Damien Jurado :: Maraqopa

 

Damien Jurado

Maraqopa

Secretly Canadian; 2012

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Official Site | Facebook | MySpace

The narrative is all wrong. The conclusion doesn’t fit the facts. 2 plus 2 does not equal 5.

If you’ve been following the reviews for Maraqopa, you know the story goes something like this: for 13 years Jurado was making steady if unspectacular neo-folkie music. Due to their consistency, there was nothing wrong with them. But there was nothing great either. He was caught in a rut of making the same sounding album ad nausea. But then he met producer Richard Swift.

He and Swift holed up in an Oregon studio for a week and came up with 2010’s Saint Bartlett. The response was overwhelming. Many sources called it his best work to date and a major step forward in sound. They appealed to the potent combination of Swift’s Tin Pan Alley approach to production with Jurado’s power as a teller of tales and writer of memorable songs. For most Saint Bartlett was a radical step forward. I disagree. I think the opening two tracks, “Cloudy Shoes” and “Arkansas”, were a bold new sound. They certainly were the greatest departure from Jurado’s past minimalist efforts. They certainly wore the fingerprints of Swift’s 50’s pilfering. However, due to their sequencing they clouded the collective judgments of listeners. In many regards, Saint Bartlett was Jurado’s most typical work yet. It comes closest to capturing the essence of Jurado’s broad output.

Truthfully, Jurado’s always been something of a shape shifter. For example, Ghost of David was claustrophobic minimalism touched by flourishes of atonality. Where Shall You Take Me was his americana album. Caught in Trees was a return to the full-band Crazy Horse-esque sound of I Break Chairs. Saint Bartlett was mostly Jurado in singer-songwriter form. But, to be honest, it’s a good look for him. He’s always been a guy, a guitar, and a story. He’s just done it in different ways.

Truthfully, rather than Saint Bartlett/Maraqopa (as we’ll see) being some major step forward (which also raises the question if perceived change is necessarily a good thing. That’s a moral judgment I’m not willing to make.), for most of his 15 years as a recording artist, he was the wrong guy, making the wrong music, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He started as a pop-folky unfavorably compared to Elliot Smith and playing on a label—Sub Pop—in a city—Seattle—that was still experiencing the post-grunge come down. By the time the label started actively expanding their sound, Sam Beam’s Nome de plum Iron and Wine was the hot thing. That’s simply bad luck. (Jurado himself has alluded to this incorrect narrative in Caught in the Trees “Predictive Living” and Maraqopa’s “Working Titles”.

With that new back story in place, I can safely say that Maraqopa is not a giant change in terms of his overall MO. It is an expansion of his partnership with Swift. If Saint Bartlett touched on what they were capable of as a duo, Maraqopa is its full realization. The two are simply magical. And once again, Jurado shows himself to be a capable chameleon.

Opening track “Nothing is the News” is like nothing he’s done before. Gone is the gentle acoustic strum. In its place is a 5 ½ minute druggy jab filled with blues riffs and psychedelia. For old fans it was a “huh?” moment indeed. “Life Away from the Garden” features Jurado trading lyrics with an echoing children’s choir over a steady snare drum, strings, and an organ. The contrast between the two is sharp. And it’s a contrast that continues throughout. “Everyone a Star” is a dark, slow ballad dominated by a deep church organ type sound. The title itself is sung not in hope but in resignation. It’s almost an indictment of a self-esteem culture that can do no wrong. But then two tracks later, the tempo is sped up. The organ becomes a piano. The guitar is more prominent. The tone turns hopeful: “don’t let go/I need you to hang around”.

In an interview and in-studio performance on KEXP, Jurado admitted the themes behind the album came to him in a dream. Maraqopa is a fictional town in his dream. (His wife told him it needed to be spelled with a “k” or a “qu”. He told her that was how it was spelled in the dream.) The album itself is a concept album about the town. (I haven’t been able to make heads or tails of that claim yet). Further, he’s admitted that the album was deeply influenced by the Jesus Movement of the 70’s. This, I can hear. The album hangs as a slightly psychedelic folk jam full of religious and esoteric imagery. It also pushes his sharp writing lines a bit to the side to focus on a more impressionistic pastiche of people and places. The focus isn’t on the story per se, but the feelings they invoke. Without making a value judgment on what is better or worse, I have enjoyed hearing a slightly different lyrical style.

At the end of the day Maraqopa should be more than just one of a great artist’s best albums. In a perfect world, this would be recognized as one of the year’s best from a musical treasure.

In Sickness and Health

(c) Salvatore Vuono

My daughter has had a nagging cough for a couple weeks. Last night she vomited all over the sheets.

My son is recovering from pink eye and an ear infection.

More than one person I know could use a new kidney.

Then there are all those with the dreaded “C” word.

Depression is real. More people have it than you’d guess.

Another friend just got off crutches.

Which of these persons is healthy? If I paraded them before you, could you tell? Considering we place a premium on health, you’d think we’d be able to quickly identify who the healthy ones are. Of course, it also depends on what you mean by “health”.

In God in Creation, Jürgen Moltmann suggested two modern options.

1.      Health is the capacity for work and enjoyment. This is Freud’s definition. The problem is, it reduces health to a matter of production and consumption. Health is limited to what you can give and what you can take.

2.      “Health is the state of complete physical, mental and social well-being, not merely the absence of sickness and handicaps.” This is the World Health Organization’s definition. It fares better in that it captures the social aspect of health. But, measured against this ideal no society is ever healthy. Nor can it. It is entirely utopic.

This creates a caste system of health. One the one side you have the healthy. On the other is the unhealthy. They are those who need helped. They are those who need fixed. This leads to two interrelated problems:

1.      The “sick” are defined against the “healthy”. It is the healthy that makes the sick, sick. I blogged aboutthis phenomenon before in terms of disabilities. According to John Swinton, it is our attitudes about what constitutes disability that makes the disabled, disabled. If everyone could communicate using sign language, there would be no “disability” of deafness. It would simply be another form of communication.

2.      The “sick” are not fully human. If health defined by an absence of sickness is the ideal, than any impairment to the physical and mental well-being of a person is impairment to the state of being human. The sick fall into a category of lesser humans. The sick can never be fully human. Worse, if health is utopic are any of us ever human?

So perhaps our concept of health needs revised. But is there a way forward? Is there another way? Moltmann believes there is.

A)    “Health can be viewed as an objectively ascertainable state of the human being’s physical, mental and social well-being.” This addresses the functioning of a person’s physical and mental state. It is the awareness that the human body tends to function in a certain manner and sometimes it gets off. It’s an awareness that coughs happen. Cancer is an unfortunate reality. Legs break. Depression occurs.

But health is more than the objective state of a person’s physical and mental workings. It is a state of mind concerning these impairments.

B)    “Health can also be viewed as a subjectively ascertainable attitude on the part of the person concerned to his fluctuating condition.” Health is more than an absence of malfunctioning. It is a state of mind. It is the resolve to live with them. It is vitality for life.

Health then includes healthy attitudes (B) to a person’s health (A).

Health is the strength to be human. It is a recognizing and embracing of our limitations. Being human is the capacity to live in sickness and health. It is the capacity to stand up in living and dying. Sickness is not something to be feared. The sick are not lepers to be shoved to the margins of society. The elderly are not to be placed out of sight. Not if health and wholeness is a matter of vitality for life.

For sure, the body breaks down. The mind breaks down. Social systems break down. These break downs should try to be fixed, but they do not determine health. Health is determined by vitality for life. It’s openness to each other and the world around us. It’s an acceptance of the invitation to love well and receive love.

We might lose hope. We might lose faith. We might fail in love. But this is not a failure in health. On the contrary. It points to health. It points to awareness that something is wrong, something isn’t right. It points to holy dissatisfaction with the world that cries with groaning waiting its redemption. Health is the very thirst for redeemed life. Health is living into this awareness.

For Moltmann, this is human life:

Human life is accepted, affirmed, and loved life.

The strength to be a human person lies in the acceptance, the affirmation and the love of frail and mortal life. …

The human being in his embodiment is not created to end in death; he is made for transformation through and beyond death. Hope for the resurrected body and a life everlasting in redemption corresponds to the bodily creation of the human being by God, and perfects that. The hope of resurrection is belief in creation that gazes forward to what is ahead.

Remember your Baptism

“I’ll try hard to remember to forget.” –Texas is the Reason

The surest way to remember something is to actively try to forget. True forgetfulness is more subtle. We don’t try to forget. It’s something that just happens.

Forgetfulness has always been the enemy of the faith. So much of Israel’s embodied testimony found in the pages of the Old Testament is one of memory. It’s not so much memory for memories sake. It’s an active recall that instigates renewed faithfulness.

The charge to remember is found throughout the pages of the New as well.

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in the newness of life.”—Romans 6:3-4

I don’t need to rehearse the history of baptism in the church to illustrate it’s a touchy subject. I distinctly remember attending one church service where the preacher appealed to any and all people wishing to be baptized to come down the aisle and be baptized. The man was quick to add it didn’t matter if you had already been baptized as a child. “After all,” he said, “it was no more than a shower.”

For something that the church has made such a big deal about, there is more than a bit of irony of how quickly we forget our baptism.

For those baptized as infants, you never remember. The best you can hope for is photographs of a child that seems like a stranger. Above is a picture from my son Max’s baptism. It’s something he’ll only remember from photographs.

For those baptized as children, it gets a bit better. Most remember the experience. You’re aware it happened. Still, there is a disconnect between the child you were then and the person you are now. Your experience of faith varies wildly from your experience now. This is my experience. I remember it happening, but it’s all very hazy now.

And for those baptized as adults, the memory is sharper. There is a closer connection between the person you were then and the person you are now. Even then, the experience fades. It was a testimony to a high point in your faith. But it’s a bit like Moses, descending Mt. Sinai. Eventually the glory fades.

When Saint Paul wrote to the Romans, he curiously didn’t mention the age of the baptized. He didn’t seem too concerned about the form of the baptism. And frankly, the efficacy of the baptism wasn’t dependent on how the person was living his or her life now.

He did seem to assume that a person would remember their baptism. And as they remembered their baptism they would remember just what they were baptized into: Christ’s death and Christ’s life.

This has huge implications for all who are baptized. Implications that go beyond age, form, or lifestyle. You who have been baptized have been baptized into the death of Jesus and to a newness of life by virtue of his resurrection from the dead. In baptism we are bound to God through Jesus Christ and in the power of the Spirit once and for all.

Consider this my modest plea: remember your baptism. 

Crazy Talk: A Not-So-Stuffy Dictionary of Theological Terms

One of my favorite books is Frederick Buechner's Wishful Thinking. As a "Seeker's ABC", it's a witty encyclopedia that names and defines the sacred cows and insider terms of modern Christianity. It does so with wit, insight, and humility. You probably shouldn't attend a church service without in your pocket.

In that tradition, we have the Lutheran version! Crazy Talk: A Not-So-Stuffy Dictionary of Theological Terms is Rolf Jacobson's compendium of theological terms. It has wit aplomb and is a remarkably helpful little volume for getting to the big issues of Christian theology. And that's the truth. Throughout, it keeps God's love for the world completed in Jesus Christ in the forefront. Beyond that it helps the newcomers to theology understand some of the bigger issues that have dogged the church for nearly 2000 years. And it does so while keeping one's tongue firmly planted in one's cheek. For the seasoned, it reminds us that we probably take this stuff too seriously. Consider this snippet from the entry for Disciple, aka "A person who follows Jesus, who is, of course, pursing us.":

Child: Mom, I want to go to the party--my best friend is going. 

Mom: If your best friend were jumping off a bridge, would you follow? 

Child: Mom, you want me to follow Jesus, right? And Jesus said, "Take up your cross and follow me," but Jesus got himself crucified, so do you really want me to follow Jesus?" 

Mom: You have a point. You can go to the party? 

Child: Really? 

Mom: No. And I still want you to follow Jesus, but don't get yourself crucified before I have grandkids.

Classic.

You'll find more throughout this (I hope it will someday be) classic on topics ranging from heresy to justification, grace to protestant, and ascension to sanctification. As a word of warning, the careful reader will notice a distinct Lutheran bent. But a little Lutheranism is good for you. Or at least it's not bad for you. Bonhoeffer was Lutheran. Everyone loves Bonhoeffer.

Rosie Thomas :: With Love

Rosie Thomas

With Love

Sing-a-Long Records; 2012

Amazon | itunes
Official Site | Facebook | MySpace

There is nothing cool about this album. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

I’ve tried hard to find something. Anything. I’ve dumped it out all over my bed. I rifled through the stuff. Checked all the compartments. And there is nothing here that could ever be classified as cool. It’s a sweet, syrupy ball of saccharine. In a mumblecore world where artists are more keen on making albums filled with ambiguity, obtuseness, irony, and dread, Rosie Thomas sticks out like the Statue of Liberty on a planet of apes. She’s less early Cat Power and more Bette Midler. That, my friends, is not cool. Releasing an album of ten love songs, on Valentine’s Day, and naming it With Love is not cool. But by shaking the shackles of obscurity and pretension, Rosie Thomas’ proud pinning of her heart on her sleeve is about the most punk thing an artist could do these days. She’s like Buddy the Elf shouting “I’m in love and I don’t care who knows.” That kind of transparency is refreshing.

But let’s be honest here. Rosie Thomas has never really been cool. Not in any classic sense anyway. She’s always been the type who sings "From a Distance" at school talent shows without a drip of irony. She’s always written straightforward love songs. She’s always been able to find the silver lining in the darkest of clouds. Her songs have always bent towards power ballad territory. Go back and read old reviews of her albums. The cool kids that write about music haven't been too keen on this side of her. So when I say With Love isn't cool, this shouldn't be a surprise. It's sort of how she's always been.

But on With Love, Rosie Thomas is herself, only more so. Her decade worth of music has finally culminated to this point where she can stand up and says “this is who I am. I do not need to pretend I am not romantic. I do not need to pretend I want to be inspirational. I do not need to pretend I love Bette Midler, Vanessa Williams, and the early Jackson 5.” Because even with those older records, there was still a lingering sense of a person who wanted to be taken seriously by the taste makers.

Thus, With Love can only be understood and appreciated as the work of an artist who is entirely comfortable in her own skin. How else can you explain as song like “Back to Being Friends”? If a chorus of “if we went back to being friends/what what would it do/what would it mend/when we were meant to be so much more/if we went back to being friends/I'm not convinced this heart would mend/cause being friends wouldn't be good enough” doesn’t convince you of just how out of step Thomas is with current lyrical practices, the music for the same song just might. In a period known by restraint, Thomas belts the chorus. More so, by the end of the song the music drops off and we’re serenaded by handclaps and a choral. It’s flameworthy for sure. A similar effect happens with “Over the Moon” where we’re finally privy to the results of what Rosie Thomas covering an early Mariah Carey jam might sound like. Her lyrical romanticism has finally found its musical mate. 

If it sounds like I’m being snarky, I’m not. I’m simply trying to highlight how confident and unique Thomas sounds in today’s jaded climate. Personally I want more albums that make me feel alive. Personally I want more albums that celebrate friends and loved ones. Personally I’m thankful that this might be the most punk album you’ll find in the indie mainstream.

www.rosiethomas.com

Top Ten Albums of 2011: 5-1

5. Real Estate Days

Exhibit “A” in the power of craftsmanship over originality. Days doesn't push pop into new directions. It's not the spokesperson for some new scene. There is nothing inherently unique about Days. As a sophomore album, it’s not even a huge step forward from their 2009 self-titled debut. It simply stands proudly in the tradition of more recent musicians and albums like The Shins Oh Inverted World and the Pernice Brothers. It has nods to classics like the Smiths. It's certainly influenced by the 60's guitar records. Even by 2011 standards, there’s not much separating Days from Seapony’s debut.

But what Real Estate does they do well. Every note is there for a reason. Every hook matters. The vocals are perfectly arranged. They took the three minute and 30 second pop-song and broke it down to its core components. They then took ten of these songs and arranged them together in a 40 minute masterpiece that holds up both as trees and the forest. Any song fits snuggly in a mix, but demands to be listened to as a whole. Perfect for the lazy Sunday mornings or casual drives in the sun. Real Estate show why the pop album is alive and well.

4. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart Belong

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart made a minor name for themselves by releasing a string of ace 7”’s, EP’s and one LP. They were becoming a big fish in the small pond that is noise-pop and twee. They were catchy as hell, sugary as candy, and had just enough swagger and sharp edges to make it interesting.

The first 15 seconds of Belong makes it seem like we were being played. Opening track “Belong” opens with a nice jangle-pop strum setting up the listener for more of the past. But then it drops off and we’re slammed with big distorted guitars, shiny hooks, and a sound coming straight from the mid-90’s.

Wouldn’t you know it? The Pains of Being Pure at Heart went and made their first Smashing Pumpkins record. And it’s awesome. This shouldn’t surprise. Go back and listen to the high points of Smashing Pumpkins. Listen to “1979”. Listen to “Today”. Listen to “Tonight.” This is great stuff. Here, on Belong, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart took the best of that and made it their own. Sure, they are still a noise-pop/twee band. But now they’re a noise-pop/twee band and more. They showed they’re going to take what they’re good at and push into new directions.

3. Gillian Welch The Harrow & the Harvest

She’s back. And it only took eight years.

Because of the huge gap between 2003’s Soul Journey and The Harrow & the Harvest, expectation was … well … high. High is probably an understatement. Mass hysteria is more appropriate. People love their Gillian.

Slavish love of fanboys and girls can bite you though. And from my perspective, David Rawlings and Gillian Welch were basically screwed. Either the expectations of long-suffering listeners were set so unrealistically high, they would fail miserably. Or, fans were so delighted to hear anything, Rawlings and Welch would be given a free pass. People would be so thrilled to hear anything; it would be devoured only to leave a bad impression six months down the road.

Amazingly, they delivered a classic. As with any Rawlings/Welch album, the devil is in the details. It doesn’t vary stylistically from much in their catalogue. If anything it’s a return to some of their earliest efforts when it was truly just Rawlings’ strings and Welch’s voice. And because the sound is so minimalist, it’s the particulars that make the album a treasure. We all know Rawlings can play the guitar. We all know Welch can sing. What impresses is Welch’s ability to create these dark little vignettes that matches perfectly the tone of the song. Every note matters. The feeling it creates is very purposeful. You’re in the hands of a man and a woman taking you on a journey of shunned lovers, addicts, revivalists, and neighbors sharing stories.

2. The Decemberists The King is Dead

In June, good friends of ours got married. It was a reprieve from the worst month of our life. Thankfully there are certain celebrations—weddings, births, and anniversaries for starters—that puts things in perspective. They’re events that allow you to see the possible beyond the present. Note also that the wedding couple was facing their own bad news. For us and for them, the evening was preceded by death and uncertainty.

During the ceremony, The King is Dead track “June Hymn” was played. The song is simple. It is Colin Meloy’s lilting voice and an acoustic guitar. As a song, it is an ode to rebirth. It is psalm to the awakening of the earth. It’s a Eucharistic-type prayer. For me, the Christian, it is a song about resurrection. It is a song of hope. It is a song of life out of darkness. It is a song that moves me to glad tears nearly every damn time I hear it. For “June Hymn” alone, The King is Dead will forever be etched in my heart.

The album itself is brilliant. I won’t rehash the details, but over the last few albums the Decemberists moved away from their English folk and In the Aeroplane over the Sea style into a more prog-rock direction. They still kept their epic tales of ghosts, stevedores, soldiers, and spies but were bigger, glammier, and jammier. Some liked this lot. Some didn’t. Consider me in the later camp.

For those in the later camp, The King is Dead is a welcome return to form. They took what they were good at and added an alt-country/Americana flavor (Gillian Welch guests on a handful of tracks). This is all well and good, but it matters little if the songs don’t deliver. As it so happens, this is one of their best collections in years. From the stomach punch of “Calamity Song” to the gentleness of “January Hymn” to the march of “Down by the Water”, Meloy and company proved that not only do they still have it, they never lost it.

1. M83 Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming.

Double albums are the apex of artist megalomania. They’re the work of a human being(s) so infatuated with his own abilities and this batch of songs that he can’t see that A) some of the songs aren’t that good and B) perhaps most of us don’t want to listen to you for almost two hours.

But credit where credit is due: Anthony Gonzalez did the impossible. He made an honest to goodness double LP with no bad tracks. Seriously, think about that for a moment. 22 songs. No bad tracks. More so, the average listener actually wants to listen to the whole thing straight through. Not just one disc. Both discs. Straight through. Sometimes I would simply start over when it ended. For that alone, he deserves some sort of trophy.

Hell, he deserves more than a trophy. Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. is a masterpiece. It is the sound of the youth. It captures all the ambiguity, confusion, heartbreak, dreaming, wonder, hope, despair, awkwardness, and bad poetry of adolescence and puts into one big beautiful package. This is a dance album that is meant to be played loudly in a crowded room full of friends and strangers. But at the same time it’s meant to be played alone. It speaks to your alienation, loneliness, and despair. And brings hope. Hope for the daydreamers. Hope you’re not alone. Hope there is a life out there where you belong. Gonzalez has chronicled the sound of looking backward at youth gone and pushes the still young forward with romantic idealism.

Truthfully, it’s hard to imagine M83 being the kind of band they are to today. They (he) began as a mostly instrumental post-My Bloody Valentine neo-shoegaze act. The sound was loud. The guitars were layered. The keyboards were prominent. The low-end was dominated the foreground. But with their previous effort, 2009’s Saturdays=Youth, you could sense that there was something else at play. Beneath the noise, there was the sound of an artist enamored with the synthesized sounds of the 80’s. Beneath the navel gazing there was the man who loved John Hughes films. And wouldn't you know it, he captured everything great about Hughes into two discs.

See also: Albums 10-6

Top Ten Albums of 2011: 10-6

10. P.J. Harvey Let England Shake

To Polly Jean Harvey:

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve ignored your music for the last decade. I’m sorry I’ve treated you with a curious ambivalence. I'm sorry that when I thought of you I thought of a story line on Gilmore Girls. It wasn't you. It was me. I was wrong. I will change. As penance, I shall listen to Let England Shake over and over and over again. And this is very good for me.

Now I knew Harvey could sing. She jumps and shifts from bluesy punk to folksy ballads, to vocal shredding. That woman’s voice could both cut metal and melt butter. It’s that versatile. As a songwriter, Harvey also runs the gamut. She touches traditional folk, blues, punk, indie rock, and all shades in between. The net result is a wildly inventive and fun ride. I should point out that as an American, I have no idea what she's singing about. It’s very, very, very English. So, if any of you readers are anglophiles and want to set me down and explain it all to me: I’m all ears. I do know it is very political and is a love-letter to a land she loves but wishes were better. But I sort of appreciate the mystery of it all. I like the feeling that this is an album that is big and important and I just need to figure it out.

9. Alexi Murdoch Towards the Sun

Nick Drake is dead. Long live Nick Drake.

The reach of Nick Drake extends well beyond his meager output. Virtually every gentleman with soft vocals, introspective lyrics, and gently strummed acoustic guitar gets lumped in Drake. Some times it makes sense (Kings of Convenience, early Elliot Smith); other times it doesn’t (early Damien Jurado). The point being, there is a long tradition at play here. Like clockwork, a new "Next Drake" tries to take his place. It takes a lot for cream to rise to the top of this niche.

Enter Alexi Murdoch. If the second paragraph makes sense, you’ve got a feeling for Alexi Murdoch. It’s not a difficult concept to grasp. But when you take a song like “Some Day Soon” or “Towards the Sun” you know he’s special. He takes the profound and makes it simple “I love my father and I love him well”. Life becomes tiny moments of celebration and beauty.

8. The Roots undun

The Roots fill me with self-loathing. Hip-hop was my first love. And The Roots were at the top of the list of first artists I loved. Sometime around the mid to late 90’s my tastes changed. I also got it in my head that by being a Brit-pop/punk/shoegaze/hardcore/post-punk/emo/american/indie/twee fan, it meant moving beyond my hip-hop, ahem, roots.

I missed out on some groundbreaking work, notably everything done by the Roots. In the last two years I have begun the process of rectifying that. First there was 2011’s How I Got Over which won huge points for the awesomeness of doing duets that one would think could only happen in alternate universes (e.g. Joanna Newsom and Jim James of My Morning Jacket.)

As much as I liked How I Got Over (and everything else I’ve ever heard), undun brings it all together and exceeds it. Described as “orchestral hip-hop”, the Roots took their patented organic hip-hop (i.e. live instruments), bookended it with orchestral strings, and turned it into a cautionary tale of a street soldier’s rise and fall in the drug game told in reverse. I told a friend it was the audio equivalent of The Wire: the Musical.  If you haven’t seen The Wire, you should. If you have, you should very well be excited about what I’m saying.

I’ve heard the Roots described as hip-hop for people who think they don’t like hip-hop. Whether that’s fair or not is up to you. As for me, I find it to be great music regardless of genre.

7. Wye Oak Civilian

 

“I still keep my baby teeth/in the bedside table with my jewelry/you still sleep in the bed with me/my jewelry and my baby teeth”—“Civilian”

There is something brilliant in that chorus. There is so much unresolved tension mounting. The tension begins to spill over later in the song when Jenn Wasner sings “I wanted to give you everything/but I still stand in awe of superficial things/I wanted to love you like my mother’s mother’s mothers did”. On the one hand, there is the the lovers familiarity and vulnerability, symbolized by the bedside teeth, that is bred out of and indicative of a deep and abiding love. But on the other hand, there is recognition of her inability to do what she wants: love him unreservedly and completely.

For me this is a nearly universal human experience. We want to do something so perfectly that when we fail, we fail spectacularly. There is this constant tension between who we are and who we want to be. Not only do they pinpoint that tension here, they extend the tension throughout the whole album. Sounding much bigger than the two musicians that comprise the band, Civilian is a push-pull affair. It alternates between quiet acoustic alchemy before catapulting into squealing feedback. They never let the listener rest. Your existential tension is being played out between the speakers.

I do not know what religious background Wye Oak has. But to me, there is no surprise in the religious imagery that peppers the album. From “Holy, Holy, Holy”, Jenn Wasner sings “For the joy and secrets I have stored/here I lay awaiting my reward”. And on “The Altar”: “Everything and all/is ours/and it gives us our desire”. While these songs can be interpreted a myriad of ways, for me they are the sound of eschatology. They point to our ambiguous existence where we are becoming who we are meant to be. Our future contradicts our present. But at the same time transforms us, pushing us forward into who we are called to be. Crisis is an impetus for change. The tension of who are and who we’ll be carries us on.

6. Low C’Mon

The Timex of slowcore. While so many of their early contemporaries went the way of the dinosaur (Bedhead, Galaxie 500) or went new directions (Ida, Pedro the Lion/David Bazan, Songs: Ohia/Magnolia Electric Co./Jason Molina), Low has sort of remained the same. This isn’t to say their albums are interchangeable. Over time, Low has gotten both a bit faster in tempo and willing to really shred on their guitars. Yet there is something instantly recognizable about Low. Be it the distinctive and intricate guitar work of Alan Sparhawk, the steady and perfect drumming of Mimi Parker, their delicate vocal interplay, or the evocative lyrics.

One of the more underrated aspects of Low (and slow-core in particular with the notable exception of Pedro the Lion and some early Death Cab for Cutie) is their ability to write catchy songs. Low is mostly known for their painfully slow songs. But they’ve actually written some pretty memorable stuff: “Sunflower”, “Dinosaur Act”, “In Metal”, “(That’s How You Sing) Amazing Grace”, “Canada”, “California”, and of course “It was Just Like Christmas.” The exception was that those songs stood out on those albums. In C’Mon there is an albums worth of those songs. With C’Mon, Low have made their most accessible album yet.

See also: Albums 5-1

The Spirit Poured Out on All Flesh: Celebrating my Wife

Last night, my wife spoke at the INN University Ministries. It’s something she does with student leaders frequently. But due to things like child care, it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to hear her.

On Monday, Rachel Held Evens asked men to post blogs that honor women and celebrate feminine images of God. Here’s my thoughts on both.

Tonight I had the privilege of hearing my wife preach. She spoke with humor, vulnerability, courage, beauty, and truth. She took the story of the tower of Babel found in Genesis and pointed out to us that every day, in big ways and small, we construct our own tower of babels. We don’t let God be God. We construct our little towers of safety and security. But in the end, these are just idols. They will tumble. They are no more than a subtle display of a lack of trust and a failure to obey. She reminded us that God is calling us to take risks, to go forth, and to trust God to be God. Just as with Abraham and Sarah, even our own barrenness can be the arena for God’s life. Through the power and testimony of God’s own Spirit, she brought forth the Word of God.

I am thankful that I am part of a denomination, church, and ministry that not only values women and their own giftedness but takes it as an assumption. Women aren’t “allowed” to preach, teach, and lead in service. We men aren’t doing them a favor by letting them in the club. Women are simply using their God given giftedness. It would be a disservice to deny this giftedness. Last night the INN community would have been poorer for never hearing her message.

As I listened to her preach and thought about it on the car drive home, I was once again reminded of the powerful testimony found in the book of Acts. In the second chapter we find the Holy Spirit being poured out on all flesh. In fulfillment of the prophecy of Joel, the Holy Spirit was indiscriminately manifested in men and women alike—who both began prophesying to gathered groups of men and women. This Pentecost moment is the paradigmatic expression of the power, work, and experience of the Holy Spirit in the lives of men and women, young and old. The proclamation of Jesus Christ isn’t bound by gender but is the Word of God.

I’m thankful to be married to a minister who pours out her life to young men and women every day because that is what she is called to be. I’m thankful for the countless other men and women who do this is as well for no other reason that the undeniable fact that they are deeply loved by God and are living in that love as agents of faith, love, and hope. I’m thankful that even if I were wrong in my understandings, God is in the business of redemption. God calls life out of barrenness. God uses small, foolish, and prideful people in big ways every day.

The Beauty of Belonging: It Ain't Easy.

If you have an hour, I highly recommend you take that time to listen to John Swinton’s presentation “From Inclusion to Belonging: A Practical Theology of Disability and Humanness” for Seattle Pacific University Palmer Lectures in Wesleyan Studies.

John Swinton is a Scottish theologian and ethicist. He is the Chair in Divinity and Religious Studies at King’s College at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland. As a professor in Practical Theology and Pastoral Care, he is deeply concerned about parish life and our experience as people of God. He is the author of books such as Raging with Compassion: Pastoral Responses to the Problem of Evil, Resurrecting the Person: Friendship and the Care of People with Mental Health Problems, and From Bedlam to Shalom. (If the titles of those books don’t get you excited about what he has to say, nothing I write will.)

He began the lecture by challenging the very nature of the term disability. As a word, disability is not neutral. “It's deeply value laden. It's a deeply theological, sociological, anthropological designator. It tells something about who we think God is and who human beings are. It tells us something about what it means to be human.”

Further, he challenges the notion that the disability has to do with physical impairments at all. In a bit of Hegelian subterfuge, it is the so-called healthy, those without so-called “disabilities”, who make another person “disabled.” For example, a deaf person is not disabled if everyone knew sign language. A person in a wheelchair is not disabled if every building was designed with his or her mobility in mind. A person is not disabled if businesses were more willing to hire men and women with physical impediments.

Swinton proposes a different model. One based of the notion of personhood—a theological anthropology if you will. At our core, a person is a person who is loved and a person who is cared for. Consequently, the basic form of humanity is one of radical love and care for another. (i.e. it could be taken from any Biblical book with the word “John” in the title.) This means moving from a system that prizes inclusion to one that is of belonging.

Inclusion is simply letting someone tag along. She can be there, but she might as well not. Churches are good at inclusion. “Sure he can come to Sunday morning services! Everyone is welcome here!”

Using Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Jean Vanier as guides, Swinton proposes we move beyond inclusion and into belonging. Contra inclusion, belonging is the radical notion that

“Human beings are not simply included in creation, they belong to God.  God couldn’t imagine creation without people.  Humanity belongs to God.  To belong you need to be missed.  People need to be concerned when you’re not there.  The world needs to be perceived as radically different when you are not there.  When you belong, people long for your presence, like the Father longed for the prodigal son, and like God longs for us.  Belonging means coming to know each other through Jesus.  Authentic Christian community is not about us gathering with those who are exactly like us, but as Christians, we’re not left to ourselves – it’s not about looking at each other, it’s about looking at Jesus.  Community in and through Jesus – we belong to one another in and through Jesus Christ.”

Good stuff, eh?

Being human, living as humans, and mostly living as the church means more than including people. It’s missing them when they are not there. It’s missing a person precisely because he is a person. She is not a project. He is not a work of service. She belongs. All people, regardless of physical or mental state, give and receive. They belong.

But what really got me thinking is this notion belonging is a two way street. Swinton did not go in this direction but it worries me that we are unwilling or incapable to put in the effort to experience belonging.

Belonging is a mutual experience. It’s a give and take between two or more people. It pains me to hear people leave a church (or the Church) because they felt like they did not “belong”. Now to be sure, it could very well be the case that this church in particular didn’t even do the base level care of including you. But I think there is something deeper, something more sinister in effect.

Sadly, I think the church is filled with people wanting desperately to belong. We’re paralyzed by this desire. And we immobilized by the fear of rejection. We project feelings on others that they don’t care. We demand to belong. When it doesn’t happen, it’s their fault.

I imagine the church as a 6th grade dance. The sanctuary is filled with people milling about petrified of making the first move and miserable as a result.

What I’m saying is this: belonging is a two way street. The first step to belonging is a scary one: it’s opening yourself to other people.