Roses and Hope / a work in progress

Distracted

2011-11-15T15:50:00.000-08:00

Roses and Hope is not dead, only sleeping. Well, not actually sleeping--more like standing wide-eyed with abated breath, wondering if it will live or die. It will live. I just got distracted by the temporary un-tabernacling of my wife. She's back now, and of course there's a song.

If you leave me, wait 'til tomorrow.
It's not easy to watch you fly.
Maybe the light of dawn
will fall upon the tears I try to hide,
and you might stay
and we won't say goodbye.

If you leave me, wait 'til November.
That's the season when the beauties fall.
Maybe that autumn wind
will chill your skin, and my arms might be your shawls,
and warm with me,
you might not leave at all.

If you love me, wait 'til forever,
and Heaven's breezes kiss your faithful eyes.
After the pain is gone
we'll travel on, your wings entwined with mine--
and still in love, we'll rise above the skies.

My Heart's in the Highlands

2011-08-25T12:16:00.000-07:00

I'm playing in a Celtic band called "Annie's Romance." With any luck, I'll get them on the Roses and Hope CD. All these pipes and whistles have put me in a Celtic mood. There is a deeply beloved song called "My Heart's In the HIghlands," written by Robert Burns in 1789. It's sung to many different tunes--I heard one this morning all on one note. (It was one of the less interesting interpretations.) The words open with "My heart's in the highlands. My heart is not here. My heart's in the highlands, a-chasin' the deer." My eleven-year-old daughter Caitlin brought this piece home from her children's choir and we were both so intrigued with that imagery that we let our creative spirits run wild.

My heart's in the highlands
where breezes are pure.
My kidneys are wandrin'
out over the moor.

My heart's in the highlands
and raisin' a fuss,
last seen on the high road
a-chasin' a bus.

So you take the high road
and I'll take the lower.
My heart's in the highlands--
I miss it so sore.

My heart's in the highlands,
my ears are in Spain.
I'll never see all of
my pieces again.

My heart's in the highlands,
my teeth are in Rome.
I long to have all of
my body parts home.

So you take the high road
and I'll take the lower.
My heart's in the highlands--
I miss it so sore.

Unlike Robert Burns, I've never actually been to the highlands of Scotland. Two years before he penned his impulsive and passionate words, he finally went there and stayed a whole month.

Should I put in on the CD?

More Feathers (poem becomes lyric)

2011-08-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to get this Emily Dickinson "Feathers" poem out of my head. In an earlier post I contrasted her confidence with my caution, but what she says rings so true that I have to include it on the CD. I guess we can feel differently about hope on different days--let the listener choose. The poem is clean, spare, and potent. But it doesn't sing so well (or, at least, I can't sing it well). At first I was hesitant to mess with a single syllable, but then took the plunge. It will be credited as "recklessly adapted from Emily Dickinson."

For anybody who might take an interest in the process, here's how it went. First, the poem:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--but not the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard,
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity
It asked a crumb of me.

The meaning is perfectly clear at the first reading--the complexity is in the layers of feelings, choices, and implications. But it's not so clear at first hearing, especially when there's the distraction of music. One of my weaknesses as a songwriter is that I get caught up in the poetry of what I write and easily slip-slide away from the requirement to communicate immediately and directly. I don't remember who said "A lyric should be a letter, not a poem," but I think they're right. (It can be a poetic letter).

I'd be hard-pressed to find a single flaw in Miss Dickinson's poem, but here are a couple of challenges it presents as lyric. The opening line is rhythmically irregular, not like other lines. It ends in what they call "a feminine foot," in that the last syllable is the unstressed one. Every other line ends in "a masculine foot." The last syllable is the stressed one. This poetic unit, two syllables with the second syllable stressed, is also called an "iamb" and is characteristic of most of the lines that Shakespeare wrote. "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." It feels real natural in English. I think Dickinson wrote her first line irregularly on purpose, in order to say "Okay, this notion is a little strange, but is the central image of this thought, so stick with me." (Also, she usually gets a lot of music out of variations both in rhythm and rhyme.)

['Scuse me for a minute--I have to get an impossible dress onto a doll. Or maybe the doll is impossible. Anyway, the combination is near enough to impossible... Back again.]

So I had to "regularize" the first line. I wound up with

Hope has wings. Self-assured,
it perches in the soul...

"Self-assured" was for two reasons, to regulate the line and to rhyme with "words" coming up. Trouble was, I'd chosen to set this to the tune of Dvorak's Largo from the New World Symphony ("Goin' Home," the funeral song) and the second set of three syllables had to be as strong as the first. "Self-assured" is a little clunky--therefore weak. Well, I had this new "wings" element. In the third line I had a "sings," albeit in the wrong place. So, recklessly adapting away, I got this stanza:

Hope has wings, feathered things.
It perches in the soul
and never words, but music sings,
and never stops at all.

Dickinson's third line is clearer than this adaptation, but I had to have the rhyme.

In the second stanza, I thought I ought to find a more accessible word than "abash" (which I love in the poem).

Sweetest in the gale it's heard,
and sore must be the storm
that might dismay this little bird
that kept so many warm.

("Might" sings more clearly than "could" and I reckoned it was close enough in meaning.)

"In extremity" is too much to ask a modern listener to grab on the way by. Addressing that challenge involved a new rhyme and some re-ordering of the last line.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
yet starving, it would not demand
a single crumb of me.

The poet ended her piece right there. I had to reprise some of the language, just to have enough for a song. Also, this bird began being literal enough to me to have a gender. So here's the lyric as it stands. Hear it to the "Goin' Home" tune, but in a much quicker 6/8 (much too lively for a funeral).

Hope has wings, feathered things.

She perches in the soul.

She has no words--still she sings,

and never stops at all.

Sweetest in the gale she's heard,

and sore must be the storm

that might dismay this little bird

that's kept so many warm.

I've heard her in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
yet starving, she would not demand
a single crumb of me.

Hope has wings, feathered things. She perches in the soul.

She has no words--still she sings, and never stops at all.

(Instrumental Bridge)

I've heard her in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
yet starving, she would not demand
a single crumb of me.

Sweetest in the gale she’s heard, and sore must be the storm
that might dismay this little bird that’s kept so many warm--

this faithful friend, this little bird that’s kept so many warm.

All of Dickinson's choices are right. I hope some of mine are. It's heady company.

Singing the Songs

2011-08-18T11:53:00.000-07:00

I realized a couple of days ago that spending time with these songs, whether writing, rehearsing, or sharing them, is nourishing my spirit. I've been "dumb as a hammer" during much of the process, but now I get to see and enjoy what's been getting pounded into shape. The creative work continues--nearly all the lyrics below have been tinkered with, and the musical forms are still fluid.

Friends and fans around the country (all the fans are friends) have been discussing the songs with me, and all they have is the words! They've been comparing, exploring, expressing appreciation and anticipation and support. That's felt good.

Now I'm stuck in the mode of the work in which I'm less confident, the fundraising. But there have been some sweet moments. Last night I sang about half these songs to a kind family whose support I was was courting. In the shade of their pines, in view of the Alpine mountains, with their newly born goats bleating on the hillside, I found myself thinking, "Wait! This isn't about gathering bucks to enable sharing these songs--this is sharing these songs!" As always, while the music is going I forget about the paycheck. Still, I'm several thousand dollars away from being able to share these songs on a wide scale. About seven. Thousand dollars.

I have a rehearsal tomorrow morning with my sons. We haven't been together for several weeks because one of them's been touring the West with one of his bands and the other had an extended gig in France. These were the weeks when most of this stuff was written. I'm excited to pass out some music and see what they bring to the songs.

What You Want

2011-07-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

Can't turn it off. I posted the previous piece and meant to go to sleep. Instead, the following came, driven by the final scene in the play "The Trail of Dreams." It took us two-and-a-half hours and twenty actors to say it there--let's see if one guy can get it down to three minutes.

THE ANSWER

If you want love, you’ll get love.

If you want peace, you’ll get peace.

If you want children to cherish and dance with,

you’ll get all you can hold of these--

all you can hold of these.

If you want truth, you’ll get truth.

If you want friends, you’ll get friends.

If you want music as wild as the wind blows,

you’ll get songs that will never end--

songs that will never end.

And when they ask you what you want,

and you struggle to reply,

it makes no dif’rence what you say,

we have answered with our lives.

If you want sun, you’ll get sun.

If you want shade, you’ll get shade.

If you would sleep in the hills of the westlands,

you will rest and not be afraid--

rest and not be afraid.

If you want sand, you’ll get sand.

If you want sea, you’ll get sea.

You’ll get oceans of azure and greenglow,

and you’ll swim there, forever free--

you’ll swim forever free.

And when they ask you what you want,

and you struggle to reply,

it makes no dif’rence what you say,

we have answered with our lives.

If you want love, you'll get love.
If you want peace, you'll get peace.
If you want children to cherish and dance with,
you'll get all you can hold of these--
all you can hold of these.

Feathers

2011-07-28T14:55:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the porch of the cabin with a bad cold (I have the cold, the cabin is fine). Just refining lyrics and practicing the songs (whisperingly), working with *song order both for the CD and for presentation. Firing off emails and facebook messages to both committed and potential supporters of this project. Thinking about hope. In my Celtic descant of a few days ago, I painted hope as fragile. Today I've reviewed what Emily Dickinson had to say about hope:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Tough little bird. Tougher than my hope, it seems. Maybe it's just the cold getting me down. Mostly I love the third line.

My Peace Mountain Mediaworks partners (Roger & Melanie Hoffman and Steven Kapp Perry, the Scripture Scouts crew) and I are wrapping up a presentation for second-graders to perform. Melanie wrote a lovely song, below, and I just wrote Roger to ask him if he would send me over an MP3. I want to play it through on guitar (it was written on piano) and see if it fits into Roses and Hope.

There’s so much to do, so much to know.

Please share your light so I can grow.

Then I will find my way to go,

If you’re there.

When I make mistakes, please try to see

Who I really am when you look at me.

There’s so much that I can be,

If you’re there.

I need someone strong. I need you

to believe in me

and stand by my side as I make my dreams come true.

Thank you for all the things you do

That help me know I matter to you.

I can always make it through,

If you’re there.

I need someone strong. I need you

to believe in me

and stand by my side as I make my dreams come true.

And I’ll stand by your side. I’ll be with you.

Together we all can make our dreams come true.

*Here's the order as it stands. The titles in green are the entirely new songs.

Mother of Oceans

The Woman and the Moon

I Want To Be Near

Tender Mercies

Dumb As a Hammer

Hope, Like Smoke (centuries-old accompaniment)

I Want To Go With You

Take the Mountain Down (new verse)

Something Like a Rose

Into Your Heart

Roses and Hope

If You’re There

A Once Broken Love

I have some more hymns worked up for guitar. I think I’ll include them as “hidden tracks” on the CD--tracks that aren’t listed in the packaging, but which show up about ten seconds of silence following the last listed song. I have some hymns worked up for guitar. I think I’ll include them as “hidden tracks” on the CD--tracks that aren’t listed in the packaging, but which show up after about ten seconds of silence following the last listed song.

That's not always a good idea. Three CDs ago, I played some hymns on guitar for Steve Perry. He liked them a lot and told me I should record them. So I made “Front Porch Hymns and Humns.” But the humns wound up outnumbering the hymns, and I’d added vocals to the hymns I had, so I put in the straight unsung guitar performances as hidden tracks. A couple of years later, I asked Steve if he was enjoying the guitar hymns. He said, “What guitar hymns?” When I first gave him the CD, he’d immediately loaded the tracks he could see into his ipod and put the CD on a shelf. He’d never been aware of the music he’d asked me for! Now he is and, perhaps to atone, he’s playing them on the radio pretty regularly.

All the above could change, and probably will. But not until I’m over my cold. And when I'm over my cold, I'll figure out why these paragraphs look so funny.

Promised Love Song

2011-07-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write a love song--I told you that. The theme of this project took me to Robert Burns' "My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose." Bob Dylan said once that Burns' lyric shaped Dylan's life more than any other song. I couldn't write that lyric. I wrote this one. This morning. The music feels kind of Celtic.

My love is only something like a rose.
My love is quite unlike the ones I've ever tried to grow.
They flamed and hung like treasure in my childhood,
then fell apart like autumn on the snow.

My love is only something like a rose,
only just a little like the ones my childhood knew.
They kissed me with their color, sweet and sultry,
then they flew in pieces when the dry wind blew.

   Something like those roses, but much sweeter,
   something so much lovelier than those,
   something like a rose but so much deeper,
   my love is only something like a rose.

She smiles more like a diamond than a rose.
She blooms in ev'ry season of my wild and windy life.
Her pages, soft and warm, unfold forever
from the never-ending center of my wife.

Something like those roses, but much sweeter,

something so much lovelier than those,

something like a rose but so much deeper,

my love is only something like a rose.

A Little Nuts

2011-07-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

In every hour I can find, I've been sneaking off with my D-18 and a book of music manuscript paper and working on songs for "Roses and Hope." I'm a little nuts about this project--there's even a tinge of desperation to it. I feel like I have to get it done before something stops me. A week ago I asked a good and generous friend if he was willing to be a patron of the arts again. (Public interest in this thing needs to reach a "tipping point" soon for the project to go forward.) He asked me to get back to him in a few days. I've had some trouble getting through, and don't have an answer yet.

This is the "nuts" part: I actually put it off some, thinking I first needed to finish writing the songs I'd started, because if he and his wife were unwilling or unable to help, I might lose heart. Still, with no answer, I knew yesterday afternoon that I have to write a wonderful love song, and woke up today knowing the imagery and how the song should feel.

A Little Day Left

2011-07-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

The sun is sinking, but there's a little day left. When Steven Kapp Perry and I wrote the musical "Take the Mountain Down" in 2007 (a bluegrass treatment of the parable of the Prodigal Son), the title song was just a chorus. It felt like a full song on stage, because it was sung first, slowly and with just guitar, by the father (me), and then the tempo gradually picked up and the prodigal son (Sam Payne) joined on a repeat of the chorus. And it's a long chorus. But even then I wanted there to be a verse someday. It's time.

I'll type the chorus here, and then this evening's verse.

Let me take the mountain down

that stands between your heart and mine.

Let me shake it to the ground

and let our lives in love entwine.

Oh wrap the sweet forgiveness 'round

about your worn and weary bones.

Let me take the mountain down

and have my lost lamb safe at home.

Verse:

The Spirit grows like a cloud over the plain,

then the rain it falls on down on hard, hard ground.

The Spirit glows like a moon over my pain

and, like the grain, it sways around and around and around.

The Spirit shouts like a beacon on the hill,

like a million colors rising in the sky.

I have to laugh as the Spirit tears apart

all the gray that filled my heart on the day you said goodbye.

(I think I'd better quit now and move the hose and play with my kids. It's been a long day, and I don't know if more than three blog posts a day are allowed.)

Stealing From a Blind Harpist

2011-07-21T14:01:00.000-07:00

This is a busy Roses and Hope day.

I play once a week with a Celtic band called Annie's Romance. We've had a couple of gigs and there are a few more popping up on the calendar. Rob Macdonald plays authentic pipes, whistles, and banjo, Annie Rosevear plays blazing flute and occasional whistle, Liz Manwaring plays tasty fiddle, and I thump along on the guitar, trying to keep up. It is so fun.

One of the tunes Rob handed out to us is "O'Carolan's Welcome." Turlough O'Carolan was a blind Irish harpist who composed in the early and mid-seventeen hundreds, and he wrote melodies to break your heart. I used one on my Christmas CD "By the Virgin Born" as a setting for a "Joseph's Lullaby."

I'm robbing from the well again. This afternoon I want to come up with a kind of descant lyric to lay over the top of Annie's Romance playing "O'Carolan's Welcome." So here goes:

Hope, like smoke, scatters wild on the wind,
a scent on the breath of the evening.
Hope, like smoke, will arise, dance, and spin,
die away then and leave me a-grieving.

Welcome me home. Bring me out of the night,
out of stirrings and struggles and striving.
Welcome me home. Let us cherish the light--
warm our hands 'round a hope hushed and thriving.

Writing a Verse

2011-07-21T11:39:00.000-07:00

"Dumb As a Hammer" needs at least one more short verse. Thought I might as well work on it here as in Word.

Waiting for a meeting of playwrights, director, and stage manager yesterday afternoon at BYU, I had a minute to think in the sculpture garden just south of the Museum of Art and came up with an "arrow" image.

Make me blind as an arrow ~~from your bow. (string?)~~ on your string.
~~Make me smooth, swift, and simple--like a sparrow, let me sing. (Do they?)~~
Make me true, smooth, and simple--like an arrow, let me sing.
Let me fly through the heart of (?) from/with your fingers on the string.
...let me sing
through the sky, blind and eager for the sting. (strong. too strong?) Sings good!
bring / king / three-syllable "ing" like happening (obedience word or rejoicing word)

Make me blind as an arrow on your string.
Make me true, smooth, and simple--like an arrow, let me sing
Through the sky, blind and eager for the sting.

["Sharp" might be easier to take than "blind." But "blind" is closer to "dumb," and that's the desire.]

Will the violence of the verses be mitigated or qualified by the Isaiah's peace imagery in the chorus? I need to sing this for somebody. Blogmate, what do you think?

A Little More Mother

2011-07-18T16:29:00.000-07:00

It's a great day on the porch, spitting cherry seeds almost to the feet of the quaking aspens, feeling the warm breath of July. A few years ago the kids and I got our mom a cherry orchard for Mother's Day. Actually, it's three trees, and this year the branches are so heavy with cherries that there are enough for us and the robins, too.

A number of things have interrupted the flow of this work--mainly teaching a Broadway camp to kids ("Broadway" is a magic word. It sells things. I'm not sure we mentioned that particular strip of asphalt during the week of instruction, but it brought in the kids, and we were all happy to be together--wonderful kids, some astonishing talent). This is the first work day after it all. And this is the balance (maybe the final) of the "Mother of Oceans" song below.

Mother of oceans, Mother of clouds,
Mother of mountains, awesome and proud,
Mother of thunder, Mother of rain,
Mother of hope and the song in the grain,

Mother of oceans, Mother of stones,
Mother of tempests pounding my bones,
Mother of sages, Mother of plains,
Mother of peace and the Mother of pain,

   Spinning in faith like your sister Moon,
   Turning your face to the grace of stars,
   Spinning away through the wars and rages,
   Faithful to the Rock of Ages,

Mother of eagles, Mother of mice,
Mother of geysers, Mother of ice,
Mother of liars and innocent men,
Dance through the fire and spin once again.

It's a sentence! I didn't think it was going to be. Let me see what I can do with "Dumb As a Hammer."

Dumb As A Hammer

2011-07-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

Here's yesterday's journal entry and where it's leading:

10 July 2011

Sang "Tender Mercies" in church today. I only know I got through it without major mishap. Beyond that, I have no idea how it went. Performing in sacrament meeting is different than any other venue. I just try to get out of the way--and being out of the way, I'm barely involved. It's just like when I'm unable to remember the content of a priesthood blessing I've just given. I'm dumb as a hammer. (The bishop tells me the Spirit was there--he could tell because the children all got quiet.)

What happened during the next two classes (with a little help from my friends Daniel and Isaiah, and with apologies to the teachers who thought I was taking notes on their lessons):

Make me dumb as a hammer in your hand.
Swing me wide, swing me sure.
Pound the kingdoms into sand.
Make me dumb as a hammer in your hand.

Make me light as a fire in your eye.
Make me light as a feather
on your wing against the sky,
light as flame in the furnace of your eye.

   I am a sword. Beat me flat
   into a blade to plow the ground.
   I am a spear. Bend my head
   to prune the barren branches down.
   I am a saw. Break my teeth
   against the idols in the land.
   Make me dumb as a hammer in your hand.

Patriotic Departure

2011-07-03T19:08:00.000-07:00

This song will only maybe be included in "Roses And Hope." It's got some hope in it. If it goes on, it'll be a new recording from the ground up. We'll see. But since tomorrow is the Fourth of July, here are the two versions that have been released already. The first is a studio version from the album "Front Porch Hymns & Humns," and the second is from a live concert with my sons a year ago at the University of Utah, captured on a CD called "5/10." Use headphones for both. Have fun comparing. Have fun having freedom.

I pledge allegiance to the sage and the columbine,
the ancient twisted pine against the sky.
I pledge allegiance to the colors in the wind,
the colors in our skin and the hopes that rise
in the soul of America.

I pledge allegiance to the maker of the land,
the shaper of the sand on the canyon rim.
I pledge allegiance to the rivers deep with dreams,
the silver singing streams--they sing for him
the song of America.

   We are on holy ground, we are the children of the dream.
   We are the ones who can make it all come true.
   We are on holy ground, and the lord of all we see
   has chosen me, and he's chosen you.

I pledge allegiance to the death of honest men
whose breath flows on again through the autumn field.
I pledge allegiance in these wild and wasteful years
to the child who breaks in tears and humbly kneels
in the soil of America.

We are on holy ground, we are the children of the dream.

We are the ones who can make it all come true.

We are on holy ground, and the lord of all we see

has chosen me, and he's chosen you.

He's calling me, and he's calling you.

He's watching me, and he's watching you.

Mother of Oceans

2011-07-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

Had a great time last night playing Celtic music with "Annie's Romance" at the Freedom Festival in Provo. It was our first gig and people had fun. I pounded away on my D-18 like I meant it.

In my first post here, I threatened a song for "Mother Earth." Here's the begining. It's probably a verse, although the first image will certainly recur frequently in the chorus.

Mother of oceans, mother of skies,
Mother of mountains enticing my eyes,
Mother of thunder, Mother of rain,
Mother of hope and the song in the grain.

It will be a big "stomp-clap" song, not unlike "We will, we will rock you." About that tempo (maybe a little faster), with a heavy back-beat, but not so much in your face. Also, it will actually say something (even if that first verse doesn't contain a complete sentence).

With the ever-hovering need to create a living out of music (ain't easy) and the tenacious recession and the violence in the Middle East and the towering challenge to us all to be "lights unto the world," I gotta admit that the subject that actually quickens my pulse in these days is guitar picks. They all make your guitar sound different, sometimes radically different, depending on weight, shape, bevel, material--stuff like that.

For a hundred years, I just bought handfuls of Fender mediums. Then I went with bare hands for about a decade, and now I'm back into picks--mainly because I have these totally weak fingernails, which I variously reinforce with fake nails, muslin saturated in krazyglue, or just coats of krazyglue. I've tried about everything. It's why my screen name on guitar forums is "frailnail." (Also because the banjo style I play is called "frailing.")

So now I have picks made of shell, stone, ebony, rosewood, palo santo (holy wood), and a plethora of man-made materials (tortex, ultex, lexan, nylon). I'm feeling pretty happy with picks made by the Jim Dunlop company out of what they call "tortex." They're called "Gator Grip" in a thickness of 1.5 mil. (Although just now, checking the material to get it right for you, I saw on their web site that they have 2.0 mil., and that's my next purchase.) What I'm after is whatever will give me the most guitar sound and the least pick sound. In the last few weeks, I've dipped the top half of whatever picks I've liked in "Liquid Rubber," stuff that's really made for dipping the handles of pliers and other tools. It makes for a better grip.

Anna Rasmussen at the Dunlop factory sent me an assortment of about twenty different kinds of picks to compare, so my heart is softened toward their work. Hey, I'm on the Internet. I'm gonna buy some picks and finish this song!

A Nice Surprise

2011-06-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

My ten-year-old son, John, and my thirteen-year-old daughter, Caitlin, like "Tender tapestries" better. They found in the image a wider range of meanings than in the more specific "Prayers and promises." Simple is good. So let the rest of the song be simple. Let "Tender tapestries" invite a little thought.

Liddle fiddle

2011-06-20T21:05:00.000-07:00

This may seem very small, but it's the kind of detail that commands a lot of attention in the writer's mind. Variant choruses, maybe four fully written, have been fighting for a place in this song. This morning I woke up feeling settled on one of them. Then, on a quick drive, somewhere near Third North in American Fork on my way to teach a Shakespeare class to some kids, a simple image change felt right.

Old:

"Tender mercies cover me,

cloth of covenant over me.

Tender tapestries Jesus wove

hang like holiness in the grove."

New:

"Tender mercies cover me,
cloth of covenant over me.
Prayers and promises Jesus wove
hang like holiness in the grove."

I lost "Tender tapestries" in favor of "Prayers and promises." Not as exotic and demanding, but maybe a little more clear. Does anybody have a preference? What kind of thoughts were stirred by "Tender tapestries"? What kind with "Prayers and promises"? Or do we just want something we can dance to? No kidding, I appreciate your thoughts. In a few days I'll post some music. That might make it easier. Thanks!

Pregnant With CD

2011-06-17T21:30:00.000-07:00

Thanks for being here. This is pretty simple, really. I thought it'd be fun to have a blog that tracks the birth and progress of a new CD called "Roses and Hope." For a lot of years I've been writing songs and releasing what we used to call "albums" (the first nine were on 12-inch vinyl LPs). I've written bundles of songs that have never shown up on Marvin Payne albums, mostly songs written for the theatre and for children's fantasy adventures. But fifteen of those collections were unleashed on the world as plain ol' singer/songwriter albums under my name. The last was a live concert of older songs recorded in May of 2010 (with our amps cranked up all the way) at the University of Utah, but it's been about three years since I made a studio CD. (Click on these words for a look, if you'd like.) It's time. So the story begins.

Had I started this blog on the day this new CD was conceived, you would be reading...

15 May 2011

"Last night I played 'The Woman and the Moon' at a big party. April Moriarty (wonderpassion violinist who also played there) said I make guitar music that she just wants to be inside of. She hears hope there. She wants me to make a CD that will bring hope to people. Maybe I will."

Still no blog, but...

24 May 2011

"Today I finished three songs I've been writing for a couple of days, one for young Widow McDowell to sing in the play called 'The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey,' a snazzy jazzy opener for our show for second-graders called 'The Astonishing Truth About Fred,' and the title song for what I hope will be a new CD called 'Roses and Hope.' I like writing days. They're hard work. I'm tired."

Two weeks closer...

8 June 2011

"I played guitar today to accompany a song written by a remarkable young woman named Julie Harman, who was singing at the funeral of her sweetheart who was killed in a plane crash. The kindness and light and celebration of the guy's good life was like a meal of joy--a tender mercy. There's an old folk song called 'None Can Preach the Gospel Like the Mormons Do.' Well, none can make D-18 guitars like the Martins do. That's something to celebrate, too. It was so beautiful driving back from Draper over the ridge that I started writing a song for Mother Earth."

On the very brink of blog day (the suspense builds)...

12 June 2011

"I'm in church, listening to Britt Jenkins's gratitude for the 'tender feelings' of the Lord whispering to her 'You can do better.' It reminds me that His rod and staff are to 'comfort' me. I'm writing a song about tender mercies. I invented a tune for it as I drove up to Salt Lake on Friday morning to jam with my astounding sons Dave and Josh in the 'old man and his sons' band. When I got to Dave's house, he gave me a sheet of music paper and I wrote it down. When Joshua got there we played it through. It's a nice tune, like a lullaby, like a hymn--really simple, suited to the title phrase. Maybe the words need to be about rods, staffs, and confident corrections.

"There is hope. What does that mean?"

And finally, today, (drum roll) The Birth of the Blog.

I guess there are a couple of things I can write. Last Tuesday morning Dave brought his stand-up bass and Joshua brought his glorious archtop guitar into the studio and they added their colors to the basic guitar and vocal of "Roses and Hope" that I'd recorded in the very early hours. Dave played some nice growly lines with his bow, stuff he doesn't get to do in most of his myriad bands. Joshua, who you can usually find fronting a bunch of jazz guys in the Salt Lake Grand Hotel or in prominent alleys at midnight when the weather's good, has this earthy and organic habit of singing as he plays--he might've picked it up playing banjo in the subways of New York, thinking he had to be louder. He doesn't sing melodies, but just primeval wordless moanings of the unutterable passions that drive the music (you sort of have to be there). So he played the whole session with a credit card between his teeth, to remind himself that the plan this time around was for his dad to be the singer. I mixed it into the night and then fiddled with again the next morning with fresh ears. Here's the current state of the mix (probably pretty much how it'll sound when released). Um, click on the colored words.

This morning the three of us got together again at Dave's and I passed around a rough-hewn lead sheet (with lyrics written yesterday) for "Tender Mercies." We worked out an arrangement, like where Joshua's solo should go (guitar, not primeval wordless moanings), what turnarounds (or not) should bookend it, when Dave should reach for his bow, which verse should pull back into a more introspective mood, finding and noting a tempo that pulses and breathes, stuff like that. My original of the lead sheet was in pencil (the sheet of Dave's that I started last week), and as we worked I switched out a few words that I found easier to sing--also that I thought would be easier to hear, because, after Laurie (my wife), these guys were my first audience for this lyric.

Part of what moved me to write this song was the feeling I always get when I hear somebody's mom or a kid from across town or the Tabernacle Choir sing "Consider the Lilies," written so eloquently by my frequent creative partner of many decades, Roger Hoffman. The beauty always gets me, but I'm also touched by the profound usefulness of that piece. "Tender Mercies" is a different flavor than "Lilies," but it'll be singable in church. I should get Roger to arrange it for piano--our bluesy guitars would never make it past the chapel doors. Here are the words:

Tender mercies touch my eyes—

warm, like a breath of summer skies.

Tender mercies, like the breeze,

bend with angelsong all the trees.

Tender mercies fall like rain—

showers of grace erase my pain.

Tender mercies heal my day,

steal my troubles and tears away.

Tender mercies cover me,

cloth of covenant over me.

Tender tapestries Jesus wove,

hang like holiness in the grove.

Tender mercies, like a rod,

shepherd me home to my good God.

Tender mercies break my heart,

take my wandering will apart.

Tender mercies cover me,

cloth of covenant over me.

Tender tapestries Jesus wove

hang, like holiness in the grove.

Tender mercies fill His hands—

rich, like a rainbow’s radiant bands.

Tender mercies bathe my feet

when my spirit and Savior meet.

They'll change some before they're recorded in a few days. I'll sing the song at a gig tomorrow, and at another next week. I have to be certain it communicates what it's meant to.

I've splattered all over Facebook the news about this project, along with encouraging my friends to help it see the light of day by pre-ordering in various ways. This is where I'm sending people. (Click away, if you wish.)

So, a little history of the romance, a credit card between the teeth, tender mercies, a vision of birth, and a sales pitch. Let's call this blog entry done. Thanks. This is fun.