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Still Got It

March 6, 2018 — 4 Comments

Being over 40 is strange. One week I get hit on by a store employee, the next I’m given the senior discount without being asked about it (and I live in a back-asswards society that tends to see the second situation as more offensive than the first!). It seems to depend on what I’m wearing, how my hair is done – I’m a chameleon at this age. I can hide my youth, I can hide my age. I’m in the middle, middle-aged.

I started writing this song when I was out for a run at the end of February two days after the second big snowstorm in a week. The sick-of-winter time of year. I haven’t run much the past month or two because there’s been so much ice, so I was feeling out of shape and a bit cranky at first. But the sun was shining, and I got into my groove, and I discovered, I’ve still got it!

It doesn’t matter what you think when you look at me; if I know I got it, I got it. “It” is something we are all born with, and can joyfully exhibit for our whole lives. It can shine through for that brief part of life when we match our youth-crazed culture’s definition of attractive, but it’s way more than that.

I spent the last couple weeks watching the Winter Olympics, all those toned young bodies, and the “old” ones slightly over 30 wistfully discussing the end of their careers. I think, oh you cuties, there’s so much ahead of you, you’ve only just begun!

But that’s only if you want to.

Here’s my song for week nine of #songaweek2018:

I’m just a little bit thick in the head and the middle
Just a little bit sick of playing second string fiddle
But don’t you worry bout me boy
I’ve still got my voice
Don’t feel bad for me my sweet
I’ve still got my feet
And they know how to go

I’ve still got it
Down to the soles of my feet
I’ve still got it
I’m more than what you see

She’s just a little further back on the same road as me
When she gets to where i’m at I think she’ll get what I mean
Aw, don’t you worry bout me dear
I’m still breathing here
Don’t go crying for me honey
I’ve even got a little money

I’ve still got it
Down to the soles of my feet
I’ve still got it
I’m more than what you see

So don’t you worry bout me son
I still know how to run
Don’t you worry bout me dude
I’ve still got it pretty good

I’ve still got it
Down to the soles of my feet
I’ve still got it
I’m so much more than what you see

 

Impotent Citizens With Fancy Guns

February 27, 2018 — Leave a comment

I started writing week 8’s song for #songaweek2018 while standing in front of my son’s middle school as school let out and crowds of vibrant young people walked past me, just days after the latest mass shooting, which once again happened at a school. I thought, “let all these children be healed.”

That line morphed into “let all these children believe . . .” and you can hear the rest of it below.

Often (unless I’m writing a fun/goofy song) I try to spread my words in layers, make things subtle, pack the lines with depth so everything isn’t right there on the surface for an easy takeaway from the first listen. But this time I found myself bucking that habit and writing something more straightforward.

Creating art inspired by or expressing a political or controversial idea is a challenge. I want to make music, not propaganda. I want to appeal to common humanity and shared experience/empathy, not set up false dichotomies or overly sentimentalize. I want to make a case for what I see as important, but not be preachy. All of that was in my mind as I wrote this song.

Ultimately, my hope is that we as a culture will listen to our youth, and that they can be confident that we are listening, that we care, that we aren’t brushing aside their descriptions of their lived experience – and that we are willing to reconsider some things, including gun regulations, in light of what they say to us.

In the days even since I wrote this song, I’ve been encouraged by what I’m seeing and hearing in our country – a rising tide of concern from people of varying political stripes, companies breaking ties with the NRA, politicians’ feet held to the fire – and much of it driven by young people who aren’t even old enough to vote yet. Maybe these children are turning my first lyric idea for this song on its head, and by their activism, helping us all to be healed.

Let all these children believe
that when we lose them we grieve
and that we care more than we’ve been letting on

Let all their sad hearts be cheered
that love is stronger than fear
and no amusement’s too dear to be let go

But we’ll lower the flag have a moment of silence
Discuss mental illness and virtual violence
And when all has been dutifully said and done
We’ll get right back on out there and play with our guns

Let these courageous young minds
teach us to change with the times
and not be willfully blind to what they show

Let these new voices be heard
Let’s hear their hearts and their words
and not be hard and unstirred by what they say

If we just lower the flag have a moment of silence
Discuss mental illness and virtual violence
And blithely decide that our work here is done
We’re just impotent citizens with fancy guns

Let all these beautiful ones
be treasured more than our guns

I Could Be Wrong

February 13, 2018 — 7 Comments

I used to scoff at my brother-in-law for being a vegetarian. Now I mostly eat vegan.

When Bill Clinton was elected president while I was in high school, I was afraid the world might end. In 2016 I voted for Hillary.

I’ve argued about all sorts of theological and philosophical points over the course of my life, most adamantly against some of the very things I used to believe myself.

I changed my college major three times.

I planned to not have children. Now I have two.

For a while I thought I was done with organized religion. Now I sing in my church choir.

I used to wear my hair like this:

FullSizeRender

As Paul Simon sang, “I was wrong, and I could be wrong again.” (“Sure Don’t Feel Like Love,” from his album Surprise which that girl in the photo may not have liked but I happen to love.)

“Family” was the theme for week six of #songaweek2018. I didn’t have much interest in working with that theme, as I feel like already half my songs are family-related and it’s not even anyone’s birthday or anniversary or Mother’s or Father’s Day this week!

I built this song from the first two lines which I’ve been storing in my “scraps and starters” list for years. And now that it’s finished, I think there’s a lot of “family” going on around this song after all.

Last week the Super Bowl came to Minneapolis, and for that reason Westboro Baptist Church chose my hometown of Owatonna, which is on the freeway 70 miles south of Minneapolis, as a Sunday morning stop on their way to agitate at the big game. They demonstrated at a number of churches during Sunday morning services, including the one my in-laws attend.

I don’t agree with Westboro Baptist. I also don’t agree with my in-laws and their church on some things. But our extended family across the country joined them to pray for that morning, and my father-in-law reflected to us afterwards in a text message:

Much has happened in me spiritually through this. Pride comes so subtly. Grace comes so abundantly from God and [God] wants us to have that same grace. God is even changing me.

Do you hear that? That humble and gracious attitude? That’s the stuff that keeps extended families coming back together despite all kinds of differences.

We can always find ways we don’t see eye-to-eye with other people, including our own family and friends – and including our own past and (if we could foresee) future selves!  But if we can keep this attitude of grace, of “I could be wrong,” it’s easier to see heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, human-to-human. And that’s where and how real change happens anyway.

It’s okay to lay our weapons down. We can still hold strongly to our beliefs and values, and even talk about them with people who disagree. We just don’t really need those weapons of pride, guilt and shame, bitterness, contempt . . . they never work well at getting the point across anyway. They become the point, and everybody loses.

And besides, that thing you think and feel so strongly today, may just end up on your future self’s cutting room floor. But better that than another person.

I used to get injured more often
back when everything had a point
I went around hammering nails into coffins
at least I think I did
at least I thought I did
but I could be wrong

I used to go throwing my lot in
with the causes I fervently felt
These days I feel lots of nothing
at least I think I do
at least I feel that’s true
but I could be wrong

How many miles must I walk in your shoes
until I can feel your soul?
How many words should I leave unsaid
so I can finally hear you?

I’m starting to sense I’ve been spinning forever
orbiting the light
Sometimes I’m stupid, but sometimes I’m clever
at least I think I am
at least I hope I am
but I might be wrong

Winning the war isn’t all it’s cracked up to be
Conquerors can’t afford love
So I’ll stand in my faith and I’ll lay down my weapons
Cause I could be wrong.

 

 

 

 

Lie to Me

February 6, 2018 — Leave a comment

To be frank, writing week five’s song for #songaweek2018 was not among my favorite songwriting experiences. The theme was “lies” and I just wasn’t feeling it, but I had nothing else in mind so I decided to work with it anyway.

I did love basking in the warm sunbeams radiating through my south-facing windows as I wrote, and feeling/hearing the warm tones of my old classical guitar as I focused on more intentional finger-picking than is my usual habit.

The lyrics are only minutely autobiographical, but that’s something I love about songwriting. I’ll probably never write a novel, but I’ve created plenty of stories – and characters – through my songs. “Write what you know” is good advice, but it’s not exhaustive.

I think this may be the first time I’ve posted a video made exclusively with my phone. It was late when I was ready to record and I wasn’t feeling terribly interested in taking it further, so it was adequate for this week.

Lie to me
lay the words
down like snow
cold white melting in the light

Say you care
like you care
hold me close
locked tight secrets in the night

Now I
have had
enough
of this

Look at me
face the truth
you plus me
will not ever add up

Believe Me, I Believe You

January 16, 2018 — Leave a comment

This May my love and I will be celebrating our twentieth anniversary. I can still remember that feeling of terror mixed with hope the day before our wedding. Like running towards a cliff, knowing I’m going to have to jump. I read this week that Ray Bradbury once said, “go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down.” That’s a fitting description of marriage, I think.

My song for week two of #songaweek2018 reflects on my own marriage and any long-term committed relationship. I feel I must say upfront, this is a song, using metaphor, to describe the ups and downs of love. When I say “love is prison, love is refuge, trap and sanctuary,” I am not condoning abuse, or for that matter, the expectation that my partner will provide me with refuge and sanctuary.

It’s not the people in the relationship who create prison or refuge for one another – it’s love itself. Anytime you commit yourself to another person in love, you are likely to at some time feel at least a little trapped – not by the person, but by your commitment to them. And other times – and often even at the same time – that commitment is a sweet refuge.

I sang in the stairwell for the acoustic effect. Words are below the video.

 

Pins & needles in my chest

Love forever my last breath

We are really doing this

Strength today bright hope tomorrow

Road before us rough and narrow

Find me always at your side

Love is prison Love is refuge

Trap and sanctuary

Believe me

I believe you

Hide with me inside these shadows

Of our doubt

Richer poorer sickness health

This day forward till the bell tolls

Better, worse, monotonous

Year on year and day by day

Hearts on fire hearts’ dull ache

I am never letting go

Love is prison Love is refuge

Trap and sanctuary

Believe me

I believe you

Search with me deeper still

Wider yet, steady on