manchester

One of the people we stayed with in Manchester was a skilled photographer. She snapped an offhand photo of Catherine and me and zapped it over.

catholic

I wrote to a friend today who is a Catholic but works in a large evangelical Protestant church. Here's what I said:

I was just thinking about you, and about what it must be like for someone raised Catholic to experience something like your church.

I was actually thinking about church architecture, and how it mirrors our thoughts on worship: the great old Catholic churches have an altar front and center — a place for holy rituals and communion. But then the Protestant churches came along and replaced the altar with the pulpit — a place for preaching about the Word.

Wow, that's a really important shift, no? And that seems to sum it up completely. Protestants have tended to want to verbalize everything, and have gotten really good at talking about the faith and putting it into bullet points — and also downgrading everything that can't be put into bullet points. This is why Evangelical churches don't have a big satisfying Eucharist. (They're like the smart kid in school who's so good at math and spelling but then scoffs at all that other stuff like social skills and emotions.)

That got me to thinking about modern churches and how we've even gotten rid of the pulpit, replacing it with... the stage.

What does that say about us and what we think about worship? Not that either way is good or evil, but it can't be meaningless, right? I think the average person at your church would say that we're on a stage performing an act of worship for our Divine Audience, who looks on us with pride and joy and pleasure, whereas a hundred and fifty years ago an Evangelical person would hear that and be puzzled: who cares about us? Let's hear the Bible the Bible and only the Bible! Meanwhile, a Catholic would look at the whole thing and say, "Nice, but where's the sacred ritual, the sacrament, the communion with the Almighty?"

Hm. So my thought is that someone like you from a Catholic background might be energized by all the dynamic thoughts on spiritual things that you might not have gotten in the past, but at the same time feeling like the worship service isn't really real. And maybe frustrated that all these people who are constantly talking about the Eleven-and-a-half Principles of Success In Faith never get to the meat of the issue — our contact with inexpressible, deep mysteries of sin and sacrifice and redemption and eternity — stuff you can never really fit into any verbal form, and is maybe better expressed by rituals and symbols.

But that's just my guess. What are your thoughts?

And in the meantime, I suspect that in our computer lives we've all become Catholics. A generation ago, as Umberto Eco pointed out, you had the DOS Protestants with their emphasis on knowledge and entering verbal strings to get results, and the Mac Catholics with — literally — icons! — things that you have no understanding of but that you can interface with and embrace and enjoy and use. And the DOS people tended, just like Protestants and Evangelicals do, to think the Catholics aren't really real and don't really get it, with their images and pictures and eye-candy and the fact that they don't have to study to be a computer user. But now the battle is over, yes? Those Catholics with their computer version of stained-glass windows for the illiterate, will win every time!

This is also why the Catholic Church is so great at iconography. It's no coincidence at all that when the makers of The Matrix wanted Keanu Reeves to look bad to the bone, they dressed him as a Monsignior. (Also, has anybody's wife ever dressed up as a Lutheran schoolgirl? I think not.) Catholics have been manufacturing powerful images for centuries, precisely because of their theological thoughts on where meaning resides and how we get to it.

Anyway, back to the topic, have you ever run into a frustration or misunderstanding at your church, being a person used to the unspeakable mysteries of Catholicism, confronted with someone who expects you to verbalize stuff you may never have verbalized or may even consider impossible to?

His response was that he didn't grow up Catholic at all, but only is now to accommodate his wife and her family.

Ah well. Never mind.

paich

The Jazz Protagonists have long been fans of the jazz arranger Marty Paich. He wrote for Ella Fitzgerald, Art Pepper, Sammy Davis Jr, and Mel Torme, among others, and was known for his offbeat, agile brass charts. In particular, he quoted liberally and cleverly from bop masterpieces and pop culture, as well as throwing in obscure in-crowd references with a jazzy wink.

For a couple of years now, we've been talking about doing, as one of our weekly Protagonists Jazz Parties on KRTU, a tribute to Paich. Well, the time came last week. We decided to get together a dektet, a version of the rumbly small-big-band sound Miles Davis made popular with Birth Of The Cool. This includes, oddly, a French horn and a tuba. Darren made calls (Barry: "Where can we find a jazz French-hornist?" Darren: "No problem"), and I spent the better part of several days churning out charts. From eight o'clock Thursday morning to one o'clock Monday night I got a total of fifteen hours' sleep. Ah, but it was worth it! We got the guys together and had a really great time.

Give it a listen, and enjoy the Paich-ishness of it all. We did three songs that were pretty faithful renderings of charts that he wrote for Sammy Davis Jr and Mel Torme, but with my own tweaking here and there. And then we did our usual intro and outro tunes, the original compositions "Protag Blues" (by me) and "50-50" (by Darren), but with a Paichy treatment. I had some fun with them, giving the dektet crazy quotes from Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck, as well as Schoolhouse Rock (the killer brass lick from "Conjunction Junction"), Styx (the killer brass lick from "Nothing Ever Goes As Planned"), Rush (you'll have to keep your ears open for this one), Deep Purple ("Smoke On The Water"), and more.

Enjoy our Party With Marty.

ripping

This last weekend they had the big jazz festival here — one of the biggest in the nation. Days are for local bands (the Protags only play every couple of years, though, for some reason), and nights are for the big acts. Saturday night featured the slammin' Jane Monheit and the ¨berslammin' Arturo Sandoval, whom we enjoyed from the VIP seats, front and center. What a show.

Afterward, local guru Henry Brun had put together a blowing session at Pete's Pub, right across from the festival. Catherine and I went and enjoyed ourselves so much that I went back the next night. Saturday was traditional swingin' stuff, and Sunday was the smooth-jazz stuff, so it was Chuck Mangione and the Rippingtons, both of whom I neglected in favor of dinner with my wife. At the Pete's thing, though, I showed up just in time to relieve bassist George Prado of his burden for about twenty minutes.

This was amusing, because not many people in the scene here are aware that I even play bass at all, much less that it was my main instrument for a while and I got a bass scholarship at Baylor. So the music was fun, and the looks of surprise were fun too. I even almost did pretty well.

Pianists don't ever get to hear other pianists, because, ya know, they're playing. So this was also fun in that I got to sit right next to the guy from the Rippingtons, who'd dropped in for some fun, and hear him rip. Fine player, with really interesting ideas (we mainly stuck to Latin jazz, of course). So. I jammed with a Rippington.

dialect

Catherine's friend Cathryn studies obscure languages. A while back, she was going over someone's field notes from rural China, and discovered that, where the researchers had reported two dialects, there were actually three going on, the third being heretofore unknown.

That's right: our friend discovered a new dialect.

piano

You will not at all be surprised to find out that Catherine and I have been given a baby grand piano.

It's a 1929 Brambach, in pretty good condition. After a tuning, it sounds resonant and rich, with a nice 2k ping that gives it some real strength and clarity.

Paul Soupiset has had it in his family for years, with no place for it. They've had it on loan to various places, but they just decided to unload it, figuring that the knowledge that it will be played well and often is payment enough.

Of course, Catherine and I have the same problem that the Soups have: where to put the thing? Theoretically, it could fit in our condo, but getting it up there wouldn't be worth the trouble since we're only staying there for a few months.

Meanwhile, the lovely country chapel that just hired me was pianoless. They've had an electronic keyboard there, which is fine so far as it goes but not the real deal. So, using my excellent problem-solving skills, I had Len and Mark Hess pack up the piano (where it had been bulking up a Soupiset friend's living-room) and make the hill country journey.

The chapel is small, with hard floors and walls, so the piano sounds awfully big in there. So nice, though! My first Sunday with it was last week. The congregation liked it, too: there were several nice compliments from people who enjoyed the sight and sound of the real thing.

singing

I've always wondered what I look like when I sing. Now I know.

writing

In email, which Marshall McLuhan would call a "hot" medium, we often tend to make much of things rather than little. People tend to take things personally that aren't meant personally, take things as representative that are anomalous, take things as offensive that weren't meant to be offensive, and escalate emotions at every turn. Strunk and White's advice holds true: "Check twice to see if you've said what you intended to say; chances are you haven't."

It may be simply because of a giant cultural literacy shift. For two or three generations, the written word had given way to the spoken word, by television, movies, phones. Then, suddenly, we were plunged back into writing, except we'd lost the age-old customs of writing that we'd previously had.

The fact is that very few people are masters of the written word. Facial expressions, tones of voice, the presence of other people right around — so many cues are missing in this type of communication. It's really a wonder the whole thing hasn't flamed out.

lumps

Thursday, I noticed something like a large pimple or an insect bite on my forehead. Didn't pop: not a pimple. Very painful. Then, later that day, I noticed a lump at the hinge of my right jaw, just in front of my right earlobe. Extremely painful. Not my imagination.

It was suggested that we wait through the weekend to see what came of these things: Not me. The very next day, the very first thing, Catherine and I went to the doctor, waited , read a lot, overheard more Oprah than wanted, waited more, then showtime.

Forehead first: it's a staph infection (she thinks). It's large now and red, and beginning to get scaly. Having just seen a House in which someone with a staph infection goes into emergency-alert and almost dies just before every commercial break, I wasn't pleased. But apparently all I have to do is wash my hands every 1.5 minutes and take some pills and it goes away.

Jawlump: related to forehead. It's a swollen lymph node doing its job, which is to absorb poison from other places. In other words, it's a big swollen thing full of dangerous poison that appears in order to prevent you from getting a big swollen thing full of poison. Anyway, handwashing and pills should do the trick.

which awful boy

In Order of the Phoenix, Harry mentions "Dementors" in front of his relatives.

Vernon:'And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?'

'They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,' said Aunt Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing — but Aunt Petunia!

'How d'you know that?' he asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

'I heard — that awful boy — telling her about them — years ago,' she said jerkily.

'If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?' said Harry loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

Oho!

Brilliant storytelling, that. We all, like Harry, thought she meant James.

Again and again, Rowling excels in the artist's most mysterious skill: to seem to change the past, by changing our perceptions.

cops

Bad cops give you tickets
because they're mad at you.
Good cops give you tickets because they don't want you
to murder yourself.

cchc

This week I've begun doing something new. I'm preparing the music for services at Christ Church in the Hill Country. It started as a branch of Christ Episcopal Church, but has quickly grown to be self-sustaining, and is the model of what a church can be.

They're happy and healthy, with solid leadership, from both laity and clergy. In their services, they honor the great traditions of the Church, while pouring them into new wineskins, fresh for each day and decade. So, they observe the full Episcopal liturgy — Book of Common Prayer and all that — but it's user-friendly and easy-going. They sing the great hymns of the church, but do it in a way that speaks to the moment, while also bringing in songs of today's generations, from the folky stuff of our parents to worship songs that hit this year.

And, as of September, they have a new worship leader. While I still remain involved at TBC, I'll be at CCHC every Sunday morning, leading and playing music that I've crafted for the service at hand. Their pastor, the gentle and pitch-perfect Eric Fenton, sends me the readings for the day and his sermon topic, and says Go. I take it from there, putting my 25 years of experience to work, with blessed freedom.

This is going to be fun.

recognition

Ken Slavin's new album is released tomorrow. Both the Express and the Current have extremely kind words to say about it. Jim Beal of "Night Lights" calls Ken a "first-class singer" and "top-flight showman," and calls my production "deft." Read more.

Meanwhile, Gilbert Garcia interviews the singer and analyzes the CD in-depth. Along the way, I find out that I'm a "respected pianist/composer." Wow! Who knew? Read more.

rico

The bass player said, "So, what do you want to start with?"

I had a strange idea, remembered an offhand quote I'd made in a solo the other day, quickly thought (ii-V-I-vi-#ivø7-vii7b9-iii7-yep), and said, "How about 'Copacabana?' "

He said, "Copacabana?!"

"Yep. Follow me."

And so the first time I ever set my hand to "Copacabana" was as a snappy swing, in front of a roomful of people, one of whom chuckled.

Every single gig you play, you should play something you've never played before.

comedy

Why is it so hard to make a comedy that's funny? So many recent movies have a grim air about them. You can feel the sweat of their desperation to make five hundred million on opening weekend. That's why it's nearly impossible to get me to go to any movie with Ben Stiller, Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, or Will Farrell. They're hilarious men, but they're part of a system that can't provide hilarity reliably. At least not for an entire movie: most comedies have only just enough comedy for a preview that's three-quarters funny.

The other day we saw Liar, Liar, probably Jim Carrey's best comedy. Most people use the word "vehicle" as a deprecation. They call a movie a vehicle for an actor only when the vehicle doesn't get you there. But Liar, Liar is a true vehicle, in that it carries its star without breaking down, getting a flat tire, or straying off the road. The only real problem in it is that the moments of real emotion — love, forgiveness — that make any comedy really shine are handled here with a clumsiness we're all wearily used to, especially because not only every adult character but the movie itself talks down to children. Even with that giant stain, the movie manages to be fun.

Ahhhhh, but this weekend Catherine and I saw a comedy that was funny. Everybody knows that England has thousands of brilliant supporting actors roaming the streets, to be picked at random. America has worked hard to match this condition, Law and Order being Exhibit A, but only in the dramatic realm. Overseas, they can be hilarious seemingly without effort.

The latest proof of that is Death at a Funeral, a movie that's just as profane and scatological as America's worst, and which is also very very funny. It's just a relief to see that when the inevitable moments of reconciliation, honor, and love come forth, they're done in an organic, believable, non-overblown, unsticky way. And it's sheer pleasure to sit back and enjoy the timing — from actors and from the director, Frank Oz, and from the editor — that nears perfection. All the elements go off in a symphonically delightful wave: a pill bottle, a menacing midget, a parade of people bursting in the door one after the other.

Tons of fun. Throw some money its way.

protagging

The Jazz Protagonists just did a gig with Joan Carroll and trumpeter Logan Keese. Joan, an accomplished photographer, took some nice pics while we were swinging.

chicago

When pioneers came across this place on a giant lake on their journey west, they smelled a smell, and they heard a word. The smell came from rotting wild onions. The word, spoken in the Potawatomi language, described that smell: "Chicago."

In the 1880s, a French visitor claimed to be able to feel the smell of Chicago.

Saturday evening, after a walk down Michigan Avenue, where we looked at and tried on the latest fashions, people-watched, felt the heat, and saw the entire region from the top of the John Hancock building, and before a giant Italian dinner with dear family friends, we felt the smell as well. Except, these days, the smell was more like chocolate.

It is, in fact, chocolate. Chicago smells delicious.

trip

Greetings from lovely, and slightly hot, Grand Rapids! Catherine and I are up here as part of a thirty-first birthday trip. We'll catch a concert with Dar Williams and Over the Rhine tonight, then head to Chicago for the weekend.

We're staying in a beautiful century-old mansion in the heart of Grand Rapids' historical district. It's bright blue, with beautiful, large rooms, creaky floors, high ceilings, and intelligent, fun-loving hosts. Last night we went out to Lake Michigan to see a slightly dorky but fun light-fountain show, and took a walk on the dark dark beach. Good food, new friends, and exploring a part of the country neither of us has seen.

homes

Suppose you met a new member of your church, and they said this:

"I walked in here the first day, and it just felt like my home. I knew this was where God wanted me."

What would you say in response? What if you said this:

"Hm, why didn't you choose Church of the Redeemer? It's perfectly wonderful, and the people are just as nice there as they are here, and their ministries are excellent. Honestly, it's a bit immature of you to place such emphasis on which church you're in. Spiritual milk, that. I'd like to think that I could serve anywhere."

Would you say that? What would you think of a person who did? (Beyond, of course, asking them why they chose this place instead of Church of the Redeemer.) Probably what you'd say is more something like this:

"Wow! That's fantastic! We've been waiting for you here, and it's obvious that the Lord has work for you here. I'm so glad you followed your heart."

Now. What if that person said this:

"This isn't family for me. The people here are wonderful and friendly, and they're doing great things for the Kingdom, but I've just never felt like this was my home."

My hope is that you'd say:

"Well, get out there and find them! I know that God has work for you to do, and a place for you to do it. Blessings to you!"

newCD

It's finally happening. After months of planning, rerecording, and polishing, Ken Slavin is putting out his new CD, which I produced.

I've described the project in detail before, and there are even some clips of the music to listen to.

So, mark your calendar for Monday, August 27th, from 6 to 9 pm, at the El Tropicano, the perfect venue for this party. There'll be cocktails, free appetizers, a concert, and a meet-and-greet afterwards.