On Saturday night a decent sized snowfall was supposed to take place in the town where I live, predicted up to 7 inches. I was excited, because I like snow. I was also excited because it meant that services at our church would be cancelled the next day. Our church has limited parking, and when services conflict with a snowstorm—and the work of the snow plows in clearing the roads—locals choose to have their roads tended instead of their souls.
I was hoping church would be cancelled because I was scheduled to sing in the service. I don’t know how it works in other faith traditions, but at our church we have a combination of congregational singing, choir music, and music performed by individuals or small groups. Our director of music asked me to sing an old hymn, set to new music. Singing in church is a weird sort of exercise in performing for an audience while avoiding drawing attention to the fact that you’re performing for an audience. Unlike music performed on stage, sacred music is intended to point to something far greater than the vehicle of delivery, that something being God. So the singer is set up for failure right from the beginning.
Saturday night came and went and the snow fell, several inches of snow. It was one of those wet, heavy snowfalls that linger on tree branches and make the world seem like a magical place, strangely clean and perfect. But by 7am the snow began to melt and the snow plows roamed the streets with nothing to do. Church was not cancelled.
So I went to church, and sang. I looked out over the congregation, with all those staring, upturned faces, and thought of the people listening — all their stories, some of which I knew, some of which I didn’t. So many terrible things had happened to the people in those pews; the people in the pews had no doubt done terrible things. Illness, betrayal, death. Yet here we are, together. We all left our warm beds and traveled through the slush and snow and made our way here, where we sing old hymns that no one can remember anymore, unless we go to church to sing them.
Church ended, and we all went back to our own houses, the snow nearly gone, the world back to its boring, dirty self. At home I went online, and roamed around the internet, following the bread crumbs laid down by social media, when a post on Twitter led me back to Steemit (where I should have been in the first place).
@drkent posted a song on @dtube, one of his many amazing recordings, called I Neither Have a Dollar Nor a Friend [Country Blues]. https://steemit.com/dsound/@drkent/i-neither-have-a-dollar-nor-a-friend-country-blues
It is a Doc Watson tune, lyrically rich and musically sad and pretty much perfect. Coming across it as I did, out of nowhere, this gem of a song, reminded me not to overthink it when it comes to making music. For the second time in the same day, I was reminded of how much we need to make and hear music together, whatever this means. An old hymn at church, Doc Watson on the internet -- music cuts across place and time, every time.
Doc Watson In Real Life [photo: Guitar Noise]
This is so true. Pete Seeger would go up and at times clumsily play the banjo, and everyone would join in. And yes, everything @drkent puts on here is pretty great!
Hey @danieldyemusic! Thanks, my friend, as always for the compliment. It’s high praise indeed!
I had a chance to interview Pete before he passed on. Amazing ability to make people feel included; he made me feel like I was the only person in the world with him for that hour. Rest In peace, great banjo bard!
@drkent that's pretty cool. I would have loved to have met him.
Yes to everything in your comment. Thanks @danieldyemusic!
Hey @sdkelly , this is awesome music . U received , 100% upvote from @gangas, strikes again.
Tahnk you for let me know @drkent: he's really amazing!
In this dimension, all has vibes: I think that music is the universal language, do you agree?
@sdkelly, what a beautiful tale you weave! Thank you for this lovely, evocative story :)
I’ve been there many times; “performing” and non performing in front of a congregation :) Looking out at those vulnerable faces, all flawed and human like mine.
I learned this tune from my good buddy Micah, who learned it from Doc, who in turn learned it off of an odd and beautiful record by Dock Boggs :) Dock Boggs has a remarkable story / a coal miner who relearned tunes once he was “discovered” in his older age.
So great to get to know you here, and thanks for the mention! :) And the lovely tale.
Nice to hear how the thread of how the song goes all the way back. Thanks for stopping by, and for all you're doing to make @steemit even more awesome.
Really singing is kind of a relaxation techniques which helps to reduce stress :)
Music is one of the most powerful things that the world's got.
Congratulations @sdkelly, this post is the forth most rewarded post (based on pending payouts) in the last 12 hours written by a Dust account holder (accounts that hold between 0 and 0.01 Mega Vests). The total number of posts by Dust account holders during this period was 12530 and the total pending payments to posts in this category was $3361.56. To see the full list of highest paid posts across all accounts categories, click here.
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Music is Love, it's a way to be closer to God right? Thanks for sharing this.
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