I drove down to Winter Park, FL with my wife and mother to attend the funeral of a friend's father. The name is not important to you so I won't mention it. Giving a name to the person won't cause you to feel any greater sympathy for those who mourn him. It will only serve to give title to a stranger, much like understanding a story from its title.
So better served am I to tell you what he did. He was a reputable lawyer in Winter Park, FL with more ties to the community than kudzu on a South Carolina hill. He fathered two children and was married to a beautiful and proper southern woman for 57 years. His collegiate life saw him get a degree from both the University of Georgia and the University of Florida.
His business sense allowed him to make decisions which furthered his career and overall quality of life. He was well liked and well respected, a man whose word was enough. Apart from his family, his most prized efforts were related to his faith and the rewards reaped by the community churches from this love. That he proudly served his country in the USAF must be a close second as his funeral echoed voices calling each to our attention.
I did not attend the viewing because I do not like them. Call it a weakness or simply a preference, but that final memory is not what I desire. The dead look dead and no artist can change that. In my past I've seen a 19 year old who I used to baby sit and the father of a close friend, posed and decorated to give their best side: that of being alive. It is the ghost of the child’s potential lost and that father's cancer beaten body which keeps me away.
So we left on Monday morning, with all of nature giving her best to bring joy to the moment. It was a Baptist funeral so I suffered through the usual references to Christ and eternity. I respect the faith and I understand why it is done, but I would simply rather hear about the man who died.
There were brief notes of his wit and confidence, and those made me both laugh and smile. That his faith was so prominent may explain the crisp joy that washed through the room along with the rays of sunlight through well kept glass. It was refreshing.
The casket was draped in the American flag, which would eventually be given to the widow at the gravesite. The flag's colors stood out against the white washed walls and common colored pews. We would follow casket and flag roughly 200 yards, where they would then be separated.
It was once we left the church that it all became poetic. The church stood inside what one might consider a country club and therefore flanking the church was a golf course. In order to walk from the church to the cemetery you had to pass one of the holes: I believe it was number three.
Moving through the sun and shade we walked along the street and past the tee box of hole number three. Sitting in the golf cart was a man and a woman, I'd guess mid-twenties. He appeared to know the sport as he surveyed the straight shot, not minding the people and cars passing behind him. Though there were two sets of clubs I did not see her hit, nor did I see her even attempt to leave the cart. Maybe being with him on this day was enough.
Coming in view of the final act, we could see the pallbearers pulling the casket from the hearse with the remaining family standing around it, still not exhibiting any visual signs of suffering. There was the usual green tent which protected the family, preacher and casket from any of the elements. We stood a bit back, almost too far to hear any words spoken.
While two Air Force representatives folded the flag that topped the casket, a train could be heard in the distance, blowing its horn as if to announce the arrival of a new soul. Sun, clouds and wind seemed to alternate their presence as if to view the final act before this man's body was lowered to its fate.
The only break in the order was a required second attempt at getting the flag to its final shape. I could not see where the fault was but it did not matter. Participants waited, as if relishing even more time to be in the moment.
Once folded the flag was brought over to the bugler, so he could honor the memory with a stirring and tight rendition of Taps. Apart from the tree frogs who chattered amongst themselves, giving us brief moments of respite while they caught their breath, everything on earth seemed attentive to the now.
The landscape was immaculate and the decorations were perfect. No part of the score was off key and every actor fulfilled their role with expertise. I wondered what must the golfers and greens keepers think of us, or if they thought of us at all. Surely this was common to them and every sound or movement, from person or nature, was nothing more than an unnamed thing: Or just a thing with the name "funeral".
But isn't that the problem with a story? You can't appreciate it without hearing the words and experiencing how it constitutes the world. Just saying its title affords me nothing beyond associating the words with my experiences which may not bear any resemblance to the world between birth and death.
It is never just a thing: it is always a story.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
My Self Serving Music List
There is a radio station here in Jacksonville, FL. It is a sports talk radio station that often finds itself doing very little sports talk. When you mention 1010XL there are some who will cringe or illicit signs of disgust, stating the hosts offer nothing tangible to those looking for quality sports dialogue. A fair complaint if you are someone fully immersed in all that is sports.
I care about football. Baseball, basketball, golf and NASCAR could never be mentioned again and I would not lose any sleep. If you can appreciate the entertainment world, on the whole, then you may find yourself laughing at the likes of Dan Hicken or Rick Ballou as they tangent off to the land of American Idol or the best beer to drink.
The other day Ballou and Frank Frangie were discussing music (as they often do). Rick had, in a state of boredom, created a list of his top 50 bands. Now the average person tends to quantify things in tens. We leave the big lists to the professionals like Rolling Stone or People magazine.
So I thought, "Could I come up with my top 50 bands?" The cool thing is that Ballou's list consisted of music from Led Zeppelin to Barry Manilow. As I listened to him defend his list it was the honesty that stood out. He actually took a considerable amount of time to carefully place each musician, with an emphasis on accuracy.
Now how often do we do that? Is it not the case that our list is burdened with who we've listened to most recently or simply who we remember at the time?
With a good week under my belt, and some serious thought expended, I feel ready to attempt this. For any good list there must be guidelines, but what the hell is needed here? Am I going to require the band\artist to have made some existential impact on me? And do they have to stand the test of time? If so, what is the cut off date?
My musical integrity refuses to let rules dictate anything. Still, simple entertainment must be tapered with impact so to order. But rock and roll is about rebellion, so damn the torpedoes and let the chips fall where they may. Ugh! Cliches.
These may not be the best bands in the world and a I would bet at least four you may never have heard of. The key element is that at some point they brought me great joy and probably still do. Leaving out bands like The Rolling Stones, Beatles and The Who will surely warrant some concerns as to my musical taste. They are good, I just never was totally into them. That being said, this isn't a "best of" which considers cultural and\or groundbreaking musical impact. This is my individual taste.
I am sure I'll come back in a week and adjust this (these lists are never fixed) but thanks to Billy Bond for walking through parts of my past. Because of him adjustments were made. And I received quite a tongue lashing for leaving out great 80's bands such as The Outfield and Journey.
For fun, if we've been friends for a while try to list my top 5 before you get to the bottom.
"Rock and roll, stops the traffic!" - Bono
50. Counting Crows - Saw them live recently. Great story telling.
49. The Choir - Found them in college. First Alt\Christian band. Special to Kerry and me.
48. Incubus - Deep lyrics. Went from hard to funk to straight rock.
47. The Sisters of Mercy - Timeless goth band.
46. Neil Diamond - I don't even need to explain the awesomeness that is Neil.
45. The Cure - Was never crazy about them but always liked them.
44. Ministry - Best noise on the planet.
43. Def Leppard - 80's rock at its finest. High -n- Dry is a classic.
42. REO Speedwagon - A guilty pleasure? Riding the Storm Out is but one of many greats.
41. Split Enz\Crowded House - This is good pop music. Even the Finn's solo stuff is good.
40. Bon Jovi - Another 80's great. Still doing it today.
39. John Mayer - I know he was shoved down our throats but the guy can write and play.
38. Foo Fighters - Just good rock.
37. Lit - Liked them when I was younger. Loved them once my son got into them. Just fun music.
36. Maroon 5 - Not a song I don't like. Best cover of Highway to Hell I've ever heard.
35. The Ramones - They just have to be here. I mean "beat on the brat with a baseball bat." You know there just had to be something deeper going on.
34. Everclear - Music wasn't complex but Alex conveyed poverty and the struggle of kids well.
33. Son Volt - You better think when you listen to Jay. I love a good story teller. I'm not a country music guy, but Jay's greatest overcomes that.
32. The Eagles\Don Henley - One of the first bands I ever liked. Owned Hotel California at age 9.
31. My Chemical Romance - I consider them one of modern greats. Black Parade is a classic.
30. Coldplay - What can I say. The write solid pop music. Yellow still moves me.
29. The Clash - One of the first bands with a conscience I ever heard. They changed many.
28. Nirvana - For the short time they had a huge impact. And after Cobain's death it remained.
27. Bruce Springsteen - Grows on me year after year. I'm a sucker for a story teller and guitar if you don't know.
26. Kings of Leon - Listen to all their cds. I can't believe I didn't find them sooner.
25. The Jam\Style Council\Paul Weller - A genius. Cool music. Thinking music. Rebel music.
24. Stone Temple Pilots - For years this was a band that never left the rotation.
23. The B-52's - Saw Rock Lobster on SNL late 70's. Deserve "Best Party Band" title.
22. Collective Soul - Another one w\o musical complexity but the hooks never get tired.
21. Morrissey\The Smiths - Actually found Morrissey first. Speak from a world that isn't mine.
20. Robert Plant\Led Zeppelin - Zep grew on me. Solo Plant was an immediate love. Because of him I'm listening to Bluegrass.
19. Pearl Jam - They just make great music. A band whose passion moves you.
18. The Doors - There is something about Morrison and Manzarek.
17. Queen - Freddie Mercury had rare voice. Maybe the best rock\pop band ever.
16. The Pixies - Frank Black was a punch in the gut. Crazy lyricist.
15. The Police\Sting - Some people just have a gift. I don't think there is a song I don't like.
14. The Lost Dogs - Christian country band with a sense of humor. Deserve more popularity.
13. Edie Brickell\New Bohemians - Her voice and presence still move me. NB were tight.
12. Adam Again - Another Christian\Alt band. Gene Eugene wrote for the common man and the common soul.
11. Jars of Clay - These guys are compassion set to music. When I feel bad, I put them on. Even without the belief I appreciate the passion.
10. The Call - Michael Been was Gene Eugene before I knew Gene. Moving lyrics. Weller, Haseltine, Farrar, Eugene and Been may be my favorite lyricists.
9. Iron Maiden - Took literature and made it music. Great themes. Great shows.
8. Pink Floyd - One of the bands of which I can look to the past and see actual days of my life.
7. INXS - Damn you Hutchens. Another great party band. I have yet to tire of them.
6. The Connells - Jangle rock at its finest. They should have been stars. Never a bad show.
5. R.E.M. - Lost them a bit after Green. But the discs prior are classics. Never travel w\o them.
4. Toad the Wet Sprocket - Between them and Jars of Clay, they just make me feel good.
3. NIN - Trent Reznor always spoke to that darker side. Yet I always found hope in NIN.
2. U2 - Maybe a shocker? One of the two bands I found as a young teenager that just spoke to me.
1. Rush - I asked my mom to buy me 2112 for getting an A in Advanced History. It was history from there. If you're a guy you have to like Rush.
(Honorable mention: Elvis Costello, Guns and Roses, Van Halen\Hagar, Metallica, Alice in Chains, Duran Duran, Mission UK, A-ha, Death Cab for Cutie and Tears for Fears)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Black Box
When I was in the sixth grade I was Charlie Brown in the play You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown. It was actually a musical but the cast was not required to sing. In a misunderstanding of my request to sing a part, I was given a song that was grossly higher than my range. Though nervous and lacking confidence I managed to get through my two (or three...hard to recall) performances and the adults were kind enough not to be honest with respect to my vocal prowess.
The experience was as memorable then as it is now. An old scrapbook maintains a picture of the cast and I have been grateful to have found some of them via Facebook.
If you have never experienced acting you are missing out on one of life's great rushes. That is if you can get beyond the thought of having people observe you with the high expectation of being entertained, which can be a monumental task. There is a nakedness about performing, which demands a denial of self. Surely you have heard actors speak of "knowing the character" and "becoming the character". The thought of displaying something which is not us can almost be unnatural.
This past school year my friend Josh asked me to be a guest speaker for the newly formed Philosophy Club at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. It had been a considerable amount of time since I had actually read, much less done, any "real" philosophy. With joy and anxiety I exposed Nietzsche and Philosophy of Mind to the students. What I didn't know that this would also serve as a gateway back to the stage.
Josh is an incredibly talented writer and we had gotten together the summer before the school year to hash out some ideas. He was wanting to write a play. Roughly 10 months later, and thanks to some of the discussions and topics in the Philosophy Club, Josh was asking me about a play focusing on self. "The Creationists", he would come to call it, would take place from a literary perspective, in which characters would have dialogue with their narrator and eventually would seek definition independent of the "other".
Heidegger. Kierkegaard. Sartre. Camus. My heart was beating considerably faster and would almost stop when Josh asked me to play the Narrator.
The remainder of the cast would be populated by students Josh knew from Douglas Anderson. It is at this point where the humility began to take hold. There have been many events in my life in which adults would assume a level of authority and knowledge over kids simply because they were adults, even when it was obvious the kids were more educated. That I felt inferior to my surroundings gave me a small sense of pride, a rare moment when you see good in yourself.
Time would pass, there would be script changes and more characters were eventually added. I would come to befriend these gifted teenagers and found myself observing their mannerisms and approach to craft. When we had our first staged reading I was but a voice from behind the stage. The others sat on bar stools, in front of the crowd...as it should be.
What was so compelling at that time was the number of people who came to Bollero's just to watch us read this play. Teachers, parents, friends and students, all in support of Josh and these young actors. I was experiencing the arts in real time. With real emotion. It wasn't a theory in a book or a review on the internet. It wasn't a crowded theater amongst the pretentious and the commoner. These were people who lived the idea that art matters and through participation the world is better.
After considering the comments given during the reading, Josh began to rewrite for an actual staged production. This would require us to actually act out the play while holding the script in hand.
I would like to point out two significant elements of the process which moved me. First, the way in which Josh opened himself up to the criticism was so admirable and new. It is something you must do to create and it is at this point I realized it takes a confident person to disrobe the way he did. The credit too goes to the audience in that all words were constructive and done out of love for Josh and the work itself.
Second was Josh's willingness to change. Once rewritten, the entire piece, though holding onto certain elements, had a newness about it. So much that upon reading the two drafts you might think they were distinct plays. It is a selflessness to entertain rather than demanding acceptance of the "me".
Put into uncomfortable or new situations I have a tendency to be vocal and joke, probably beyond what is acceptable. One could go as far as to say I can be offensive. This is one of those moments when you see the bad in yourself. To their credit, and maybe it is because I am at heart immature, the students embraced this 42 year old stranger.
Though being entertained and disruptive in opposition to Josh's want of order, I had quiet concern that my line delivery and stage awareness was making the actors and my writer question my participation.
When asked the replies were supportive but I felt lied to.
The day of the show I ran through my lines, trying to get a better feel for the character. If you have not picked up on it, I was now to be on stage. This meant knowing were to be and when to be there. That Saturday prior I had failed every time to nail my locations. However, by showtime, and after a quick run through, Josh complimented me on my progress and I could tell his faith was restored.
At Douglas Anderson they have this room called a black box. It is here where we would perform. The dimensions of the room seemed to be a perfect square. There were curtains on three of the four walls, with the back wall being the only one which you could actually move while behind the curtains. The last wall was fronted by a riser with roughly eight rows for which you could put 10 chairs per row.
I am guessing with these figures. What I can present as fact is that it was standing room only.
It is in this black box that they practice their acting. Anything more than that I cannot, with any true knowledge, convey. The box was foreign land. What I do know is the lights stay on and it is hot.
Being the first on stage and to speak found me lonely and failing as my first few lines were jagged and weak. But confidence came, both from within and from cast, and I left the stage floating. There was laughter and emotional silence. At the end the ovation was loud and we were all smiling. None more than Josh who had just observed those he entrusted with his creation, convey it in a manner which made him proud.
Four days later and I am still emotional just thinking about the positive reviews. But more than that were the moments shared with these teenagers and Josh. People dedicated to creating. How proud their parents must be of them. I watched as they hugged, laughed and ran about the room as if the award for best something had just been won.
The irony of the black box was not lost on me. This space, absent of natural light and dark as an empty universe was not lonely and limiting like a prison cell. It wasn't a space we went into so to hide from the world. It was the exact opposite: more like a birthing room where nothing but love and joy were allowed to reside. I literally felt changed. I felt baptized.
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