"It was said that American-born Father Joseph saw the hosts of Heaven 'laboring,' as the Shakers called these movements and exercises, and gave the vision to his people that they might use it in their worship. He was entirely lacking in natural ability for such dancing, but had such a keen desire to attain perfection that the 'floor boards of a vacant room over a shop on the premises were said to be worn smooth by his constant practice in these exercises.'"
-Cook, Shaker Music, 26, citing White and Taylor, Shakerism, 101.
I recently checked "Happy Traum's Flat-Pick Country Guitar" out of the library, and my consultation with that book is largely responsible for the functional use of bass runs in this latest recording.
Not that I pretend to virtuosity by any stretch of the imagination. People who think they're virtuosi tend to look and sound like this violinist I saw on PBS a few nights ago. He played eighties pop hits with a full rock-orchestral backup, not to mention light, video and fog-machine effects. He seemed very satisfied with himself and his whole operation. His fans also seemed rather pleased with what went on. Their rapt smiles fascinated me in an anthropological sort of way. I doubt I will ever be so pleased with myself, either as a musician or as an audience-member. If you listen to the following song you might guess why:
Like anyone else in America these days, I've been told to ask myself what Jesus would do. The question is not as hypothetical as it tries to sound. In other words, the historical record is clear: Jesus actually did things. He lived a fairly mendicant life and then he was killed. He also said what He would do if He were in our shoes, viz. sell everything we owned, give it to the poor, and follow Him. He wasn't kidding, either.
If we're not going to follow these straightforward instructions exactly, then we're supposed to apply them to every little situation that comes along, rephrased in the following way: "What would Jesus do if He were me and He didn't want to get rid of all his stuff and die?" Here is a possible answer to that question, as posed while sitting in a bar:
I was about due for another track, and so here it is. Let me tell you, I came this close to playing the whole thing on the banjo instead of on the guitar. Fortunately for all concerned, my banjo chops are simply not up to spec., so the project relied as usual on the ministrations of C.F. Martin and co.:
After recording this song, I remembered that when I was playing guitar in middle or high school, I used to dislike the sound of the top strings because they seemed too high or shrill. (Music-induced deafness has taken the edge off this a bit lately.) With this post as evidence, if this here song becomes the number one hit single in the world, when they do the "Behind the Scenes" secret expose, they will say that my autistic avoidance of the top half of the guitar's range is the source of my genius. I will laugh, because the true source of my genius is ***post edited to remove profanity***
I felt the need in this song to say the name of a person. However, one of the major pitfalls in folky-type music is when a song is obviously written in the voice of a man to a woman, or vice-versa. It can complicate the situation when someone else sings the song.
On the other hand, when Sophie Zelmani sings "Most of the Time," the effect is pure genius. As the song says, "Most of the time, I wouldn't change it if I could." But then she does change it, and she sings, "I can survive, I can endure. I don't even think about – him." When she breaks the rhyme, it feels like she's doing what Steve Earle once threatened to do, viz. standing on Dylan's coffee table in her cowboy boots. It is a good thing.
There is a third way, known as the "Kristofferson Gambit." So maybe it's in his honor that I thought of the androgynous-enough name, "Chris."
