Music

From the Chief Musician to the String Player (on Psalm 61)

Steve · July 30, 2011 · 2 Comments

This morning I came across a poem I wrote a few years ago in response to an act of friendship and concern on the part of a friend. I tweaked and tidied it up a bit (are poems ever really finished?) and maybe it will help someone today like his gesture helped me back then. Say thanks to a friend today for the small gifts of kind words and simple faith. Thanks, Ghost.

Detail from Marc Chagall's "America Window" at the Art Institute of Chicago. Photo by Steve Givens.

Yesterday a friend sensed in my distracted voice

over the phone

sadness and confusion

and sent a Psalm

number 61

written for the Chief Musician

(an inside joke)

and for a stringed instrument

(a shared love).

The Spirit of a Piece of Land: Nearer My God to Thee

Steve · October 31, 2010 · 2 Comments

Sue and I own a sloping patch of land in central Missouri where we have a small, 50-year-old weekend cabin on the shore of the Lake of the Ozarks, a sprawling, man-made, spider of a body of water, created by the damming of the Osage River back in 1931 and dotted now with houses and jet skis. But it’s a nice quiet getaway, especially this time of year, when the crowds and most of the loud boats have disappeared for the season. It’s our favorite time of year.

The dam created one of the Midwest’s favorite (and most beautiful!) summer playgrounds, but it no doubt took with it the history and culture of those who lived here before, and I do think of that often. What exactly was right here on our little plot before the dam I cannot say. Maybe just a shady corner of a majestic and ancient forest akin to that which still exists as you move in all directions away from the lake, but perhaps more. Maybe someone’s home, someone’s church, someone’s grave.

And before then? Before the coming of the white man? Perhaps where I sit right now typing on my laptop a young tough-skinned Osage Indian crouched in his very first hunt, his bow drawn and his eyes locked on a 16-point buck making its way gingerly through the trees to drink from a sliver of a stream.

The point is this: We don’t really own the land. We are given the blessing of calling bits and pieces of it “home” for a while, but it belongs to the creator and to the lives of all who have touched it and worked it and walked it over the years.

Tim Grimm performing at our house concert series. Photo by Fred Volkmann.

First Week of Lent: Praying Naked

Steve · February 20, 2010 · 3 Comments

IMG_3177_3 — Detail of Stradivarius cello, photo by Steve Givens

I went to a concert at Maryville University last Monday, two days before Ash Wednesday, for a cello recital by Daniel Lee, the principal cellist with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. He played four pieces, the first three accompanied by a faculty member, pianist Peter Henderson. Those three sonatas, by Schubert, Debussy and Brahms, were beautiful and moving. The cello and piano intertwined in movements that were, in turn, playful, dark, moody, dramatic, contemplative and searching. I was drawn to the (perhaps obvious) metaphor of the movement of God in our lives, how he “accompanies” and supports and brings to life our own actions and efforts.

And then something even more remarkable happened. Lee came out after the intermission for the final piece, “Sonata for Violoncello Solo, op. 8” by Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály. It was not a work with which I was familiar. The essential word in the title, of course, is “solo.” He came out without an accompanist and without music and played for what must have been 30-40 minutes, the music pouring forth from him and his 300-year-old instrument like a flowing, erratic, mesmerizing fountain of original creativity and, at least for me, prayer.

If you don’t like the culture, make your own…

Steve · January 30, 2010 · 2 Comments

Me, emceeing a house concert, photo by Fred Volkmann

I awoke this morning with this thought swimming through my head. It’s not my original thought and I don’t know who said it first, but it’s an appropriate one for this weekend. Here’s why.

Tomorrow night is the Grammy Awards — that annual celebration that has become unequal parts glitter, popular taste and, and to some extent anyway, excellence in the musical arts. I grew up watching the show, dreaming someday that I might own my own little golden gramophone. Hasn’t happened yet.

My Soundtrack: Bright Eyes

Steve · January 4, 2010 · 4 Comments

[an occasional series of essays about life, spirit, and the music that makes up the soundtrack of my life]

Bright Eyes in Nicaragua. Photo by Steve Givens, 2009

Bright eyes, burning like fire.
Bright eyes, how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

—Mike Batt, recorded by Art Garfunkel

Not long ago on an oldies station, I once again heard this beautiful ballad, which was originally written by British songwriter Mike Batt and recorded by Art Garfunkel for the 1978 animated movie, “Watership Down,” the movie that taught us all how incredibly brutal cute little bunny rabbits can be to each other. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, go rent the movie or, better yet, go read Richard Adams’ novel upon which the movie was based. Good stuff. Not really for kids.

Anyway…short story very long…the song just got me thinking about what it means to be kind and supportive to one another (unlike the bunnies) and how important it is to have bright eyes. Follow me…

Novelist Toni Morrison (“Beloved,” “Song of Solomon,” “Jazz”) was once asked how she became a great writer. She responded, “I am a great writer because when I was a little girl and walked into a room where my father was sitting, his eyes would light up. That is why I am a great writer.”

Are you with me? People become great—they have the confidence to do great things—because they know they are loved and accepted by the people that mean the most to them. We can see it in their eyes. What a great lesson in parenting and friendship.

There is perhaps no greater gift that we can give our children and our friends than our attention and our joy at seeing them and relishing in their dreams and achievements. They need to see our eyes sparkle when they enter a room. We enable and encourage others to seek after greatness by letting them know that we believe they can accomplish whatever it is they hold to be important. Never underestimate the power you possess to help others by just valuing them.

So smile at someone you love and cherish today. Let them know by your words and your bright eyes that you honor and value them. Ask them about their life, their dreams, and their plans for the future. Let them talk. Don’t talk about yourself (I always need to remember that…) And smile — bright-eyed and burning like fire. There’s just not enough of that going around.