind of real decision. The willingness to be wrong in search of what is right is powerful, and is a vulnerability that leads not to weakness, but to strength.
Second, it leads us to truth. When we seek , we will find. But without seeking with our whole heart, we will not know the truth. In terms of spiritual truth, without study, and contemplation, and meditation, and prayer, and consultation with wise people, we have no likelihood of ever getting to truth. The reason I am willing to ask the questions are not just because I want to change what I think or understand. It is because I want to know the truth, regardless of where that leads me.
Finally, it gives us grounds for action. Our ideas, and our faith, are proven as they are tested. If we hold them in a vacuum, unexamined and unchallenged, they will never be strong enough to compel us to act on them when circumstances dictate that we should act otherwise. Challenging each other is a first step to being certain of what we believe, of turning knowledge into faith - we do not act on knowledge, but we cannot help but act on real faith. I would rather never enter a search for truth from the "right" position than give up coming away with the truth. The confidence that comes from being shown to be wrong but turning to what is right is far more valuable than the frail ego boost of claiming the knowledge of the truth without being willing to test it.
So let's ask each other questions which need to be asked. Let's seek out the answers, without fear of where those answers may lead us, or where they may be found. But most of all, let's be ready to act, to live, and to be be conformed to the truth we find.
If you know me, you know that I love questions. I love to consider them, I love to ask them and explore them with other people, and I think that, more than just giving an answer, they can be a very effective tool in leading people to truth and to a greater understanding of what matters. I don't shy away from asking, or answering, tough questions.
At the same time, I don't believe that it's all in the journey, that what matters is only that you are asking the questions, or that the answers are less important. But it has really got me thinking: what is the relative value of a question and an answer?
It was Aristotle who said in his Nicomachean Ethics that, when we discuss any given subject, we would do well to treat it with as much precision as it demands: to expect more is an exercise in futility, and to accept less is foolish. So on a grand scale, here is how I think of it:
The first case is that of an answer without a question. Not that there is no question behind it in principle, but the person receiving the answer has not asked the question that demands it.
I think this can be of some value, especially with children. I don't wait for my daughter to be able to understand everything I explain to her. I teach her about art, about physics, about math and language, and about faith, knowing that much of what she hears will mean nothing to her now... the present value is almost nothing. But there will come a point where she will start to consider these things, and then she will have this storehouse of knowledge available to her. One of my favorite authors, Robertson Davies has written about this in reference to poetry... that teaching children poems they can't understand gives them a store of beauty, mystery, and insight that they will be able to draw upon later, and I agree. In fact, sometimes, without starting with an answer, those questions may never come.
I'm not so sure, though, how closely this parallels the intellectual journey that we are on as adults. If someone is not concerned with the question, how much value is there in giving them the answer? Some, I think, but it is limited. We don't care about what doesn't cost us anything, and without the cost of struggling with an issue, I don't think that having the answer will have a great impact on most people.
Does this mean that we shouldn't bother with answers for people who aren't asking? No, I don't think so. But it does mean that we need to include the questions with the answers, to allow people to consider, think, and explore after the fact, if not before. We don't need to be spoon-fed; we need to be molded, and this cannot come without the conflict that questions bring.
The second case is a question which cannot be answered, or (at least) to which the answer cannot be assured. In my view, this won't be because there is no truth or answer, but may well be because it is not possible for us to know or understand it.
With these questions, if the value is truly in the answer, then we are perhaps better not to even ask the questions - and this is clearly the line some people feel most comfortable taking. "We can't know that" or "People have discussed this for centuries and not had an answer - what do you expect to be different when we talk about it?". They would prefer not to explore what seems unlikely to have a solid outcome.
But I think that there is still value - a lot of value - in exploring these questions, for a number of reasons.
1. Any question that has been answered has, at one time, been a question without an answer. Who is to say that what has not been understood in the past can't be understood now?
2. We get stronger by doing things our body is not capable of doing comfortably. We gain wisdom and an ability to reason by thinking about things which are brains cannot easily contain or comprehend.
3. The exploration of "unsolvable" problems may well lead us to other issues that do have a possible resolution, and without starting on the journey we have no way to know what is down the path. What we do know, though, is that if we are static (spiritually, intellectually, or emotionally) we will discover nothing.
4. These questions force us to acknowledge mystery and uncertainty. For many years, I longed for a black-and-white life. Actions were right or wrong. Theology was sound or heretical. Music was good or crap. Well, I still hold that to be the truth on the music front, but I have learned to see and appreciate and even love mystery in faith. It gives me a more accurate understanding of who God is, relative to who I am, and that is a sobering but healthy thing. That's also the topic of a whole other post...
In the final view, the value of a question without an answer is limited. It may provide an avenue of stimulation, but what I want is not just to get my neurons firing: I want my life to be dynamic, to be transformed and renewed, and without answers I may know that there is a direction that I need to take, but not which one it is. So the time and effort I will devote to these questions is limited.
The third case is a question which can be answered.
For me, this is where the magic happens. When someone is intent on honestly seeking out an answer for a question - regardless of how that answer fits in with their initial ideas - there is an opportunity for growth and maturity and change that takes my breath away. This is what lights me up, when I can explore it on my own or join with others in it. Why is it so special?
First, it starts with a willingness to explore. When we come to an issue with humility and a hunger for truth, we can leave behind our own road maps and truly be ready for change. The stance that I live my life in is "I know, but I might be wrong". I am ready to act, ready to commit to what I believe, but also ready to give it up as I see that I have been mistaken. And this somewhat contradictory position gives me the opportunity to really examine my own beliefs and understanding in a much greater way than either assuming that I have the final word and that it will not change, or that I know nothing and may as well not try to reach any kind of real decision. The willingness to be wrong in search of what is right is powerful, and is a vulnerability that leads not to weakness, but to strength.
Second, it leads us to truth. When we seek , we will find. But without seeking with our whole heart, we will not know the truth. In terms of spiritual truth, without study, and contemplation, and meditation, and prayer, and consultation with wise people, we have no likelihood of ever getting to truth. The reason I am willing to ask the questions are not just because I want to change what I think or understand. It is because I want to know the truth, regardless of where that leads me.
Finally, it gives us grounds for action. Our ideas, and our faith, are proven as they are tested. If we hold them in a vacuum, unexamined and unchallenged, they will never be strong enough to compel us to act on them when circumstances dictate that we should act otherwise. Challenging each other is a first step to being certain of what we believe, of turning knowledge into faith - we do not act on knowledge, but we cannot help but act on real faith. I would rather never enter a search for truth from the "right" position than give up coming away with the truth. The confidence that comes from being shown to be wrong but turning to what is right is far more valuable than the frail ego boost of claiming the knowledge of the truth without being willing to test it.
So let's ask each other questions which need to be asked. Let's seek out the answers, without fear of where those answers may lead us, or where they may be found. But most of all, let's be ready to act, to live, and to be be conformed to the truth we find.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Creator
It's been a while and I'm in the mood, so this is a serious one. If you're not so interested, there are pictures and some light posts not too far down the page, feel free to come back when you're up for it...
When I read in Genesis that God created us his image, there are a couple of things that jump out to me (and, as usual, the things that jump are the things I don't fully understand):
First, God uses the plural. Let us make man in our image. How does that fit in? Is it because creation happened through and for the Son (the Word)? Is there something about how we are made, male and female, that cannot be captured in a single entity - even a divine one? Is there a shared part of "the image" of God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit that's different from the image of any one of them, and that's the image we were to be in? If so, do we seek out more of one of the three to our detriment?
But the bigger question, for me, is what exactly is that image?
For me to do my job well, I need to know what it is I'm supposed to be. It's not going to help if I go in to work ready to put out fires or bake bread. Yeah, there are people who do those things, but that's not what my role is; in a professional sense, that's not who I am.
It's only when I know who I am supposed to be that I can start to understand what I need to do to become that person. Professionally, this may mean getting training, spending time to better understand parts of the business I'm not so familiar with, or giving up some of my activities that, as much as I enjoy them, don't contribute to getting to that core of who I am meant to be. And I am sure that the same is true personally and spiritually - as much as it is up to me (and that's a whole other post), I must know who I am meant to be before I can become that man.
So when God created us in his image, what did that mean? Who is it that we are supposed to be? What's the image we are meant to bear?
I've heard a lot of theories about this... that it means eternal, that it means designed to live in community, that is means capable of loving and being loved. Unless I am missing something, there is not much in the passage to indicate what aspects of God's image are invoked, unless it is related to our ability or authority to rule over the earth.
I honestly believe that it goes much deeper than any single factor, but the one that resonates with me the most is that, in the midst of the greatest act of creation that would ever be, God created us to be creators, too. Made to sing and draw and dance and sculpt and speak and pray... to long to bring something from nothing, order from chaos, beauty from the tin and dirt of everyday life. Made us to understand and sense possibility... not just in what is seen, but in what is not yet visible. I wonder if this is why I see a purity and beauty even in the creation of people who may not know God, why they can mirror someone they have never seen.
It is at our core. Or, at least, it is at my core. I think that my unquenchable desire to create may be the least tarnished part of who I am. As I change and grow and learn and mature, I see other aspects of who I was fall away - and gladly, as I recognize some of it for what it really is. But the more alive I become, spiritually, the more awake in me is the desire to be a creator. It becomes more focused and purposeful, but it shows no sign of abating or being replaced. I wonder if this is, at least in part, what it means to be in God's image.
When I read in Genesis that God created us his image, there are a couple of things that jump out to me (and, as usual, the things that jump are the things I don't fully understand):
First, God uses the plural. Let us make man in our image. How does that fit in? Is it because creation happened through and for the Son (the Word)? Is there something about how we are made, male and female, that cannot be captured in a single entity - even a divine one? Is there a shared part of "the image" of God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit that's different from the image of any one of them, and that's the image we were to be in? If so, do we seek out more of one of the three to our detriment?
But the bigger question, for me, is what exactly is that image?
For me to do my job well, I need to know what it is I'm supposed to be. It's not going to help if I go in to work ready to put out fires or bake bread. Yeah, there are people who do those things, but that's not what my role is; in a professional sense, that's not who I am.
It's only when I know who I am supposed to be that I can start to understand what I need to do to become that person. Professionally, this may mean getting training, spending time to better understand parts of the business I'm not so familiar with, or giving up some of my activities that, as much as I enjoy them, don't contribute to getting to that core of who I am meant to be. And I am sure that the same is true personally and spiritually - as much as it is up to me (and that's a whole other post), I must know who I am meant to be before I can become that man.
So when God created us in his image, what did that mean? Who is it that we are supposed to be? What's the image we are meant to bear?
I've heard a lot of theories about this... that it means eternal, that it means designed to live in community, that is means capable of loving and being loved. Unless I am missing something, there is not much in the passage to indicate what aspects of God's image are invoked, unless it is related to our ability or authority to rule over the earth.
I honestly believe that it goes much deeper than any single factor, but the one that resonates with me the most is that, in the midst of the greatest act of creation that would ever be, God created us to be creators, too. Made to sing and draw and dance and sculpt and speak and pray... to long to bring something from nothing, order from chaos, beauty from the tin and dirt of everyday life. Made us to understand and sense possibility... not just in what is seen, but in what is not yet visible. I wonder if this is why I see a purity and beauty even in the creation of people who may not know God, why they can mirror someone they have never seen.
It is at our core. Or, at least, it is at my core. I think that my unquenchable desire to create may be the least tarnished part of who I am. As I change and grow and learn and mature, I see other aspects of who I was fall away - and gladly, as I recognize some of it for what it really is. But the more alive I become, spiritually, the more awake in me is the desire to be a creator. It becomes more focused and purposeful, but it shows no sign of abating or being replaced. I wonder if this is, at least in part, what it means to be in God's image.
Friday, February 16, 2007
I Feel Like A Spring
It's a gorgeous day and I'm tired and I'm sick but I feel so alive and happy that I'm almost about to burst. So, since you can't hear me sing from where you are, in celebration of spring (which is here in my little world, if not the world-at-large) here are some pictures I took in the mountains of very, very tiny flowers.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Kiss The Cook
I really like beef. As a good Alberta boy (and those of you from the great white north will appreciate this) I know a good steak from a bad one. Try as I might, I have not mastered the art of cooking them - though I'm not bad with a grill - but I have a tremendous appreciation for them when I do find them.
Well, today was a bit of a rough day at work. I say that with a little bit of a grimace, knowing that some of you spend more hours at work in a week than I do awake, but still... it was a long day. In the interest of not losing my job should anyone who could help make that happen come across this, I won't go into any details, but let's just say that by 8 tonight my brain was full and I was ready to move on to something different.
There are about 8 of us on this project now, and a couple decided not to join in, but you know me - gotta go wherever the group is going, so I decided to head along for a meal. Honestly, it's been a couple months since I've been able to hang out with this crew, and I have missed them. As much as I truly and honestly hate trying to figure out what all my francophone friends are saying after 12 hours of work, I work with some really good people. So we went to a place I'd eaten at a couple times before, which was good news.
I noticed something tonight that I hadn't before - the music here is a lot better than it is in Geneva. We had some Toto (Africa, of course), Tracy Chapman, Natalie Imbrouglia (who I can now recognize thanks to the MNB) and a few others which, thankfully, featured more guitar and less French rap. Score one for our side.
Now, I don't know what it is about Lugano, but not only is the music vastly superior, but the beef here is way, way better than what I can find in Geneva. I don't know where it comes from, don't know if they just prepare it right, but it's good. I mean, I know three places within a 5-minute walk from my hotel where I can get an absolutely wonderful steak. And we were at one of them tonight.
The wine was a young Italian... very robust, very fruity, with a lot of plum, and a surprisingly good finish for a relatively sweet, young wine. Not particularly well-balanced, but if you like that flavor (and I do) there is a lot of it there to enjoy. It would have absolutely died with a curry, but with my steak... well, I just wanted to crawl inside it and live there forever. The filet was not too big, but, trying to keep up with local customs, I had started with pasta, anyways, so I wasn't too hungry. And the steak was amazing... just enough marbling to really give it flavor but still very lean (it was a filet) and certainly no extra fat to bother me. It was tender and cooked to very perfection... grilled and slightly charred on the outside, and then a deep, rich, beautiful dark pink all the way through. They served it with some grilled vegetables - mostly non-memorable except for the peppers; sweet, still crunchy, but grilled with a little of the sugars burned - and I finished with a nochino (or something like that) - grappa which has had walnuts marinated in it for 40 days. Wonderful.
Wow. In the end I decided it may be best if I didn't meet the chef - better to keep a little mystery in the relationship - but it was satisfying in a way that only a perfectly prepared steak can be. Happy, happy, happy.
Well, today was a bit of a rough day at work. I say that with a little bit of a grimace, knowing that some of you spend more hours at work in a week than I do awake, but still... it was a long day. In the interest of not losing my job should anyone who could help make that happen come across this, I won't go into any details, but let's just say that by 8 tonight my brain was full and I was ready to move on to something different.
There are about 8 of us on this project now, and a couple decided not to join in, but you know me - gotta go wherever the group is going, so I decided to head along for a meal. Honestly, it's been a couple months since I've been able to hang out with this crew, and I have missed them. As much as I truly and honestly hate trying to figure out what all my francophone friends are saying after 12 hours of work, I work with some really good people. So we went to a place I'd eaten at a couple times before, which was good news.
I noticed something tonight that I hadn't before - the music here is a lot better than it is in Geneva. We had some Toto (Africa, of course), Tracy Chapman, Natalie Imbrouglia (who I can now recognize thanks to the MNB) and a few others which, thankfully, featured more guitar and less French rap. Score one for our side.
Now, I don't know what it is about Lugano, but not only is the music vastly superior, but the beef here is way, way better than what I can find in Geneva. I don't know where it comes from, don't know if they just prepare it right, but it's good. I mean, I know three places within a 5-minute walk from my hotel where I can get an absolutely wonderful steak. And we were at one of them tonight.
The wine was a young Italian... very robust, very fruity, with a lot of plum, and a surprisingly good finish for a relatively sweet, young wine. Not particularly well-balanced, but if you like that flavor (and I do) there is a lot of it there to enjoy. It would have absolutely died with a curry, but with my steak... well, I just wanted to crawl inside it and live there forever. The filet was not too big, but, trying to keep up with local customs, I had started with pasta, anyways, so I wasn't too hungry. And the steak was amazing... just enough marbling to really give it flavor but still very lean (it was a filet) and certainly no extra fat to bother me. It was tender and cooked to very perfection... grilled and slightly charred on the outside, and then a deep, rich, beautiful dark pink all the way through. They served it with some grilled vegetables - mostly non-memorable except for the peppers; sweet, still crunchy, but grilled with a little of the sugars burned - and I finished with a nochino (or something like that) - grappa which has had walnuts marinated in it for 40 days. Wonderful.
Wow. In the end I decided it may be best if I didn't meet the chef - better to keep a little mystery in the relationship - but it was satisfying in a way that only a perfectly prepared steak can be. Happy, happy, happy.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Listen To Myself
I was at a big jam session/bbq a while ago - it's an annual tradition put on by a guy I'm working with, and he gets some really fun musicians out to his place in France, where we spend about 10 hours playing, eating, and drinking.
It was fascinating for a couple reasons. First, I realized that while everyone else was interested in getting another drink, putting some food on the bbq, I just wanted to play. I ached for it in a way that most people wouldn't associate with wanting to play music, but it was inside me just bursting to get out. I'm a social guy, and love hanging out and relaxing with friends, but when there is music on the horizon everything else fades and I am compelled to create and pound my drums and celebrate...
Have you ever been so happy that you have had to express it physically - to dance around, to laugh out loud, to just put your head back and yell? That's how I feel when I sit down to play, but I have the mysterious joy of having the physical act not just celebrating the happiness I feel, but causing it at the same time, going on and on in some kind of tremendous maelstrom, feeding on itself and growing in power and intensity. There was another drummer there, but he didn't show up right away, left early, and was pretty happy to be at the table or bar, so I was able to play for most of the time - and I would have played the whole way through if I could have.
The second thing that I've realized is that, as I got the CDs of some of the session today, I love listening to myself play.
Is it just that I'm vain? I think that may be a little bit of it... listening and thinking, man - that is one MEAN groove. Maybe it's not vanity as much as just taking pride in creating something beautiful, and especially something that everyone else in the room could feed off of and ride on, a pocket that they could just fall into and have carry them along to create in total freedom and security.
But the other thing is that time is so personal, it's not exactly the same for any two people... where I feel like the beat should be and where you do are going to be a little different. I'm no solo drum monster, don't have fantastic technical skills, but after a lot of years, I can play well enough that, when I listen back to it, it sounds when listen to it like it did when I felt it, which, as anyone who has done some recording can tell you, is huge. It feels right, right in a way that I couldn't ever describe.
I love the Tragically Hip, a great Canadian band, but there drummer feels the beat a little ahead of where it actually lands... and I feel it a little behind. When I've seen them in concert it's almost like a kind of torture - it constantly feels like he's trying to speed it up. I'm sure it would kill him to hear me, too. But when I listen to tunes I've played on, it's like falling into a conversation with a long lost friend: it's familiar and comfortable, but at the same time still fresh and interesting, with nuances left to explore. Beautiful.
It was fascinating for a couple reasons. First, I realized that while everyone else was interested in getting another drink, putting some food on the bbq, I just wanted to play. I ached for it in a way that most people wouldn't associate with wanting to play music, but it was inside me just bursting to get out. I'm a social guy, and love hanging out and relaxing with friends, but when there is music on the horizon everything else fades and I am compelled to create and pound my drums and celebrate...
Have you ever been so happy that you have had to express it physically - to dance around, to laugh out loud, to just put your head back and yell? That's how I feel when I sit down to play, but I have the mysterious joy of having the physical act not just celebrating the happiness I feel, but causing it at the same time, going on and on in some kind of tremendous maelstrom, feeding on itself and growing in power and intensity. There was another drummer there, but he didn't show up right away, left early, and was pretty happy to be at the table or bar, so I was able to play for most of the time - and I would have played the whole way through if I could have.
The second thing that I've realized is that, as I got the CDs of some of the session today, I love listening to myself play.
Is it just that I'm vain? I think that may be a little bit of it... listening and thinking, man - that is one MEAN groove. Maybe it's not vanity as much as just taking pride in creating something beautiful, and especially something that everyone else in the room could feed off of and ride on, a pocket that they could just fall into and have carry them along to create in total freedom and security.
But the other thing is that time is so personal, it's not exactly the same for any two people... where I feel like the beat should be and where you do are going to be a little different. I'm no solo drum monster, don't have fantastic technical skills, but after a lot of years, I can play well enough that, when I listen back to it, it sounds when listen to it like it did when I felt it, which, as anyone who has done some recording can tell you, is huge. It feels right, right in a way that I couldn't ever describe.
I love the Tragically Hip, a great Canadian band, but there drummer feels the beat a little ahead of where it actually lands... and I feel it a little behind. When I've seen them in concert it's almost like a kind of torture - it constantly feels like he's trying to speed it up. I'm sure it would kill him to hear me, too. But when I listen to tunes I've played on, it's like falling into a conversation with a long lost friend: it's familiar and comfortable, but at the same time still fresh and interesting, with nuances left to explore. Beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
