Okay, this one may get a little scatalogical...
I used to be in the Air Force in one of my other lifetimes. I was a missile technician. Sometimes we would work on the flight line and be around the fighter jets. We were constantly warned about foreign object damage (f.o.d.). Screws, gravel, ink pen caps... all this type stuff, anything on the runway that can be sucked into the jet engine, is considered FOD.
A few years ago, well after my time in the service was completed, I played in this band, Three Nice Guys, that used to do all kinds of stuff; jazz, pop, country, r&b, everything. An executive at FedEx here in Memphis had an idea of incorporating live music into their monthly (I believe) status meetings. I'm not a corporate guy, so I'm probably not calling it what it was.
We would meet at the front gate of the "Hub" at the unGODly hour of around 7 am, get passes, and drive our vehicles onto the highly restricted and secure flight line to set up for the 9 am meeting. It felt kind of cool to see the stares of the working stiffs who seemed to think, "Who are these guys who get to drive their vehicles onto the highly restricted and secure flight line?"
What was to happen was that we would, in this room that seated about 50 people, play while the corporate types drank coffee and ate and mingled and such. When the main speaker got up, we would do some Johnny Carson-type fanfare stuff. When each new person was introduced, we would play something appropriate from a TV show, a commercial, or anthing. For instance, If the person was from Chicago, we would break into "Chicago" as he approached the podium.
Breck, the keyboard/keyboard bass player, is a genius and knows a million songs. He has perfect pitch (google it) and almost perfect recall, so we had a library of tunes at our disposal.
Now, what I must mention here is that the band was set up in the front of the room on the stage. Directly next to the podium. Remember that.
This one particular meeting is the point of this post. A lady got up to talk about the status of "foreign object damage" and what improvements there had been in its reduction. She spoke about how important it was to be vigilant in the prevention of foreign object damage and how much money was lost at each incidence of foreign object damage. After a while, she abbreviated the term to F.O.D., and a minute or so later, she just shortened it further to "fod" to save time.
It is important to note that White folks and Black folks speak differently. This woman was White.
FedEx is a company known and admired for its fairness is diverse hiring practices. at least half the room was Black. The band was all Black.
The speech went something like this:
"I just want ya to know, you're doing a bang up job in keepin' yer fod to a minimum. But we can do better. The Memphis hub has had a 30 per cent reduction in fod over tha last quarter, but in tha last month, you had 3 cases of fod. What happened? Why the increase in fod? You managers are gonna have to do whatever it takes to keep the fod down."
Right here is where I tell you that, phonetically, the word WE use for the Godly act of passing gas sounds UNCANNILY like "fod". Now, I pride myself in not being inappropriately silly. Certainly, as a musician, I have heard all the stereotypes about how irresponsible we are. I did not, sitting right up front in front of all these corporate executives, want to appear silly. But this woman had "fod" on the brain. And being White, she appeared to have no IDEA that what she was repeatedly saying was like poking us in the side. I'm ticklish right there.
We were cool the first couple of times she used the word, but Lord have mercy, she talked for about thirty minutes!!!
"Fod damage is dangerous and costly, folks. It costs us in lost equipment, but also in lost manhours. I can't tell you how much looking at the fod numbers leaves a bad taste in my mouth! When a plane has to be repaired. It's cuzza fod. When guys haveta do extra duty (doody?)? It can usually be traced back ta fod. We GOTTA keep it down folks! Fod is a stench in the nose of a company like FedEx!"
It started with a shiver.
We in the band were set up in somewhat of a circle, facing each other. I could see every attempt they made at trying not to laugh. It only made it funnier. When something embarrassing happens onstage, I usually try to avert my attention by fumbling with my reed or mouthpiece, or by otherwise occupying myself.
Like the time when Kevin, my best friend, and I were doing this wedding...
The church was set up so that the whole back wall was glass. CLEAR glass. From floor to ceiling. The preacher's back was to the glass, and the audience was facing it. Kevin sings, and while we were waiting soberly for his turn, we noticed this big flock of birds sitting in a tree outside. A squirrel or something scared the birds and they suddenly flew away in our direction. Now, the preacher was praying, I think, so everyone's eyes were closed but ours. We were working. Playing soft music.
Most of the birds veered sharply away at the last moment, but one missed. He didn't see the glass.
BAM! flutterflutterflutterflutter. Dead. I squeezed my eyes shut!! Tears forming. Shuddering.
Bowing, praying now. "Lord! Pleeeeeze help me!" I snorted and snotted a little bit... I fumbled with my reed to busy myself.
But Kevin outright laughed. In the middle of that solemn prayer. For just a nanosecond. But that was all it took for him to get glares from a lot of the people there... So when I have moments like these, I PRAY to the Lord to take the funnyness away.
Breck shivered. He and Herman, the drummer, weren't saved back then, and they didn't seem to have the compulsion to be serious. I fumbled around with something or other, praying to the Lord that this woman wouldn't say "fod" no more, and I think He was laughing, too! I had to close my eyes. It worked for a few seconds. I thought it was over. "Cool. Okay. I'm cool"
"So, what can we do to prevent fod?"
I know you all have had those moments. In class, or in church. You tell yourself it'll be funny later, but it suuure ain't right NOW! Even though it is.
We were all looking at each other pleeeading for something to make it stop! But she just kept on, culturally blind to what she was doing to us! I mean, we were in the front of the room! And I could clearly imagine what would happen if one of us undisciplined musicians lost control.
"What can we do to keep the fod down? Fod fod fod fodfodfodfod." She would NOT STOP!
Herman, who was crying, let out a squeak that sounded like when someone steps on a dog's foot. My face was mashed all up as though someone really was passing gas, and when Herman squeaked, Breck, who was sitting on a swiveling stool, jerked around, away from the audience in this small room.
At that point, the Lord heard my prayer. Someone in the audience, someone Black, probably heard Herman and broke out laughing, and the room erupted! Exploded in laughter! Relieved and thankful, we all did the same! It felt like making it to the bathroom juuuust in time. We spent the next two or three minutes in uncontrolled head-shaking, knee-slapping tripping!
I was just so glad that it wasn't one of us musicians who broke that particular iceberg. What surprised me was that so many of the rest of the people in that room were trying to fight off the same onslaught. White and Black. The only person clueless was the speaker, who looked up, startled, trying to see what had happened. The head guy, who was Black, came up and whispered it all in her ear. She was mortified!
Those times happened to me a lot. It is proof that God DOES have a sense of humor. He HAD to have been laughing. Flatulence was His invention, although the word for it is probably ours...
It is cool that in spite of all our supposed differences, we of different races find common ground in times of humorous adversity.
God invented laughing. He is all right wit' me!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Hypocralypse
Williams' Dictionary.
The "Hypocralypse" (hi-POK-ra-lips) n def. - The sudden upsurge of "preachers" (read: "Carnival Barkers") who convolute the Gospel into a means of obtaining wealth from their "marks" by telling them to go get it from God.
Key sign of the Hypocralypse: They boast of great wealth and "Supernatural Favor," they flaunt their Bentley's or top-end Mercedes', they regale with stories of lavish mansions, (tax free "parsonages"). And rather than share with you the wealth they got from you, they make up magical formulas disguised as "Biblical Principles" for you to "tap into" the same blessings of God.
ex. "Use the same faith God used, the "God kind of Faith," and create whatever you want, just like God did! Being made in the image of God means you can develop your Faith to the point to where you can do exactly what HE did!"
The Hypocralypse is often associated with "Immagettin" (ah-mah-GED-n) n , which is the great battle being waged by biblically loyal Christians against crooked, heartless, greedy, satin-tongued fake prognosticators who are "gettin'" every dime they have from those who don't know and don't WANNA know the hard Truths of Scripture.
The fighting is fierce, and the enemy is great in number, but as always, the Lord will win out with fewer soldiers that He may prove His might! There will be no secret, "catching away" of the saints in this battle! The example of Scripture is that Christians have to join the battle, not hide away from it.
If you are angry about these terms, you are either a three-legged sheep, or a wolf with a lambhock in ya mowf (mouth)!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Music and Drama
Yeah, I play the saxophone. Mostly, right now, I play section stuff in r&b bands doing clubs, occasional casinos, and various parties. I want to front my own band, but with all of the drama that goes on with guys showing up late, getting drunk, forgetting parts, and other musician stuff, I've declared that I would not get my own band until I got a manager to deal with all that junk!
I see a lot of stuff. Things that make me laugh, things that make me angry, and things that make me pray! I've seen guys do things that I can't figure out how to clean up enough to write about that would make you fall out laughing.
See, being a Christian puts me in the position of being the "Mr. Good Guy" who tries to be some kind of example (at least) in the face of a lot of debauchery. The one band that I work primarily for, which will have to remain nameless because some guys' wives may read blawgs, provides a lot of material. We do this club gig on Monday nights in downtown Memphis, and although I haven't seen anyone knifed, I've seen just about everything else. Like the time my boy Curtis got into it with these two guys about them stealing money from the tip jar...
Curtis plays trumpet with us sometimes, along with Marc. On this night he was playing with the house band, of which he is the leader.
Anyway, Curtis confronts this guy, a part-time bodyguard and full-time drug seller Darryl, I believe he is named, about the cash, and the argument escalates until Darryl, about 6'-4", 280, draws him outside where his unnamed accomplice sneaks up behind him and knocks him down. (Curtis had slippery-bottomed dress shoes on, and it was drizzling outside.) After they get him down, they proceed to peel his head open with a music stand! All this while the band was onstage! Nobody helped him. A couple of the guys were mad at him about band stuff, and I guess the others were reluctant to maybe get shot. That was real messed up, though, for them to let that happen to him.
Curtis got a concealed weapon permit shortly thereafter. He said that he wasn't takin no more "A" whuppins!
So, yeah, a couple months later, after his stitches and everything came out, I was onstage at the club on a Monday and out the front window (the whole front wall is basically a window...), we see all these blue lights flashing. Folks in the club started to turn away from all the scintillating entertainment to see what was going on... Okay, here's what happened:
Apparently the night before, Curtis (A lot of stuff happened to Curtis, but he always lands on his feet. Except for that last time...) was hanging out at the bar. He wasn't working that night, just hanging. His wallet came up stolen. So, I guess the guy who stole it, not knowing that the guy he stole it from actually WORKS in the place(!), was at the front window bar posing as guess who?! The manager on duty (foolishly?) calls Curtis at home and tells him about it and that the guy is running up charges on his card but not to worry that he has him on ice.
Curtis, I guess, gets this new gun and shoots down to the club. We're onstage while all this is going on.
So, anyway Curtis gets out of the truck, a Tahoe with big, shiny rims on it, and decides against bringing the gun in. See, the cops set up shop right outside the front door of the club.
But just at the last second, Curtis has a change of heart and turns around to get his gun. This is Beale street, a main tourist attraction in Memphis, and there were a lot of people walking around on a Monday summer night. This White lady saw Curtis stick his gun in his pants and immediately calls 911 with the details: "This Black guy just got a gun out of this big, pimped-out suv and stuffed it in his pants! He looks angry!"
Okay, now we're back to the point at which I see all the blue lights.
So, they got Curtis on the ground, right? And they got guns drawn on him, and feet and knees and stuff on his neck, and they're shouting and cussing at him, okay? And Curtis was thinking, "I wasn't gone shoot the guy, I was just gone persuade 'im. Scare him a little bit." He didn't get a chance to say none of that to the cops. Too much aaasphalt in his mouth.
We were almost through with our second of three sets when all this came together, so when we ended the last song, I shot out the side door and ran around to see what had happened. See, a waitress came to the front of the stage and told the lead singer that Curtis had been arrested, and he told ME. So all I knew at that time was that my padnuh (friend) was in the "back seat." As I approached the car, his girlfriend (I GOTTA tell you about HER!) beseeched me, "Tell him to bee qwiiiiet! Carlos almos' had him out, but hee won't quit cussin' the po-leece out!" Translation: They were about to let him go, but his persistent belligerence negated that possibility.
"Curtis, shut up!" I said. "Just shut up!"
Curtis said through the tiny crack in the window, with his arms politely behind his back, something like, "Man fornicate these cops! I tole them I had a permit, but they ain't lissen!"
That was probably because cops don't generally like to be cursed out by gun-toting Black guys. Permit or no permit. If he had just calmly let them slam him to the ground, everything would have been sorted out with only minor cuts and bruises. Better yet, if he had adhered to the law that states that you can't have a pistol where alcohol is sold and left his gat in the truck, I would have no story to tell.
As it was, Carlos, the manager, was able to get the thief locked up, but unable to keep Curtis from going to jail. It was a CIRCUS! We were back onstage playing "Brick House"(I hate that tune!), or some other drivel, and Curtis was in the back seat of a police car in the front window of the club where he worked, spitting and cursing, and about to go to the BIG house while the actual criminal was in the car next to him chillin! They spent the night in the SAME JAIL!! The folks in the club looked like they were watching a tennis match, heads going back and forth from the band to the front window.
That, folks, is the environment in which I live out my Christianity. I try to be light to the guys with whom I work, doling out Scripture and advice whenever appropriate, but guys don't often like to be preached at. I pray for them, though. Would you do so, too? My work world is not much different than a restaurant (I did that too, once, and it was BABYLON, believe me!), an office, or many other occupations. I am blessed that the Lord strengthens me and enables me to remain free of drug use and some of the other common pitfalls that accompany a musical life. Ironically, it was Curtis Monday night who suggested that I write some of these stories down in a book. Maybe I will clean up a few more stories, if you like, and write them here. Let me know. In the words of that great theologian, Rodney Dangerfield, "I gotta million of 'em!"
Remind me to tell you about the time one of his women tried to run him over. Or the time Larry, another singer, got mad and walked out while we were playing his intro music... Or the time Bill C. took a deaf groupie to his hotel room and tried to whisper "sweet nothings" to her in the dark! Naw, I can't figure out how to tie a Christian tail on that one. Peace.
I see a lot of stuff. Things that make me laugh, things that make me angry, and things that make me pray! I've seen guys do things that I can't figure out how to clean up enough to write about that would make you fall out laughing.
See, being a Christian puts me in the position of being the "Mr. Good Guy" who tries to be some kind of example (at least) in the face of a lot of debauchery. The one band that I work primarily for, which will have to remain nameless because some guys' wives may read blawgs, provides a lot of material. We do this club gig on Monday nights in downtown Memphis, and although I haven't seen anyone knifed, I've seen just about everything else. Like the time my boy Curtis got into it with these two guys about them stealing money from the tip jar...
Curtis plays trumpet with us sometimes, along with Marc. On this night he was playing with the house band, of which he is the leader.
Anyway, Curtis confronts this guy, a part-time bodyguard and full-time drug seller Darryl, I believe he is named, about the cash, and the argument escalates until Darryl, about 6'-4", 280, draws him outside where his unnamed accomplice sneaks up behind him and knocks him down. (Curtis had slippery-bottomed dress shoes on, and it was drizzling outside.) After they get him down, they proceed to peel his head open with a music stand! All this while the band was onstage! Nobody helped him. A couple of the guys were mad at him about band stuff, and I guess the others were reluctant to maybe get shot. That was real messed up, though, for them to let that happen to him.
Curtis got a concealed weapon permit shortly thereafter. He said that he wasn't takin no more "A" whuppins!
So, yeah, a couple months later, after his stitches and everything came out, I was onstage at the club on a Monday and out the front window (the whole front wall is basically a window...), we see all these blue lights flashing. Folks in the club started to turn away from all the scintillating entertainment to see what was going on... Okay, here's what happened:
Apparently the night before, Curtis (A lot of stuff happened to Curtis, but he always lands on his feet. Except for that last time...) was hanging out at the bar. He wasn't working that night, just hanging. His wallet came up stolen. So, I guess the guy who stole it, not knowing that the guy he stole it from actually WORKS in the place(!), was at the front window bar posing as guess who?! The manager on duty (foolishly?) calls Curtis at home and tells him about it and that the guy is running up charges on his card but not to worry that he has him on ice.
Curtis, I guess, gets this new gun and shoots down to the club. We're onstage while all this is going on.
So, anyway Curtis gets out of the truck, a Tahoe with big, shiny rims on it, and decides against bringing the gun in. See, the cops set up shop right outside the front door of the club.
But just at the last second, Curtis has a change of heart and turns around to get his gun. This is Beale street, a main tourist attraction in Memphis, and there were a lot of people walking around on a Monday summer night. This White lady saw Curtis stick his gun in his pants and immediately calls 911 with the details: "This Black guy just got a gun out of this big, pimped-out suv and stuffed it in his pants! He looks angry!"
Okay, now we're back to the point at which I see all the blue lights.
So, they got Curtis on the ground, right? And they got guns drawn on him, and feet and knees and stuff on his neck, and they're shouting and cussing at him, okay? And Curtis was thinking, "I wasn't gone shoot the guy, I was just gone persuade 'im. Scare him a little bit." He didn't get a chance to say none of that to the cops. Too much aaasphalt in his mouth.
We were almost through with our second of three sets when all this came together, so when we ended the last song, I shot out the side door and ran around to see what had happened. See, a waitress came to the front of the stage and told the lead singer that Curtis had been arrested, and he told ME. So all I knew at that time was that my padnuh (friend) was in the "back seat." As I approached the car, his girlfriend (I GOTTA tell you about HER!) beseeched me, "Tell him to bee qwiiiiet! Carlos almos' had him out, but hee won't quit cussin' the po-leece out!" Translation: They were about to let him go, but his persistent belligerence negated that possibility.
"Curtis, shut up!" I said. "Just shut up!"
Curtis said through the tiny crack in the window, with his arms politely behind his back, something like, "Man fornicate these cops! I tole them I had a permit, but they ain't lissen!"
That was probably because cops don't generally like to be cursed out by gun-toting Black guys. Permit or no permit. If he had just calmly let them slam him to the ground, everything would have been sorted out with only minor cuts and bruises. Better yet, if he had adhered to the law that states that you can't have a pistol where alcohol is sold and left his gat in the truck, I would have no story to tell.
As it was, Carlos, the manager, was able to get the thief locked up, but unable to keep Curtis from going to jail. It was a CIRCUS! We were back onstage playing "Brick House"(I hate that tune!), or some other drivel, and Curtis was in the back seat of a police car in the front window of the club where he worked, spitting and cursing, and about to go to the BIG house while the actual criminal was in the car next to him chillin! They spent the night in the SAME JAIL!! The folks in the club looked like they were watching a tennis match, heads going back and forth from the band to the front window.
That, folks, is the environment in which I live out my Christianity. I try to be light to the guys with whom I work, doling out Scripture and advice whenever appropriate, but guys don't often like to be preached at. I pray for them, though. Would you do so, too? My work world is not much different than a restaurant (I did that too, once, and it was BABYLON, believe me!), an office, or many other occupations. I am blessed that the Lord strengthens me and enables me to remain free of drug use and some of the other common pitfalls that accompany a musical life. Ironically, it was Curtis Monday night who suggested that I write some of these stories down in a book. Maybe I will clean up a few more stories, if you like, and write them here. Let me know. In the words of that great theologian, Rodney Dangerfield, "I gotta million of 'em!"
Remind me to tell you about the time one of his women tried to run him over. Or the time Larry, another singer, got mad and walked out while we were playing his intro music... Or the time Bill C. took a deaf groupie to his hotel room and tried to whisper "sweet nothings" to her in the dark! Naw, I can't figure out how to tie a Christian tail on that one. Peace.
Monday, October 15, 2007
More Buzz Words
Here are a few more catch phrases used by those in the prosperity movement. As I stated in an earlier post, if you hear two or three of these in one sermon or telecast, run for your soul! This spiritual bubble gum can make you feel good about yourself, but you'll get scurvy or something else if you try to live on it!
1"We 'bout to go into the enemy's camp and take back everthang he took from us!!!" (I thought Jesus already did that on the Cross?? What biblical precedent is there for this kind of declaration? Did the enemy take your BMW, or your Huzzzband, or your new house? Stop. Please.)
2 "I'm walkin' in my authority."
3 CO-pastor, Mrs. so and so (Was your wife on the other line when God called you to preach?)
4 (In prayer) "Satan, I bind you..." (We don't pray to the DEVIL! And besides, if you keep binding him, how does he keep getting loose? Does the demon of rope-breaking sneak in and break him free? Or did the demon of nicotine light a cigarette and burn the rope up?) By the way, get out your Bible and flip to 2 Peter, 2: 10, 11, and Jude 8, 9, and notice that the very angels, even Michael, the Archangel dared "not bring slanderous accusations" against the devil and his demons. How dare we do it? "Bold and arrogant," however are the false teachers that use the Word of God for selfish gain.
5 "In this hour," as in, "God is about to do a NEW thing in the body of Christ 'in this hour' "
6 "Move of God," as in, "...the divine spiritual prophetic manifestation of the 'move of God.' "
7 "Uh oh!! Um preachin' now!!"
8 "I declare... I release... I decree... I speak blessings, prosperity, breakthrough, etc. into your life!" Note the emphasis!
And where did all these doctorates come from?
Can someone send me the link to the website so I can get one too? No, not every doctor is a pimp, but just about every pulpit hustler is a trumped-up, bible-twisting doctor! I guess it adds weight. Creflo is a doctor like Judy is a judge!
1"We 'bout to go into the enemy's camp and take back everthang he took from us!!!" (I thought Jesus already did that on the Cross?? What biblical precedent is there for this kind of declaration? Did the enemy take your BMW, or your Huzzzband, or your new house? Stop. Please.)
2 "I'm walkin' in my authority."
3 CO-pastor, Mrs. so and so (Was your wife on the other line when God called you to preach?)
4 (In prayer) "Satan, I bind you..." (We don't pray to the DEVIL! And besides, if you keep binding him, how does he keep getting loose? Does the demon of rope-breaking sneak in and break him free? Or did the demon of nicotine light a cigarette and burn the rope up?) By the way, get out your Bible and flip to 2 Peter, 2: 10, 11, and Jude 8, 9, and notice that the very angels, even Michael, the Archangel dared "not bring slanderous accusations" against the devil and his demons. How dare we do it? "Bold and arrogant," however are the false teachers that use the Word of God for selfish gain.
5 "In this hour," as in, "God is about to do a NEW thing in the body of Christ 'in this hour' "
6 "Move of God," as in, "...the divine spiritual prophetic manifestation of the 'move of God.' "
7 "Uh oh!! Um preachin' now!!"
8 "I declare... I release... I decree... I speak blessings, prosperity, breakthrough, etc. into your life!" Note the emphasis!
And where did all these doctorates come from?
Can someone send me the link to the website so I can get one too? No, not every doctor is a pimp, but just about every pulpit hustler is a trumped-up, bible-twisting doctor! I guess it adds weight. Creflo is a doctor like Judy is a judge!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Oprah Got Halle Berry Pregnant.
Hear me out...
Guru Oprah says that we are EVOLVING into another species! And that on that basis, marriage is becoming irrelevant. She wonders, "Who can say if they will want the same person in 35 years?" (yet she chastises men who demonstrate her way of thinking by leaving their wives for other women.) This logic doesn't hold weight when extended to the fullest.
I saw and heard Guru Oprah say this a few years ago when Halle Berry was a guest on her show after Berry's divorce from singer, Eric Benet. They were on the couch together discussing the fallen state of traditional marriage. That conversation has stayed in my mind since then.
Everyone knows the public parts of Oprah's life ; dating, co-habitating with Stedman Graham for years, no children, no desire for marriage. She has gone a long way, I think, towards shaping public opinion on pregnancy and marriage. She specifically told Halle that she "didn't need to be married to have a baby!"
She OBVIOUSLY knows the tremendous influence she has on millions of people with the success of her show and anything attached to it. She had to have known that her friend, Berry, would take her council to heart. To that extent, she is responsible, just as ANY false teacher is accountable for misleading the student.
Halle was obviously depressed and discouraged about another failed marriage, and I thought it was unfair for Oprah to guide her in the direction of eschewing the validity of marriage done right and down the path of New Age pagan self-fulfillment. Granted, a person who has sincerely held beliefs can be expected to endorse and promote those views, but it is clear today that unwed pregnancy is NOT the way to go. Babies are not Barbie dolls. And when her relationship inevitably ends... another child will be raised without the everyday presence of a father!
So, with the background music of Guru Oprah playing somwhere in the recesses of her mind, along with the tacit assent of the broader society, Halle, in her forties, unmarried, got pregnant. I thought this was a heck of a coincidence. And as is the norm today, there is no negative outrage. Only compliments on how glowingly beautiful she is in her expectant state. Fifty years ago, the actress, Ingrid Bergman, lost the major portion of her career for doing the same thing.
No, a person shouldn't necessarily be shunned, but a measure of SHAME is in order when committing what has been, from day ONE, sin in the eyes of God, whom so many claim to serve. (The laws of Oprah's god, the Universe may change, but GOD'S law is unbreakable!) I am ashamed before God for the things I do wrong. King David was ashamed (check the Psalms) for his adultery with Bathsheba, and for the murder of her husband, Uriah. Healthy shame has its place. It leads one to repentance and reform.
Halle should be ashamed of herself for conforming to the culture in such a negative way, and Oprah should be ashamed of herself for advising Berry that marriage is a malleable, transient, ultimately unnecessary state of being.
But I'll bet they're not!
And on those grounds, I assert that through her ill advice and rather hedonistic example, Guru Oprah got Halle Berry pregnant.
Guru Oprah says that we are EVOLVING into another species! And that on that basis, marriage is becoming irrelevant. She wonders, "Who can say if they will want the same person in 35 years?" (yet she chastises men who demonstrate her way of thinking by leaving their wives for other women.) This logic doesn't hold weight when extended to the fullest.
I saw and heard Guru Oprah say this a few years ago when Halle Berry was a guest on her show after Berry's divorce from singer, Eric Benet. They were on the couch together discussing the fallen state of traditional marriage. That conversation has stayed in my mind since then.
Everyone knows the public parts of Oprah's life ; dating, co-habitating with Stedman Graham for years, no children, no desire for marriage. She has gone a long way, I think, towards shaping public opinion on pregnancy and marriage. She specifically told Halle that she "didn't need to be married to have a baby!"
She OBVIOUSLY knows the tremendous influence she has on millions of people with the success of her show and anything attached to it. She had to have known that her friend, Berry, would take her council to heart. To that extent, she is responsible, just as ANY false teacher is accountable for misleading the student.
Halle was obviously depressed and discouraged about another failed marriage, and I thought it was unfair for Oprah to guide her in the direction of eschewing the validity of marriage done right and down the path of New Age pagan self-fulfillment. Granted, a person who has sincerely held beliefs can be expected to endorse and promote those views, but it is clear today that unwed pregnancy is NOT the way to go. Babies are not Barbie dolls. And when her relationship inevitably ends... another child will be raised without the everyday presence of a father!
So, with the background music of Guru Oprah playing somwhere in the recesses of her mind, along with the tacit assent of the broader society, Halle, in her forties, unmarried, got pregnant. I thought this was a heck of a coincidence. And as is the norm today, there is no negative outrage. Only compliments on how glowingly beautiful she is in her expectant state. Fifty years ago, the actress, Ingrid Bergman, lost the major portion of her career for doing the same thing.
No, a person shouldn't necessarily be shunned, but a measure of SHAME is in order when committing what has been, from day ONE, sin in the eyes of God, whom so many claim to serve. (The laws of Oprah's god, the Universe may change, but GOD'S law is unbreakable!) I am ashamed before God for the things I do wrong. King David was ashamed (check the Psalms) for his adultery with Bathsheba, and for the murder of her husband, Uriah. Healthy shame has its place. It leads one to repentance and reform.
Halle should be ashamed of herself for conforming to the culture in such a negative way, and Oprah should be ashamed of herself for advising Berry that marriage is a malleable, transient, ultimately unnecessary state of being.
But I'll bet they're not!
And on those grounds, I assert that through her ill advice and rather hedonistic example, Guru Oprah got Halle Berry pregnant.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Wailin' Like Whalum!
What field are you in? What activity do you wish you could make a living doing? Do you have a person in that arena that is the epitome of skill and expertise?
Are you a sports fan who admires A-Rod, or Jordan, or Peyton Manning? Are you a painter who loves the work of Rembrandt, or Picasso? Are you an aspiring actor or playwright? Do you work in the restaurant business, or the automobile design industry, or the cosmetology field?
If you think about it, every one of you has at least one person who is the icon of your admiration in a given area. I am a musician. By profession. I am of a blessed few who get to do the one thing I LOVE for a living, meager though it is right now. This means that the person I most look up to in the entire musical world does both what I love and what I do.
I am a saxophone player, and hopefully not a hack! I am not a poseur. I don't walk around town with my horn on my shoulder, and I don't dance when I play. I MOVE, though... For me, it is about getting better on that horn, and the musicians I most admire are serious about their discipline. My two favorite singers are Sam Cooke and Nat King Cole. My favorite female singer is Lalah Hathaway. Or maybe Sarah Vaughan. It's pretty close. My favorite piano player is Phineas Newborn, Jr.. My favorite trumpet player is, I think, Clifford Brown. My favorite guitar player is, maybe, Wes Montgomery. My favorite bass player is Marcus Miller. I don't have a favorite drummer.
There are a million sax players in this town alone. I love that the Lord gave me that instrument to play! It is so complex and so expressive. There are so many who play it well; Cannonball Adderley, Sonny Stitt, Coletrane, Joe Henderson, Grover Washington, Wilton Felder, Branford Marsalis, David Sanborn, Eric Alexander, Phil Woods, Paul Desmond (Take 5), Kirk Whalum, Bird, Stan Getz (Human velvet), Dexter Gordon, Chris Potter, Johnny Griffin, Kenny Garrett, Gerald Albright, and scores more.
The thing is this: Of all the singers I like, but didn't mention, and all of the other musicians whom I just love, the ONE who is my favorite-- out of all who have ever sung or played a single note-- is Kirk Whalum. You can agree or disagree, you can argue and present your case for the brilliance of Bird or Trane, and you can cite the mastery of Sarah Vaughan and Stevie. You can talk about Jimi Hendrix and Marvin Gaye and Brother Ray. You can plead the case for David Ruffin, or Billie Holliday, or Wynton Marsalis, or Sinatra, or Donny Hathaway, and you will have some valid points. But for my money, the one who resonates with me is Whalum.
He has the ability to convey pure, raw emotion in a single note. His horn sings and cries and shouts and growls. He is at once soulful, and harmonically competent. Not many can say this. They are usually one or the other. It is an awful thing to hear a straight-ahead cat (musicians say "cat") try to play some soul! And vicey-versey. He is the leader among guys who can make a sax sound almost human.
The moment I first heard him in a Denver record store way back when guesting on a Bob James record, I immediately asked the store manager who it was. I was hooked. That was how I wanted to sound! It sounded like he was wringing the notes from a wet towel! Every note was urgently played. I thought that if I could play like that, I would be able to tell girls with music what I was too scared to utter with words.
A year or so later, I heard him on a Luther Vandross album, and this one song, "Anyone Who Had A Heart, " by Bacharach, repeatedly put me in the saddest mood. Beautiful! I have followed his career since the first day, waiting on album releases, and buying every record I saw his name attached to. Some of them were duds with the songs he soloed on being the only ones I dug.
Somewhere in there, I decided that I wanted to do what he did. I wanted to drop out of architecture school and become a musician. It was the only thing I felt that I could really do and do well. I wanted to make people feel whatever emotion I felt when I played a song or a solo like Kirk Whalum did. I had a long, long way to go. (I only have a long way to go now.)
I started from scratch, not having any guidance. I began to teach myself licks, and turns, and scales, and phrases. And most of all, I worked on my TONE-- the way I sounded. I gigged with my friends who were grass-green like me, and we used to play at family house parties with just a piano amp, and no gear for no money. I graduated from there to playing for a gospel artist for no money. But we had gear, though.
After a year of that, I got a gig with blues singer, Denise LaSalle. I was on my way! I was making money, but the gear was AWFUL! I continued to teach myself by practicing the solos of Whalum, and my other "teacher," Grover Washington, as well as any other artist that inspired me. I played lead vocal melodies, piano solos, guitar solos, and everything. The main thing, though, was to always be soulful. And to have that pretty tone.
Friends would tell me (they still do) to be more of a showman, to walk into the audience, or to wave my hand like Dave Koz does. I just couldn't. "I just wanna get better on this horn," I always reply. If I am feeling what I am playing and move accordingly, sincerely, that is honest. For ME, it felt phoney to use gimmicks to get a response. I was trying to please musicians! If THEY dig you, then you know you're doing something. I may be wrong.
Now, from time to time, I get the comment that I "sound like Whalum." What was to be expected? I had played, really, millions of Kirk Whalum notes! Now, though, I have to find my voice out of all that emotion and wailing! There is already a Whalum. It's hard to be discouraged by hearing that, though. I kind of get the same feeling as when someone tells me I LOOK like my father. How can I not like that? My pops is the MAN!
So... my question is this: How would you, as a golf fanatic, like to play a round with Tiger, or Ernie Els? How would you, as a basketball player, like to be on Jordan's team? How would you, as a real estate person, like to spend time with Trump? Singer-- Stevie Wonder? Cook--Emeril, or Rachael Ray? Actor-- Hopkins, Hepburn, or Denzel? How would you feel if you, an average citizen, were called upon to perform with or for your greatest hero? How would you feel if, out of ALL the people in the world, the ONE person you most admire watched you do what HE does? And what if that thing that he does is not just your recreation, but your VOcation? How would you feel?
Well, today, at the church at which I play, the musical director said at the last minute, "Hey, let's play that Whalum tune we closed with last week!" That being the song from his just-released album that we sort of butchered up last week. At that very MOMENT Kirk Whalum and his wife walked in!!! Ohhh Lorrrd! I pride myself on not being scared of a musical challenge. How can I call myself worthy of being a contemporary of the masters if I am scared to do what I can do musically?
I was as scared as my little son, Max, when those guys in the hamburger suits come on the teevee!
Tim, the m.d., was like, "man, whass wrong witchu? I ain' neva seen you like this!"
"I ain' neva been like this," I said, knees sounding like dice about to come up snake-eyes. "I ain't prepared. That song has a crazy pattern that's hard to follow wit'out a chart!" It was 9:57. Church started at 10:00. No time to practice, and I couldn't punk out. So, I prayed, and we played. It was okay. Only minor mistakes. I do this for a living. But I didn't want to sound like a scrub with the icon of my artistic life sitting 20 feet away! There was a problem, though, and that is the reason for this post.
The service was about GOD. What about GOD? Isn't HE a greater audience than Kirk Whalum? Kirk, being a Godly man would say, "yes." (I know this because I have met him a few times, and he occasionally comes to my church. More pressure?!) All I could think of during the musical portion of the worship was, "Don't mess up, Kirk'll think you're a scrub. Play that flat 5 lick right here, Kirk'll think that was cool. Don't overplay, 'cause Kirk'll think you're into your self. I wonder what Kirk thought about that tag I put at the end of that last song?" I mean, I was in the same room as my hero, and I was playing HIS song, his style, his instrument! It was too much.
And I was so ashamed of myself. I kept apologizing to God for making Him ride in the back seat so Kirk could sit up front. "I'm sorry, Lord," I kept saying, and I kept shifting my focus back from God to man.
"I wonder if he heard that bad note? I wonder if he heard me play that cool run? Oh, Sorry, Lord."
My wife consoled me, saying tht the Lord understands, that I'm only human. True, but that fact didn't keep Him from holding us accountable for the fact that we sin. Without Jesus, we still suffer the repercussions of our actions. Humanity is no excuse for faults.
I know God forgave me, but the thing is that we need to be aware that God is always sitting on the front row. For every scene. Good AND bad. We should conduct ourselves according to the fact that the One universal Celebrity requires us to serve, worship, praise, and perform for HIM. And He deserves it. Look at all the stuff He did. All the things He made...
Kirk Whalum is not an idol of mine in the sense that he occupies God's throne of glory. His skill and talent, as are ALL of ours, are a sign of what God is capable of. That is why God gets the praise for the made putts and three-pointers, the Grammys and the Oscars, the pictures and the sculptures.
At the end of service this morning, as we played the benediction music, I felt someone come up from behind the chair in which I was sitting and grab me, choke hold style, around my neck.
"You blessed me, man! You really blessed me by playing my song!" Imagine Jordan telling you that you played well... Imagine that you felt that he meant it... That made my WEEK! And I thanked GOD!
I wanted to ask him a thousand questions... about mouthpieces, and horns, and chords and solos, and sessions, and about helping me make records. But I didn't get to. I don't like to crowd celebrities when I see them. They have lives. People are always trying to get something from them, and I feel that if I am good enough to do this on a higher plane the time will come when God says so. If I really CAN play, he, or someone, will give me ny shot.
So what I have is the memory of his gratitude. And my OWN gratitude to God for being so cool and merciful and Beautiful. And for inventing the saxophone and putting it in my hand.
Are you a sports fan who admires A-Rod, or Jordan, or Peyton Manning? Are you a painter who loves the work of Rembrandt, or Picasso? Are you an aspiring actor or playwright? Do you work in the restaurant business, or the automobile design industry, or the cosmetology field?
If you think about it, every one of you has at least one person who is the icon of your admiration in a given area. I am a musician. By profession. I am of a blessed few who get to do the one thing I LOVE for a living, meager though it is right now. This means that the person I most look up to in the entire musical world does both what I love and what I do.
I am a saxophone player, and hopefully not a hack! I am not a poseur. I don't walk around town with my horn on my shoulder, and I don't dance when I play. I MOVE, though... For me, it is about getting better on that horn, and the musicians I most admire are serious about their discipline. My two favorite singers are Sam Cooke and Nat King Cole. My favorite female singer is Lalah Hathaway. Or maybe Sarah Vaughan. It's pretty close. My favorite piano player is Phineas Newborn, Jr.. My favorite trumpet player is, I think, Clifford Brown. My favorite guitar player is, maybe, Wes Montgomery. My favorite bass player is Marcus Miller. I don't have a favorite drummer.
There are a million sax players in this town alone. I love that the Lord gave me that instrument to play! It is so complex and so expressive. There are so many who play it well; Cannonball Adderley, Sonny Stitt, Coletrane, Joe Henderson, Grover Washington, Wilton Felder, Branford Marsalis, David Sanborn, Eric Alexander, Phil Woods, Paul Desmond (Take 5), Kirk Whalum, Bird, Stan Getz (Human velvet), Dexter Gordon, Chris Potter, Johnny Griffin, Kenny Garrett, Gerald Albright, and scores more.
The thing is this: Of all the singers I like, but didn't mention, and all of the other musicians whom I just love, the ONE who is my favorite-- out of all who have ever sung or played a single note-- is Kirk Whalum. You can agree or disagree, you can argue and present your case for the brilliance of Bird or Trane, and you can cite the mastery of Sarah Vaughan and Stevie. You can talk about Jimi Hendrix and Marvin Gaye and Brother Ray. You can plead the case for David Ruffin, or Billie Holliday, or Wynton Marsalis, or Sinatra, or Donny Hathaway, and you will have some valid points. But for my money, the one who resonates with me is Whalum.
He has the ability to convey pure, raw emotion in a single note. His horn sings and cries and shouts and growls. He is at once soulful, and harmonically competent. Not many can say this. They are usually one or the other. It is an awful thing to hear a straight-ahead cat (musicians say "cat") try to play some soul! And vicey-versey. He is the leader among guys who can make a sax sound almost human.
The moment I first heard him in a Denver record store way back when guesting on a Bob James record, I immediately asked the store manager who it was. I was hooked. That was how I wanted to sound! It sounded like he was wringing the notes from a wet towel! Every note was urgently played. I thought that if I could play like that, I would be able to tell girls with music what I was too scared to utter with words.
A year or so later, I heard him on a Luther Vandross album, and this one song, "Anyone Who Had A Heart, " by Bacharach, repeatedly put me in the saddest mood. Beautiful! I have followed his career since the first day, waiting on album releases, and buying every record I saw his name attached to. Some of them were duds with the songs he soloed on being the only ones I dug.
Somewhere in there, I decided that I wanted to do what he did. I wanted to drop out of architecture school and become a musician. It was the only thing I felt that I could really do and do well. I wanted to make people feel whatever emotion I felt when I played a song or a solo like Kirk Whalum did. I had a long, long way to go. (I only have a long way to go now.)
I started from scratch, not having any guidance. I began to teach myself licks, and turns, and scales, and phrases. And most of all, I worked on my TONE-- the way I sounded. I gigged with my friends who were grass-green like me, and we used to play at family house parties with just a piano amp, and no gear for no money. I graduated from there to playing for a gospel artist for no money. But we had gear, though.
After a year of that, I got a gig with blues singer, Denise LaSalle. I was on my way! I was making money, but the gear was AWFUL! I continued to teach myself by practicing the solos of Whalum, and my other "teacher," Grover Washington, as well as any other artist that inspired me. I played lead vocal melodies, piano solos, guitar solos, and everything. The main thing, though, was to always be soulful. And to have that pretty tone.
Friends would tell me (they still do) to be more of a showman, to walk into the audience, or to wave my hand like Dave Koz does. I just couldn't. "I just wanna get better on this horn," I always reply. If I am feeling what I am playing and move accordingly, sincerely, that is honest. For ME, it felt phoney to use gimmicks to get a response. I was trying to please musicians! If THEY dig you, then you know you're doing something. I may be wrong.
Now, from time to time, I get the comment that I "sound like Whalum." What was to be expected? I had played, really, millions of Kirk Whalum notes! Now, though, I have to find my voice out of all that emotion and wailing! There is already a Whalum. It's hard to be discouraged by hearing that, though. I kind of get the same feeling as when someone tells me I LOOK like my father. How can I not like that? My pops is the MAN!
So... my question is this: How would you, as a golf fanatic, like to play a round with Tiger, or Ernie Els? How would you, as a basketball player, like to be on Jordan's team? How would you, as a real estate person, like to spend time with Trump? Singer-- Stevie Wonder? Cook--Emeril, or Rachael Ray? Actor-- Hopkins, Hepburn, or Denzel? How would you feel if you, an average citizen, were called upon to perform with or for your greatest hero? How would you feel if, out of ALL the people in the world, the ONE person you most admire watched you do what HE does? And what if that thing that he does is not just your recreation, but your VOcation? How would you feel?
Well, today, at the church at which I play, the musical director said at the last minute, "Hey, let's play that Whalum tune we closed with last week!" That being the song from his just-released album that we sort of butchered up last week. At that very MOMENT Kirk Whalum and his wife walked in!!! Ohhh Lorrrd! I pride myself on not being scared of a musical challenge. How can I call myself worthy of being a contemporary of the masters if I am scared to do what I can do musically?
I was as scared as my little son, Max, when those guys in the hamburger suits come on the teevee!
Tim, the m.d., was like, "man, whass wrong witchu? I ain' neva seen you like this!"
"I ain' neva been like this," I said, knees sounding like dice about to come up snake-eyes. "I ain't prepared. That song has a crazy pattern that's hard to follow wit'out a chart!" It was 9:57. Church started at 10:00. No time to practice, and I couldn't punk out. So, I prayed, and we played. It was okay. Only minor mistakes. I do this for a living. But I didn't want to sound like a scrub with the icon of my artistic life sitting 20 feet away! There was a problem, though, and that is the reason for this post.
The service was about GOD. What about GOD? Isn't HE a greater audience than Kirk Whalum? Kirk, being a Godly man would say, "yes." (I know this because I have met him a few times, and he occasionally comes to my church. More pressure?!) All I could think of during the musical portion of the worship was, "Don't mess up, Kirk'll think you're a scrub. Play that flat 5 lick right here, Kirk'll think that was cool. Don't overplay, 'cause Kirk'll think you're into your self. I wonder what Kirk thought about that tag I put at the end of that last song?" I mean, I was in the same room as my hero, and I was playing HIS song, his style, his instrument! It was too much.
And I was so ashamed of myself. I kept apologizing to God for making Him ride in the back seat so Kirk could sit up front. "I'm sorry, Lord," I kept saying, and I kept shifting my focus back from God to man.
"I wonder if he heard that bad note? I wonder if he heard me play that cool run? Oh, Sorry, Lord."
My wife consoled me, saying tht the Lord understands, that I'm only human. True, but that fact didn't keep Him from holding us accountable for the fact that we sin. Without Jesus, we still suffer the repercussions of our actions. Humanity is no excuse for faults.
I know God forgave me, but the thing is that we need to be aware that God is always sitting on the front row. For every scene. Good AND bad. We should conduct ourselves according to the fact that the One universal Celebrity requires us to serve, worship, praise, and perform for HIM. And He deserves it. Look at all the stuff He did. All the things He made...
Kirk Whalum is not an idol of mine in the sense that he occupies God's throne of glory. His skill and talent, as are ALL of ours, are a sign of what God is capable of. That is why God gets the praise for the made putts and three-pointers, the Grammys and the Oscars, the pictures and the sculptures.
At the end of service this morning, as we played the benediction music, I felt someone come up from behind the chair in which I was sitting and grab me, choke hold style, around my neck.
"You blessed me, man! You really blessed me by playing my song!" Imagine Jordan telling you that you played well... Imagine that you felt that he meant it... That made my WEEK! And I thanked GOD!
I wanted to ask him a thousand questions... about mouthpieces, and horns, and chords and solos, and sessions, and about helping me make records. But I didn't get to. I don't like to crowd celebrities when I see them. They have lives. People are always trying to get something from them, and I feel that if I am good enough to do this on a higher plane the time will come when God says so. If I really CAN play, he, or someone, will give me ny shot.
So what I have is the memory of his gratitude. And my OWN gratitude to God for being so cool and merciful and Beautiful. And for inventing the saxophone and putting it in my hand.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Life is Like Baghetties*
When I was a kid, I loved to eat spaghetti with the noodles unbroken. My mother, however, always broke them in half, saying that Daddy hated them long. I remember thinking that he was so mean and unhappy. Long noodles were so FUN! How could anybody not like 'em?Now, fully grown, I realize his thinking. I can't stand unbroken spaghetti noodles. See, the long noodles don't let the meat mix in. You spin the fork and just get a big mound of pasta. Yeah, when the noodles are short, you miss out on some of the fun, but you get to the meat. Eating is not just a game anymore. It is serious business!
Little things like that remind me of how the Christian journey is.
As God's children, we often - usually- don't understand why he does or allows difficult things. Our finite understanding causes us to wonder why He doesn't allow the "fun" stuff.
"Why don't we all just live forever? Yaaay!
"Hey, lets ALL go to Heaven...
"Yaaay!
"Live for today, man!
"Lying is the best way to get out of a tight spot!
"Yeah!
"I'm a good person! I do good stuff. I don't need Jeeesus!
"Marriage is corny! Who needs that for sex? Or for kids?
"Let's get those drunk girls to take their TOPS off and KISS! Hot!
"What's the big deal about a few cuss words, or nekkid butts on teevee? If you don't like it, turn it off. Move your life out of my way!
"What?!? Weed ain't a drug like heroin! You gotta process that stuff! Weed is a herrrb. It comes from the earth!
"What? God says 'No?' God's WACK! He's no fun at ALL! He made all this stuff and won't let us use it! We gotta work, an' study, an' obey rules, an' say 'no' to stuff..."
As we become more mature, however, we see the wisdom in order and structure. And Christian life is not boring up close as it seemed from a distance. We get rid of some of the extraneosity- if you will- and get right to the meat of life.
There is a joy in understanding the value of serving, peace in dealing with loss, and hope in eternity. We grow closer to God and more like Him.
My father wasn't boring. He was just wise:
Life, while often fun, is serious business!
Little things like that remind me of how the Christian journey is.
As God's children, we often - usually- don't understand why he does or allows difficult things. Our finite understanding causes us to wonder why He doesn't allow the "fun" stuff.
"Why don't we all just live forever? Yaaay!
"Hey, lets ALL go to Heaven...
"Yaaay!
"Live for today, man!
"Lying is the best way to get out of a tight spot!
"Yeah!
"I'm a good person! I do good stuff. I don't need Jeeesus!
"Marriage is corny! Who needs that for sex? Or for kids?
"Let's get those drunk girls to take their TOPS off and KISS! Hot!
"What's the big deal about a few cuss words, or nekkid butts on teevee? If you don't like it, turn it off. Move your life out of my way!
"What?!? Weed ain't a drug like heroin! You gotta process that stuff! Weed is a herrrb. It comes from the earth!
"What? God says 'No?' God's WACK! He's no fun at ALL! He made all this stuff and won't let us use it! We gotta work, an' study, an' obey rules, an' say 'no' to stuff..."
As we become more mature, however, we see the wisdom in order and structure. And Christian life is not boring up close as it seemed from a distance. We get rid of some of the extraneosity- if you will- and get right to the meat of life.
There is a joy in understanding the value of serving, peace in dealing with loss, and hope in eternity. We grow closer to God and more like Him.
My father wasn't boring. He was just wise:
Life, while often fun, is serious business!
*Spaghetti
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna Sell Water to FISH!
The sect known as "Universalism" teaches the belief that ALL are going to heaven. Manson, Hitler, Mussolini, everybody. Reverend Carlton Pearson has recently fallen from TBN favor for teaching it. This worldview leads me to ask A question:
Why does Universalism need preachers? Ain't that like sellin' AIR?
Why does Universalism need preachers? Ain't that like sellin' AIR?
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