God Winks for Music Too

I am a lover of music, all kinds of music.  That's a broad term:  music.  There are sooo many styles, so many genres.  When I mention the word music, however, even in its broadest definition the terms rap and heavy metal are not included.  Not in my broadest definition.  

My music proclivities were diverse from the time I was six years old.  Even now, vivid are my memories of the first classical (a term loosely used here) pieces, among them being  March from The Love of Three Oranges by Prokofiev.   Mary Ellen Owen, my first grade music teacher, will always have a special place in my heart for introducing me to that world of music.  

But not only classical, but jazz, sacred, gospel, popular, Broadway, and more, including mine, a hybrid, mixed-bag of all of the above, music is my drug of choice.  So, where am I going with this?  Well . . . right here:

A lifetime ago when I made large bucks, I had a season subscription to the Houston Grand Opera (another reason Fall is my favorite season of the year) -- a nice orchestra seat, smack dab in the middle of the row.  Facing the necessity of trimming expenditures, my last opera season was 2002-2003.  Since then, it has been hit or miss, and mostly miss.   Still, I am on the HGO's mailing list.  It was a routine matter for me to receive a postcard in my post office box a few days ago, advertising, this time, La Boheme.  Conversation with self:

Man, I wish I could go.  Maybe if I brownbag it I can divert some walking around money and get a decent seat.

Yeah, you could do that, and maybe plant some stash at Gordon's office if you're gonna be there a lot; then you could avoid ordering food to be delivered.

Yeah, I can do that.  

Then, just a few days ago, it became clear that my work station was on its last leg (it's last boot[-up]?).  Next conversation with self:

Well, there goes the opera.

Are you sure?  Can't you just go anyway and deal with the computer later?

Are you kidding?  Next to a vehicle, that computer is a significant work tool!  How're you gonna make a dollar without working technology?  Huh?

So, the decision is made to be an adult (again??) and do the responsible thing (again???).  Yep.  After many hours of hand-wringing a computer is ordered.  Unlike the last time technology purchases were made, there was no air of excitement, just resignation.  It had to be done.  :(

Then, a conversation with my Sweet Pea (Daughter) this afternoon.

The phone rings; it is Sweet Pea.

Hey, Babe.

Hey, Ma.

What's up Sweetie?

Ma, I've got something for you.  What're you doing on the 27th?  [Note to self:  Warning . . . warning . . do you hear that sense of urgency in her voice?]

I don't know, Babe, let me look at my calendar.  Oh . . . I'll be at the United Health Care store on the Southwest Freeway.

What time, Ma?  [Warning . . . warning . . . a tad more intensity here.]

From 9 to 3.

Then what, Ma?

[At this point I'm asking myself:  what is she up to NOW?]

Oh, nothing, Babe.  What's up?  [Admittedly, at this point I'm getting a little wary.  Sweet Pea has a history of pulling stuff . . .nothing bad . . . or negative . . . but she seems to revel in the shock value of stuff.  (No offense, Sweet Pea.)]

I have opera tickets for you . . . it's La Boheme.  

What??!!!??  Wait a minute . . . my heart . . . [At this point my heart is pounding so that I press my hand to my chest.]

Then she says:  I bought 'em in March but I just picked 'em up today.

Wait . . . my heart . . .  It all came back to me:  a routine trip to collect mail from my post office box -- the desire to go to the opera -- the plot to splurge on a really good seat -- the realization that I should use the money for something really necessary -- and the grand tier tickets purchased for me SEVEN MONTHS AGO by my darling Daughter!!!

Life today is more challenging than it has ever been for me as an adult.  Despite that, I have sobered myself from the occasional pity party with the knowledge that however bad it might be for me, millions -- even hundreds of millions -- would gladly exchange places with me.  And even on the very worst days, even to this day, when I cannot not utter a word in prayer, God places a song in my heart that pulls me out of a miserable pit:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

(Horatio Spafford)

And, God's winks don't stop there; in fact, they never stop.  

Evocations: Random Thoughts From Daryl's Robinson's Senior Recital

DO YOU LIKE WINE?  


I do, even though I know very little about wines:  the varieties and origins of grapes, which ones are right for which foods (other than the basic white for chicken and fish and red for beef -- after that I'm lost), which ones come in contact with the grape skins longer (other than this seems to be a trait of the really dark reds), and other bits of minutiae of which genuine wine aficionados make subjects of serious conversations, blogs, newsletters, magazine articles, and perhaps even a livelihood or two -- or more.  I drink red wine occasionally because my doctor suggested it is beneficial for my health; however, I really don't care for red wine, at least not the ones I have purchased so far.  Still, I drink it for the purpose heretofore stated.  What I do like are Riesling and Gewurtztraminer.  They are light and sweet, and feel heavenly going down.  Unfortunately, I rarely enjoy either, since I save most of my imbibing moments for the medicinal crap of the red once or twice a week -- and turning into a wino or a lush is not on my to-do list.  The bottom line is if I like the taste, nothing else matters -- whether the wine is a Burgundy or Beaujolais, Grenache or Gewurtztraminer, 1927 or 2007.  When it comes to wine, two things matter to this writer:  1) The taste; and  2) Its effect when  trickling over her taste buds and down her esophagus.  What else matters -- or should matter?  To her, nothing; it's just wine. 


DO YOU LIKE VISUAL ART?


I suppose I do.  Well – yes.  Asking about styles would be a waste.  Whether the small, thin brush strokes of Monet’s impressionism, the molten-like movement of Dali’s surrealistic clocks, the over-analyzed smile of da Vinci’s  Renaissance icon – Mona Lisa, the outlandish non-art pop art of Andy Warhol, or the three-dimensional wonders and wackiness of the Cullen Sculpture Garden at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, visual art for this writer is simple: 1) she examines it; 2) messages, filtered as they go, are sent to her brain; 3) a verdict is rendered.  As to the verdict, there are three possibilities: 1) Like it; 2) Hate it; 3) No comment.  Visual art.   Simple.


Digressing for just a moment:  Even as this is written, however, the writer has a special fondness for John Palmer’s art that transcends her usual mundane, pedestrian attitude toward this type of creativity.  Mr. Palmer’s works are charged with a special energy that incites and excites the writer in a peculiar way.  Not until John Palmer has this writer ever aspired to own an original work of visual art.  And the John Palmer effect is a great lead into a favorite of favorites – 


DO YOU LIKE MUSIC?


I do.  I more than like music.  I love music.  After Jesus, music is God’s all-time greatest gift.  It is a medium that breaks down barriers, soothes the soul in so many states of dis-ease, disarray and despair, and brings people together even when languages may keep them apart.  Music has texture, meaning, eroticism, message, expression, connotation, denotation, mood, structure, fluidity, sanctity and more.   


While my fondness of the grape and the visual arts are limited, my love for music is beyond – what?  Well, beyond.  And my affinity for various music styles touches many points on the spectrum.  Favorites can be found among most except rap and heavy metal, which, to this writer, are neither musical nor artistic, but rather bastardizing throwbacks to some dark hole of uncivilization.  


There are forms of music, and genres of music within forms.  The music world is kind of like God's creation subjected to taxonomic ranks – class, order, family, genus and species.  In the music realm folks toss around labels like gospel, sacred, classical, jazz and pop, which are very broad categories – families – within which are genera, and species.


Recently a young man was heard saying, in effect, that everything that could be done in music had already been accomplished.  Heresy!  Sacrilege!  What the young man failed to realize is that the dead end he envisions as music is indicative of his limited imagination.  The saving grace is that since our thoughts differ, as do our inhibitions (or lack thereof), our self-imposed limits are the only obstacles that keep music, and most other things, from expanding in scope and creativity.


The good thing is that even if our abilities to compose, arrange and perform music are limited to certain instruments and styles, our listening ears and minds allow us to appreciate stuff far beyond our abilities.   As a classically trained pianist who learned to compose within certain parameters, I often debate myself when a creative stroke takes me outside the box of those “rules for writing music with proper structure.”  Boo – hiss.  The galling thing is when I hear beyond-the-barriers music fraught with exquisite dissonance and think “hmpf – that’s really great,” I also wonder, "now -- why can't I do that?"  And since the breadth of my pianistic abilities was restricted by inadequate rehabilitation of broken bones and mangled muscles after a near-fatal car crash, this writer has learned to be content with her performance limitations, and yet find much joy in experiencing the gifts of others, like Daryl Robinson at his senior recital.


Daryl has been a subject of more than one blog on this site.  This old woman is simply taken with this talented young man who is a personable as he is polished and professional.  The music Daryl played was the stuff of professionals, not a student trying to fulfill requirements for an undergraduate degree.  Daryl’s program was a mix of styles, influencing evocations of such broad extremes as to send one on an emotional overload.  Aside from the mesmerizing conglomeration of sounds that made one think either 1) there is really an orchestra up there; or 2) Daryl evidently has four hands and four feet, this is how Daryl’s music touched my soul (not necessarily in this order):


Image: The betrayal, humiliation, trial, suffering, mockery, crucifixion, death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ.  Since this imagery has been treated in great detail in a previous, but recent writing, nothing more will be said here, other than it was so powerful that this writer’s body actually shuddered with sorrow -- then joy.


Image: A glade, a clearing in a wooded area with a quiet running stream of water.  A “no worries” place of calm, peace and rest.  A safe place.  A place near the heart of God.  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. . . . Blessed assurance.   It is well with my soul.  I am content.


Image:   I have wings.  And I can fly.  I am standing on that new-fangled skywalk at the Grand Canyon -- you know the one  -- with the transparent floor.   I levitate upward, and take off, soaring through the canyon.  Wow!


Image: A quite moment between a wife who entreats her husband.  The two, despite a rift between them, are destined to be together – forever:  


What I want to do with you
Is picnic in the park
I'll pack a basket of your favorite treats
Lots for you to eat
The finest, freshest, sweetest
Most luscious fruit you could ever have
A pair of firm, ripe, sweet melons
With the tartest, tastiest stems
Waiting for your lips
The biggest, blackest sweetest cherry
(It's juices ooze unceasingly at first bite)
Nestled in a pair large warm buns
Waiting for your hands
To test their freshness, 
Served on a bed of fresh cut grass
In the deepest recesses of my garden
A more fitting place to feast than a park
A place where you can go
Cast away all care
A place where the two of us
Our thirsts can quench, desires fulfill
Our love share
A place where no one else can
Come between our souls,
Nor invade our minds
Or untangle our beings
A place where I'll belong to you always.
So open the gate of my garden
And take a stroll once more
No thought of unpleasant happenings
Of times gone on before
Since you left my garden
I've kept it just for you
So come back to take what's yours
None else can have it -- just you




HAVE YOU GONE MAD?


I think not.  This writing is merely a picture of the gift one received in the presence of a brilliant organist while at his best, doing what he loves. 


Mr. Robinson offered in 60 minutes, works that, despite spanning scores and scores and scores of years, many would lump into one class of music: classical.   Forget the family, genera and species – just classical.  Few would go beyond that, just as this writer does not distinguish the grapes for Beaujolais from the grapes for Bordeaux.  Again, few would go beyond classical, just as this writer, while being able to distinguish between Monet and da Vinci, has an appreciation for both but is not thrilled by either.  That is why wine does it for some and visual art does it for others.  John Palmer excepting -- his stuff is electric.  


And that is why music does it for me.  It is the absolutely finest drug and has no harmful side effects.  It is a great therapist and is not limited to a 50-minute hour (“50" is not a typo -- 50 minutes equals one hour of therapy).  It is an ever-extending bridge between the gap of strained relationships.  It is a fine way to connect with the Almighty.  And Daryl Robinson is a masterful deliverer of the drug, the bridge and a way to Him who sits on the throne.  Sometimes, when a word of prayer cannot be uttered, a melody can be hummed.  Sometimes when thoughts are so muddled, one cannot be concisely framed, but a passage of music will serve to re-center and refocus.  And sometimes, when the mind is gone, music can bring it back, if just for a while, and with it, much joy.  


God bless Daryl, a magical, masterful, music maker.  Be in his hands, his feet and his heart.  Always.  Amen.

There is "The" God

Early this afternoon Daryl Robinson stirred hearts with an eclectic and thoughtful mix of music as only he can deliver via his primary instrument -- pipe organ.  His recital was the first in a series called "First Fridays" co-sponsored by the Sacred Heart Co-Cathedral and the University of Houston's school of music.  

The Co-Cathedral’s structure at 1111 St. Joseph Parkway is relatively new.  During its construction it was frequently highlighted by various media as the building took shape and trappings and furnishings of every secularly-dubbed sacred kind and character were brought in to adorn the place with just the right marble, just the right statuary, just the right stained glass, blah, blah, blah.  It is indeed a magnificent structure, and a haven on the south end of downtown Houston – a place that I dread frequenting because of the traffic, noise, unfriendly parking (especially if one needs an accessible [politically correct word for handicapped space]), and especially the all-too-often unfriendly, self-possessed, self-absorbed people.  I had never visited the Co-Cathedral.  I am not Catholic and have never thought of worshiping there, and I do not see it as an attraction to tour – like going to the Museum of Fine Arts (no offense to the folks who have done this).  

As the sanctuary emptied of folks who attended the 12:10 mass, those of us who came for the recital joined those who chose to stay after the mass.  I took a seat about midway -- just a few feet from what appeared to be a small, very still pool of water in a raised marble platform (which I assumed to be part of the trappings of some Catholic ritual).  The organ, it turns out, is not in a place of prominence in the front, but in the choir loft above the main entrance in the back of the sanctuary. 

Without a word, Daryl began playing at the appointed time.  Some folks turned around to see Daryl – as much as could be seen of a man of medium height sitting at the instrument ensconced in the southeast corner of the loft.  Actually, it is hard to blame them for wanting to see.  The stuff that  Daryl executes with precision, excellence and grace, is sometimes difficult for one to actually believe comes from only 10 fingers and two feet.  As the sound of the organ filled the room I sat still and closed my eyes.  My first and continuing thought was only God could make something like this happen.  

Some will ask what’s God got to do with it?  Well, ask away!  And I am happy to answer:

• God made the dirt from which He created humankind.
• God gave humankind the thoughts, dreams, will, desire and ability to design great houses of worship – even knowing that our worship will not always be in spirit and truth (and that subject will be put aside for another time).
• God gave some the technology to make what others conceived in their minds, possible to construct.
• God gave others the skills and physical stamina to do the work to make the concept as outlined on paper and electronics, tangible.
• God stirred the hearts of others to make the financial commitments that brought all of the other elements together for the finished project -- even if they did it for the tax deduction or publicity.
• God created music.  Those 12 half-tones and the infinite ways in which they have been combined for millennia have done more to soothe the hearts, minds and souls of people all over the world, and even draw people of diverse nations, ethnicities, cultures and beliefs together on common ground, even in war, than anything else and anyone else other than Jesus, the Christ Himself, the Son of the Living, Almighty God.  
• And God brought Mr. & Mrs. Robinson together; they had a son and named him Daryl.   And for most of his young life, Daryl has embraced the art and honed his skills of making beautiful music.

Daryl’s Bach piece so moved one man that at its end he emitted an involuntary, audible cry, shaking me from my solitude (yes, it was as if I was alone in that huge room, enveloped in the music of the Almighty via Daryl’s hands).  I didn't recognize the man who could barely contain himself – or so I observed  – through my own tears.  

Daryl's mastery of the pipe organ is absolutely phenomenal.  Most folks with a degree of talent even approaching that which Daryl possesses would be so stuck on themselves they wouldn't even be approachable.  I am proud and pleased to call him son -- sweetie  -- dear or whatever comes to mind -- and that regardless of how I tag him for the moment, he responds with understanding that my labels are just an expression of my affection for him, and by extension, our God who made everything possible, creating us out of love.

A suggestion to any who is in doubt about God being behind all of this:  get your own dirt and do your own thing.

May the peace of God be with you always; may His goodness and mercy ever follow you. 

July 5: Remembering Glenn Edward Burleigh

On this day, not nearly enough years ago for him to have gone from labor to reward (perhaps for him, but not for us who are left behind and miss him dearly), a musical giant was born into a family of musicians and ministers.  I am not familiar with his folks, but am blessed for having known Glenn Edward Burleigh.  And even now, when his soul is at rest, I take great joy and comfort in visiting his music often. 

As powerful as it was, Glenn's music was not for everyone.  He did not write to be a commercial success.  He did not write for the crossover market.  He did not write jingles on demand.  He wrote for the Lord, to His glory.  

There were no national headlines when Glenn passed away -- typical, as society is only shocked into mourning those whose monied lives were sensational, tawdry, messes -- while those who went about the business of living lives worthy of the breath God gave them, fade away as unsung heroes. This cannot happen on my watch, nor the watch of anyone who is blessed by the singing or hearing of works like --

• Order My Steps 
• Well, the Savior is Born 
• You Shall Be Free Indeed  
• I'm Gonna Rise 
• Just Because You're God 
• What Does All This Mean 
• You Must Be Like a Child 
• I Know 
• That My Redeemer Liveth
• Spiritual Medley Jesus Doeth 
• All Things Well 
• Agnus Dei 

or any number of the many original compositions and hymn arrangements, the notes of which were poured out of the windows of heaven and into the soul of Glenn Edward Burleigh and of which he made a record so as to be preserved for the edifying of the body of Christ, the encouragement of the souls of believers, and the hearing of the Gospel set to music so as to witness to the lost.

I have said before, and say now, that Glenn's music transcends time, generations, races, cultures, denominations, ethnicities, worship styles, and any other barrier that humankind may use to divide us.  Rather than exclusionary, Glenn used music to bring us together, to include all at the table.  We dare not let it gather dust, go unplayed or unsung.  To do so would be to slap God in His face, and tell Him we do not want and we do not appreciate His gifts.  I dare not.  How about you?