Three cheers for Amanda

In the interest of supporting the Arts and Local Theatre...and because I actually enjoy a well-done drama or musical comedy, especially when I know one or more of the actors...I had fun seeing my friend and blog-buddy Amanda in the closing-night performance of Gilbert & Sullivan's "H.M.S. Pinafore," presented by the Pull-Tight Players (think Monty Python with more subtlety and no cartoons). Here's a website about this particular production.

I don't think it's a slight to the rest of the cast to say she was the star of the show, both in her role as Josephine and in her level of talent. Not to mention the yellow dress she wore, the color of which made it impossible to ignore here whenever she was on stage (of course I suppose maybe it wasn't JUST the color...). Again, I don't pretend to be unbiased, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong, either.

My friend Diane & I were on the front row of the very tiny Pull-Tight Theatre in Franklin, so we were on the verge of becoming part of the show at any moment. There's good and bad about being that close to the action. We got the full effect of the immediacy you only get in live drama (as opposed to movies and TV). I didn't really appreciate this about the theatre, really, until college; until then I preferred movies because they were more "realistic;" now I understand drama is more realistic in a different way, in the sense that it's "in the moment" and "here and now" and is inherently audience-interactive. And there's always the possibility something will go horribly wrong or better than expected (like life).

On the other hand, a little bit of distance would probably have improved our experience of the play as a spectacle; it's hard to maintain the illusion from four feet away. Plus, the chorus wasn't meant to be heard as individual voices. Made it impossible to drift off, for sure.

One unintended funny thing to me: director and (for the show I saw) chorus member Iain Macpherson looks EXACTLY like Henry Travers, who played the angel Clarence in "It's a Wonderful Life." Especially in the sailor costumes. If they ever do that as a play in Franklin, he's a natural. But don't look for me on the front row for that one...too many snow scenes.

My Mother the Star

Whenever people who know me hear my mother sing or play piano, as she's done in church for most of her life (and all of mine), they say "oh, now we see where Mark gets his musical talent." I try not to take this as a slight (I have had to put SOME effort into it, y'know). Actually I take it as a compliment to both of us, and in her case well-deserved. I won't pretend to be unbiased here, but I'm only going along with the evidence and the testimony (there is plenty of each): my mother has a gift.

When I was in first grade she came and played for my class. When I was a songleader for a small church in Chattanooga she was a frequent (and welcome) guest as a soloist and instrumentalist. She also plays accordion, though I believe it's been awhile. She was an enthusiastic proponent of the electronic autoharp, though to me the early attempts by Casio sounded more like that chime sound you hear when you enter a store. And she took violin lessons a few years ago; I have to give credit to anyone who can get a tune out of something without frets. I've always been eager to show her off to whomever I could.

So I'm especially proud of how she's using her talents now, combining her interest in all things medical with her musical skills by playing piano in the general and cancer ward lobbies at Memorial Hospital in Chattanooga, most Friday mornings. This is part of the hospital's music therapy program. After lunch she then volunteers time at the cancer ward desk. I get the feeling when I'm there that she's made a lot of new fans.

My dad happens to be a patient at the same hospital, due to complications after heart bypass surgery, so last week my trip to visit him also included the treat of seeing her "in concert" and having lunch together. Unfortunately my dad couldn't join us, since he was about to have a procedure done. First scheduled for 4:30...then moved up to 12:30...then wait...and wait...and finally they came for him...and changed their minds...and came back at about 5pm. My dad was choosing to be understanding; having worked in auto repair management (Western Auto, Firestone) he knows how unexpected things happen, and many times has had to try to explain delays to frustrated customers. Mother was a little less inclined to give the doctors the benefit of the doubt. For obvious reasons I refrained from getting a picture of him; I assumed he wasn't feeling too photogenic.

But here she is, doing the thing God made her to do (in addition to being wife, mother, grandmother, etc.). Don't forget to tip your nurses and orderlies.

Some of us are still wondering

This discovery brightened my day: the ION network, including WNPX in Nashville (17 on Comcast Cable, which is one of the handful of channels I pay for) has started showing 2 episodes back-to-back Monday - Friday of "The Wonder Years."
Sure, I could get it on DVD...but I guess I like the old-fashioned approach of receiving entertainment as a gift from the heavens. Besides, I'm already paying for the cable....

This is one of my favorite shows of all time, not only because of the witty, intelligent and heart-tugging writing and quality acting, but because it is so close to my own childhood (at least as I prefer to remember it). Just add one more antagonistic older brother and voila, it's my life. Sort of. My "Winnie Cooper" moved away before we could get into anything resembling a sweetheart situation. But Susie Bethshears did have dark hair. Not all gentlemen prefer blondes, you know.

One of the measures of good drama, like a good song, is that each audience member can say "this is about me." Trace Adkins has a song based on that observation.

Of course, in reality I may have been as much like Kevin Arnold's awkward-but-loyal friend Paul. But who wants to be the co-star of their own memories?

Let's hope they're thinking "Dick Clark" and not "Howard Stern"

I was perusing the website for CCFm, the radio station in Cape Town that hosted our songwriting seminar in December '06, and I ran across this compilation of kids learning to be radio stars. Through the Radio Academy, these kids aged 11-13 were taken through a seven-week course on radio. Their comments on love and relationships are especially interesting to hear (I took notes), and the accents make it all the more a fascinating listen.

Go to this page: http://www.ccfm.org.za/outreach.htm

Look for "Listen to the first interview" and click "Play Now" to hear the long mp3.

Elizabeth Papalia showcase

"They're comin' to America..." Neil Diamond was so right. Annoyingly pompous and self-important, but right.

Here are a few pics of another showcase by a talented friend, Elizabeth Papalia. She is a self-proclaimed "Aussie cHick" (her spelling) and has the involved support of the top folks (I wouldn't call them "brass" though they can be shiny sometimes) at the Nashville Songwriters Assn. Int'nat'l. See, they do more than tell you why you need to rewrite, re-demo, and/or re-think your entire song (they're usually right about that, by the way); they do what they can to nudge real talent along. And Liz has it. That, and great judgment in where to get her flyer and CD printing done (Edgehill Studios Cafe).

Elizabeth Papalia

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Kelly Archer rocks 12th & Porter

Once again, I was witness to another impressive display of talent and, if all goes well, a step on the way to fame, fortune and added security personnel, as Kelly Archer ("It's Friday," Aaron Tippin; "Sucks to Be You," Danielle Peck) performed a showcase concert at 12th & Porter. The club is a photographer's dream thanks to its great lighting system; even my pics turned out well.

Kelly's a Canadian transplant to Nashville, and clearly it's proved to be a successful procedure. I met her mom the other night...she must have been Kelly's original "street team" member. Sweet.

Kelly Archer rocks 12th & Porter

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Tin Pan South 2007 (Saturday, 3/31)

On Saturday I was especially looking forward to seeing Kenny Loggins at 12th & Porter, along with Richard Marx and Gary Burr. I am especially a fan of Loggins’ music from the 70’s, and his talents as a writer and recording artist are known worldwide. The latter is true for Marx. Given this, the size and location of the club made chances of a seat almost nil for any given attendee. I could have put all my eggs in one entertainment “basket” and staked out a place in line at a ridiculously early time, but common sense and the desire to see my friends Tim Buppert and Jerry Vandiver in their early show prevailed.

So it was dinner at the French Quarter, with the round made up of Buppert (“She’s Sure Taking It Well,” Kevin Sharp), Vandiver (“In A Little While,” Tim McGraw), Canadian Victoria Banks, and newcomer Misty Loggins. Buppert and Vandiver (known to some as “The Tim and Jerry Show”) were in typical form, jabbing and heckling one another in a friendly competition for laughs. Tim performed a somewhat uncharacteristically sweet love song and introduced the woman he’d written it for, and shared how meeting her had provided the needed inspiration to pull him out of a slump a couple of years ago. Such a better story than “I sat down with my friend to write and we couldn’t think of anything else, so we came up with this.” Though no less true in some cases, no doubt.

Jerry introduced his special guest and protege/cowriter, Jesse Lee, who made up for her admitted beginner-level guitar skills with her singing talent, her charm, and well, let's just say she reminded us why they make red cowboy boots.

So then it was off to see the Wizard. After circling the blocks around the club, including some very dodgy areas, looking for a legal place to park, I finally found a space that provided assurance I would not be towed plus an opportunity for exercise and fresh air, and walked to the club. I joined a line of about 50-75 people (though I’m not confident of my crowd-estimating skills) and hoped for the best, thankful I was at least in the Fast Pass line which would receive priority over those paying at the door. People were in generally good spirits, and I had a nice chat with a couple from California in front of me. He is a songwriter who has managed to figure out a way to work at a hospital in southern California and also spend significant time in Nashville to write.

By the time we got through the doors there was already quite a crowd, and I at least managed to find a place to lean. Opting not to give up an early show for a place in line turned out to be a good decision; a woman standing near me said she had been in line for Loggins at 5pm, and she didn’t fare much better than me. The small venue was Loggins’ choice, and if it was intimacy he was going for, he succeeded. “I’m sweatin’ already” Marx declared after his first song.

And he also succeeded in pleasing the audience, along with Marx and Burr, playing a set of one great “assisted solo” after another, including the hits (“Footloose,” “House at Pooh Corner” by Loggins; “The River” by Marx; “What Mattered Most” by Burr). They also presented some new ones, including one (“I’ll Remember Your Name”) that, as Loggins explained, had demanded to be a collaboration with Marx. As the audience giggled after Loggins announced his new album was “available now at Target,” he demanded in mock protest “why do people always laugh when I say that?”

After a nominal amount of time at the TPS after-party, where I made repeated trips to the bar for o.j. and water before moving on to the hard stuff (Coca-Cola, straight), and chatting with friends (and hearing nearly all of what was said), it was time to call it a night, and a week…until next year. Y’all come see us.

Tin Pan South 2007 (Friday, 3/30)

Having a day off from the day job on Friday helped me rest up for the remainder of TPS, a vital part of any attendee’s plan for survival. My best friend Bob, a lifelong fan of country music, was in town on business and up for the combined challenge and delight that is Tin Pan South. We headed for the Rutledge, a great new nonsmoking venue on 4th Avenue, to see “Radicals in The Round” featuring a couple of my favorites, Don Henry and Craig Carothers, in the round with Angela Kaset (“Something In Red”) and rocker Michelle Malone (a new Nashvillian).

Bob & I found good seats on the wooden benches (apparently recently made, so they had that nice lumber smell). I put in a request with Carothers for “Open Mike” (“Open Mike, Open Mike, sang the songs that no one liked”) and he nodded and smiled; no doubt this is a standard for their shows…but a good one. Whether the song is a redemption story of a lousy songwriter turned hitmaker, or a comment on the unfairness of the music business, it’s a brilliantly funny song. Malone’s song and accompanying back story of meeting an inebriated Tanya Tucker was amusing and relatable, but it was her intense bluesy guitar and her formidable voice that left an impression on the audience.

Bob, who was at the end of a work day, enjoyed all he could stand for one night so as he departed to find food and rest, I ventured down to the Bluebird to see if I could at least find a place to stand to check out the show. Skip Ewing ("You Had Me From Hello," Kenny Chesney; "Love, Me," Collin Raye), Hugh Prestwood ("The Song Remembers When," Trisha Yearwood) and Aaron Barker ("Love Without End, Amen," George Strait) were on the roster and my friend Dani Carroll was slated to do a song as a special guest of fellow California native Ewing. I’m always glad when more people get to hear Dani, and she demonstrated why she belonged behind the microphone, as everyone obviously agreed. Unfortunately the volume was too low for me to catch most of the between-song patter (my favorite part of these shows, really) from where I was standing; this was unusual given the intimate nature of the club.

Tin Pan South 2007 (Thursday, 3/29)

Thursday saw the traditional round featuring Gordon Kennedy, Wayne Kirkpatrick and Phil Madeira, with special guest, Aussie Melinda Schnieder, joining them under the lamp at Douglas Corner. I skipped the early shows just to make sure I had a good seat for this one, and the plan was a success. The usual genuine air of camaraderie among the three men (GK: “Wayne, do you have any…songs?”) was extended to include Schnieder. Having a mother was a yodeler and a father who was a cop has given her a unique take on life; she shared one song that included just enough yodeling to be fun without being obnoxious. Two things that are sure crowd pleasers at the Grand Ole Opry are yodeling and patriotic songs; this is at least partially the case at Tin Pan South (though for the latter the politics seem to lean the opposite of the Opry crowd).

I shared a table with Jim and his daughter Alyssa from Wisconsin. In town to check out Vanderbilt University for Alyssa, they had come to see Michelle Shocked in the early round, and since they had missed it they stayed for the late show. I told them they were about to have the quintessential Nashville experience. Their nods and smiles throughout the show told me they were far from disappointed.

Madeira played his song “Come On Out With Your Hands Up” (a metaphorical reference to surrendering to a higher power), and shared the story Kennedy’s introduction of the song while performing at a women’s prison: “I guess most of you have heard this phrase before.” And of course, there were the hits; Kennedy led the group in his and Kirkpatrick’s Eric Clapton cut “Change the World” and Kirkpatrick played a solo rendition of “Boondocks” (Little Big Town). I was ready to help out on the last bit (“You get a line/I’ll get a pole…”) so he could add the harmonies for the big finish…no such request was made. Maybe next year.

Tin Pan South 2007 (Wednesday, 3/28)

Since I was unable to get reservations at the Bluebird Café for the late show Wednesday to see my first choice of shows (Mac Davis always offers lots of laughs and familiar songs), it was “lady’s choice” for my friend who accompanied me. She chose well; we saw Jennifer Hanson, Mark Nesler, Blue County, Tim Johnson and “special guest” Blaine Larsen at 12th & Porter. The precious few seats were taken so we headed for a good standing spot.

The congenial and laid-back Nesler comes across onstage as the strong, silent type, but his songs spoke well for him. He presented some of the smash hits he’s written for Tim McGraw (“Just to See You Smile”) and Darryl Worley ("I Miss My Friend”) kicked off the proceedings with “Living and Living Well” (George Strait).

His wife Jennifer Hanson could easily be confused with Jennifer Garner of “Alias”… except I’m not aware of that other Jennifer writing and performing such impressive songs. Tonight’s offerings included “Leave The Pieces” for The Wreckers (Michelle Branch and Jessica Harp) and “Beautiful Goodbye.”

Tim Johnson was next in line and provided solid country songs all night, some serious ("To Do What I Do," Alan Jackson) and some, not so much: his list of “Things That Never Cross a Man’s Mind” included “watchin all this football is sure getting old/Wish I was workin this weekend/Not on the lake reelin’ my line.” That American Idol contestant Kellie Pickler had chosen to record the song seemed to be a pleasant surprise to him.


Musical duo Blue County (Aaron Benward & Scott Reeves) joked among themselves and the rest of the writers enough to dub themselves the “bad kids” of the round. Their rowdy hit “Good Little Girls” would seem to support that (“Good little girls make some mighty wild women”)…but on closer examination (MUCH closer) it’s actually supporting a traditional approach to romance that even a Southern Baptist like myself can say “amen” to: “She's waitin' for a gold ring, before she tries her wings/That's what I'm waitin' for.” (Not that I'd expect to see them play this or some other songs in church; I'm affirming the positive here, not offering an unqualified endorsement). They also showed a serious side, in what I hope will be a “serious” hit: “I Get To,” a song by Sherrie Austin that is about choosing a thankful attitude toward things we easily complain about, such as hugging dad, going to church, etc. (“I don’t have to/I get to”).

Tin Pan South 2007 (Tuesday, 3/27)

On my agenda for Tuesday’s early show, the official kickoff for the Tin Pan show schedule, was a benefit for the New Orleans Songwriting Community. Dr. John, best known for his 70’s hit “Right Place, Wrong Time” was the featured act.

I arrived at the Mercy Lounge venue early to find a relatively short line of pass holders (I was uncharacteristically early), and quite a few planning to pay admission. To add to the potential confusion there was also a contingent of fans in line to see Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, Jewel and Big & Rich play a benefit at the adjoining venue. As we were sorted out and admitted, I had the thrill of saying hello and choking out “I appreciate your music” to Ray Stevens (“Gitarzan,” “The Streak”) on the way in.

Before the show I met Curtis Anderson, proud father of Brent. This was the first TPS show I remember that was not performed as a round, which put young Anderson and Grayson Capps in the position of opening acts. Not a positive change in my opinion.

Anderson’s voice and songs demonstrated why he was on stage at his first TPS show, though his first song, a ballad, was a less-than-electrifying way to begin the set. Capps, exuding the persona of the hillbilly hippie fresh from his cabin in the Loo-siana swamp, was well-received as much for his politics as for his backwoods-folky songs.

Finally the big blue Baldwin grand was pushed into position for Mr. New Orleans himself. Dr. John’s familiar voice, a jambalaya of funk, growl and gravel, along with his jazzy piano stylings, kept the crowd entertained through a humor-injected and understated performance.

Tin Pan South 2007 (intro)

Tin Pan South 2007 is done and so is the article I submitted to “Country Music Scene,” the newsletter of the New Jersey Country Music Association (motto: “We play everything in Aaaaaaaay!”). Always good to have friends in Northern places (assuming I still have friends anywhere, after that joke).

Anyway I’m posting the intro and then each day separately. We can pretend I did this like an actual daily blog, as I had intended. But my memory hasn’t totally broken down yet, so it should be fairly reliable. Also, I've made some edits and additions here and there, so consider this the "extended remix" version of the story.

For the full TPS 2007 slideshow (and others), see http://picasaweb.google.com/markkellyhall

Tin Pan South 2007

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Tin Pan South 2007


Tin Pan South, the annual “songwriters festival” in Nashville presented by the Nashville Songwriters Association International (NSAI), is a study in opposites. It is not unlike what happens in Nashville nearly every evening of the year, since it features groups of professional songwriters taking turns playing their hits and their “hopeful hits” to attentive audiences (often also made up of more songwriters) in nightclubs and cafes. On the other hand, it is a special time because it is part of a week that includes numerous industry events, luncheons and seminars, and a lot of dedicated music fans from all over the U.S. forming friendships; a week that generates real excitement even among the over-hyped and often jaded residents of Music City.

As writer Phil Madeira (“If I Was Jesus,” Toby Keith) points out, Tin Pan South “raises consciousness and money for NSAI and the concerns of that wonderful organization. The fact that every [TPS] performance in every club across town is a benefit speaks volumes for NSAI.”

Canadian native and now Nashville resident Victoria Banks also had high praise for NSAI. “As songwriters, we are a notoriously disorganized and insecure bunch. It comes hand in hand with being creative. We don't tend to stand up for ourselves, and we can easily be taken advantage of in the industry. That's where NSAI steps in and plays a really important role - they stand up for our rights, lobby on our behalf, and keep tabs on changes in legislation that can profoundly affect our ability to make a living.”

For an attendee, especially any who are songwriting enthusiasts or aspiring professionals, Tin Pan is like drinking from a fire hose. The following is a summary of my experience of TPS 2007 (scroll up). See www.tinpansouth.com for more related info.

With a little help from Danielle Peck and friends

Saw a "stellar lineup" of artists last night, at a benefit for Safe Haven hosted by Danielle Peck. Ms. Peck gives the words "lovely and talented" new meaning, and it's always encouraging to see "the beautiful people" (ditto on the giving new meaning line) doing worthy things with their share of public platform. She was obviously taken aback by the packed-house turnout, and confessed that she was nervous for the first time in a long time. But we all got over it, as she introduced Blue County, Carolyn Dawn Johnson (recorded "Complicated," wrote "Single White Female"), Deana Carter ("Strawberry Wine"), and others. Danielle also introduced the mother of eight children (some more shy than others) who had benefited from Safe Haven's help; this woman had the most difficult job of all, given the situation and her presumable lack of stage experience. But she apparently had some church in her background, and used her story to do a little preaching to the relatively attentive crowd. Even got an "Amen."

Danielle made it clear she was genuinely interested in the cause of Safe Haven, and more than just a famous face for hire. This is consistent with what I know of her. She's a friend of a friend, and both she and her mom are very nice in person, even discounting the "Nashville nice" that is a professional necessity--you never know whether or when the scruffy looking person you're sitting next to might hold the reigns of your music career.

Of course, it's difficult for anyone to do anything from a 100% pure motive, given our fallen nature and the moral gravity of the world in which we live. Phoebe explores this idea on a particularly thought-provoking episode of "Friends" (not a phrase you hear every day, right?). And benefits featuring celebrities are especially prone to ego-tripping. Ricky Gervais of the orginal British "Office" sitcom makes this point in his typically uncomfortably funny way in this video, featuring some suprisingly familiar faces (and voices):
Saving Africa Made Easy and Profitable

This is a link to the video in a blog by a friend of mine (I echo his caution about the not-so-family-friendly word here and there, and with his brief commentary on it).

I'm at the top of the Tin Pan South slide, looking down on a week's worth of shows to attend, people to see, pictures and notes to take, cards to hand out, and the songcrafting to be enjoyed. Save me a seat, willya?

Sports, men...and the women who love them

A friend of mine posted a blog about her family’s enthusiasm for that basketball phenomenon known as March Madness and how she and her sister—even though they’re women—fully participate, keeping up with the tournaments, cheering favorite teams, making up brackets, etc. She made a remark that got me thinking, and writing too much for just a comment. She said:

“I know I'm the oddball girl who actually gives a rip about sports, but I can't help but wonder what's wrong with all these men who know nothing about them!”

This isn't technically a question, much less one that demands a response, but for the sake of her (and anyone else’s) further education in the World of Men, I decided to respond anyway. [I started out using a professorial tone as a joke, but it kind of fell apart at some point, I realize. Oh well. Not like I'm being graded on this, right?].

Easy answer: nothing. Meaning, not caring about sports that much does not indicate a deficiency (in testosterone levels or anything else). The expression of manliness takes many forms, some more obvious than others, some more productive, some more alien to the feminine mind (and some even men find pretty gross). Not caring about sports does indicate an availability of resources (time, money, emotional energy, etc.) that can be put toward other activities, such as model shipbuilding, woodworking, auto mechanics, home remodeling, taking trips to Home Depot, and other productive and creative endeavors. In extreme cases and when necessary, for some men it also may leave more time for speaking to their wives or girlfriends, children, extended family members, pets and neighbors. I would think this would be a reason for celebration for any woman, rather than doubt. But there are exceptions to every stereotype.

More in-depth answer: An equally valid, and more compelling, question is "why does anyone care about sports to begin with, especially to the manic level some do, if they're not playing or betting or potentially deriving a direct benefit (financial or otherwise) on the games?"

From what I've seen, for many folks (and especially for females) it's a device for bonding with the father or father figure, whose relational avenues are typically relatively limited due to the inherent quality of men to prefer relating via indirect & external vs. direct & internal means (i.e., they'd rather say stuff like "hand me that wrench" or "how 'bout them Vols" than "I feel like you're upset with me; let's talk it out over an espresso"). For some family members it's their only channel to relationship with that father figure; for others (happily) it's one of many, but a cherished one nonetheless, and the positive associations between sports and "daddy love" can last a lifetime as a normal and very healthy thing.

Same principle, different arena: I know two young women that really liked an alternative Christian rock band called the 77's, though both leaned more toward the style of Amy Grant and Point of Grace. Turns out both liked/loved guys who listened to the 77's. "Fanatics" by association are everywhere.

As for why men like sports, my theory (cobbled together from sources of varying credibility, including John Eldredge, Dr. Phil and my own experience) is that it has to do with the need to belong to a "tribe", and the need for a champion--someone to struggle to victory on behalf of the tribe. The more invested a man is in the tribe (emotionally, temporally, statistically), the more empowered he feels by his inclusion, and the greater the feeling of accomplishment at victory, even if all he did was sit in his easy chair for 3 hours and shout at the TV. And even the "agony of defeat" is tempered by the knowledge that at least he is not facing it alone. Sports is a safe place for a man to express his emotions, his aspiration to greatness, and even his affection for his fellow men (hence the butt-patting that would be completely unacceptable off the field--at least among the men I'd want to associate with).

"Man is never so manly as when he feels deeply, acts boldly, and expresses himself with frankness and with fervor.”
Benjamin Disraeli

Personally, though all the above motivations apply somewhat, and I do like watching football for the game itself, my interests in sports are mostly secondhand. I take a fair amount of interest in Tennessee football, but mostly because I live in Tennessee, I'm a UT grad and I attended games at Neyland Stadium, so that's a direct association to my own experience. I graduated in the then-new basketball arena, and shook Lamar Alexander’s hand (curiously, he didn’t seem to remember this when I met him again not long ago). And I also watch from a professional broadcaster's point of view. During an internship at a local TV station I followed the plays with a camera, up and down the field, for a high school football highlights show. It was long ago, and only for two games, but I've watched the game differently ever since.

But then, as I realized years ago, I had other ways to make sure I was within my dad's viewing range; those included our shared interests in religion and humor, and an enthusiasm for TV. I remember one time how, after I had gone to bed, the irresistible sound of the audience laughing at a comedian on the Tonight Show brought me back to the living room to check it out. My dad started to resist, but gave in pretty quickly when I told him I was just there to hear the jokes, then I'd be off to bed again. He probably sensed I was there not only for my own enjoyment, but also to continue my self-guided course in the art of comedy. And no doubt he could relate. He wasn’t exactly the class clown, but he does enjoy creating a laugh. This is a man who made a “sponge cake” using actual sponges and took it to a church social. I’ve seldom been more proud of him. So who needs to memorize meaningless sports statistics? Or has time? There are important comedic principles to master.

The world of sports has a lot in common with music. They both have their fans who range from the casual to the truly obsessive/compulsive. Each has been elevated to having its own place among "legitimate news" (especially sports) and some even speak as if the related events are "history"...as if the Normandy and British invasions of 1944 and 1964 (respectively) had an equal impact on the world (OK, that's not completely implausible). Ultimately, in the absence of some compelling motivator such as the bonding I've referred to, both music and sports have their useful metaphorical applications to life, but really only matter as much as a person chooses for them to matter. It doesn't affect my life one way or the other (any more than anything else in the world of cause & effect) who wins any national championship, but of course I'd rather Tennessee win. Otherwise, to paraphrase the Preacher, it's all vanity (of course, the Preacher could’ve been the ancient equivalent to the Vandy football fan, I don’t know).

So…how ‘bout them Vols?

Whose leg is being pulled now?

I stepped into my time machine and went back 40 years (I'll save you the math: that's 1967). I found myself in London where--not surprisingly-- I met a Beatles fan, who was fortunately also a science fiction reader. He seemed to have no serious problem accepting, pending further questioning, that I was from the future. He was naturally curious about, among other things, what the Beatles are up to in 2007.

After I gave him the bad news about the breakup, the passing of John and George, and of course, Yoko, I came around to current events. I told him that Paul, after losing his first wife to cancer (after a surprisingly long marriage, for a celebrity), is now in the process of divorcing his second wife, Heather Mills (not related to Hayley, as I clarified). "Too bad, but not a shock, I suppose," he said.

"But wait," I said. Then I shared the highlights of the £1 billion (yes, billion with a "b") divorce battle in which she has accused him of all manner of vices and cruelties, and has portrayed him as being a "vindictive" man who once tried to choke her and even attacked her while she was pregnant.

"Hard to believe it of Paul," he said. "Seems like such a nice young man. But you never know what a man is capable of, and you can't always believe celebrity p.r., good or bad, can you?"

"No," I agreed. "I do have my doubts about her. One of her claims is that she was forced to crawl on her hands and knees up the steps of a plane because they were not wide enough for her wheelchair and Sir Paul had not made other arrangements. Oh, by the way, she has only one leg. And, yes," I responded to his widened eyes, "McCartney was knighted in 1997."

At this point my 1967 friend got a faraway look in his eyes, and forced a friendly but weak smile, as if he had just realized he'd mistaken me for someone else.

"What's really odd," I continued, ignoring his furtive glances all around us, "is that Ms. Mills is slated to be in a dance competition on TV this season."

"Dance?" he said with raised eyebrows. "With one leg?"

"Yes," I replied, "they've made wonderful advances in prosthetics these days."

"Oh, of course," he said, nodding.

I mentioned that I saw her on an entertainment news program (ignoring him when he interrupted with "A whole program about entertainment?") where she said that her main concern was that her leg wouldn't fall off during the dances.

"Well, surely not many will be watching," he reasoned, amused.

"Actually it's one of the highest-rated reality shows on TV, where famous and semi-famous actors, singers and athletes pair up with expert dancers to compete before judges, including the viewing audience. " After I explained what reality TV is and assured him that some of the programs are pretty good, he seemed somewhat less skeptical.

"Well, I suppose teenagers like to watch these shows to learn the latest moves so they can impress the ladies at the clubs," he offered.

"Wellll, maybe," I responded. "But it's actually ballroom dancing; the kind no one generally does without intensive training and only in a limited number of places."

"Hmm," he mused, "very interesting." Then he burst out laughing. "Bub, I must admit you almost had me, but you went just a tad too far with that last bit about a one-legged soon-to-be-ex of 'Sir' Paul McCartney competing in a 'popular' ballroom-dancing telly program!" He shook his head slowly. "Sir, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night! Besides, I can't believe that even in 2007 the BBC would ever air such rot."

"BBC?" I said. "This is American television, not the BBC."

A wide smile spread across his face. "America? Oh, I see. Well, then, it all makes sense now!" He slapped me on the back like an old friend and looked at me with renewed interest. "So, what year do you think you might be visiting next?"

And then I woke up.

When life hands you lemons...

...you make lemonade. These folks must've had such a whopping big batch, they started a festival so they could share it with their neighbors. It was a pretty big lemon, after all. Not like you ever really need a reason to have a party in Hawaii (you're in HAWAII!).

Takes a tumble, doesn't stumble

I had a "DOH!!" moment this morning when I realized I'd left my SanDisk jump drive in my jeans pocket. The jeans were in the dryer at the time (I've found a dry is as good as a wash for jeans, at least after one wear, especially if you add a dryer sheet). This exact potential hazard had crossed my mind the other day when I realized I the jump drive wasn't in its usual possible places, and must be in the pocket of the jeans on my floor (awaiting aforementioned drying).

The good news is when I stuck the drive into my Mac at work this morning, it worked perfectly. Technology can be surprisingly reliable; gotta be thankful for that. And toasty-warm jeans in the morning, can't forget those.

Have fun, do good

The Belmont Coalition Against Genocide
presents a
Benefit for Darfur, Sudan
Friday, March 16th
7:00-9:00pm

Edgehill Studios Cafe
1201 Villa Place, Nashville, TN
one block off of Music Row)


Admission:
$5 donation toward humanitarian aid and refugee assistance

Featuring:
isHesafe
Leslie McClure and band
Andrew Palamara
Blue-Eyed Grass

Special Guest Speaker:
Gatluak Thack
Executive Director of Nashville's Sudanese Refugee Center

For more info:
call Edgehill Studios Cafe at 615-301-8539
www.edgehillstudios.com
or e-mail Ali Baldwin at baldwina@pop.belmont.edu

Reconnecting with my songwriting roots

Enjoyed a trip back to the ol' stomping grounds of Chattanooga last weekend. I attended a songwriting seminar presented by the NSAI Chattanooga workshop, featuring pro writers Rodney Clawson ("Amarillo Sky," "Sweet Southern Comfort") and Brian White ("Rough And Ready," various songs by top CCM artists). The event was held at the church building the NSAI group uses for meetings. I led music there for a couple of years and was the "hookup" for the meeting space for the group, of which I was co-coordinator. I'm really happy to know my "legacy" of sorts endures.

I was interested--and pleased--to see the upgrades in the building, now that the former church has become a "satellite" of a larger church in Chickamauga (led by a former youth director and pastor of mine...these connections never end).

The format of the seminar was very close to what I did in Cape Town: all-day seminar (10 - 4), with expert advice and a songwriting exercise, and then a 7 pm coffeehouse concert featuring the guest writers plus "selected" attendees (the picture shows Rodney and Brian at Mocha Joe's in St. Elmo).

I chose to pretend I didn't know everything about songwriting already (as if I had to) and participate as a student. It was good for me. The group co-write (they split us up into knots of 3 or 4 with a short list of titles to choose from & one hour to write) went OK and it was fun to see how the 4 our group worked together. I didn't feel like we were always on the same page on the process, and it seemed to me the group had a hard time committing to an approach (or even a title), so my control-freak nature was a little frustrated while my laid-back nature kind of enjoyed the unpredictability of the whole thing. The results were OK given the circumstances (strangers trying to come up with something brilliant in a short time); the point was the educational value, and there was plenty of that.

I had the pro's critique "Texas Hold 'Em." One of those I thought I was done with. I was still open to their input but as we all do in these situations, I was actually hoping they'd say "I have to have a copy of that for so-and-so" and that would launch me into a writing career with a 10am-3pm workday (when I felt like working that hard). No such luck on that so far, but they did make some valid points and got my wheels going on a re-write, which I've done (though I'm still open to improving it).

The night before the seminar I dropped into American Pie on Hixson Pike to witness songwriter Roger Alan Wade in action. Like Ben Folds, Roger's got some stuff I wouldn't recommend (being a Baptist and all) but I admire his genius as a lyricist, regardless. I think that has to do with redemption, but I couldn't argue the point very well for very long. His "Country State of Mind" was a Hank Wms. Jr. co-write and hit, and his "If You're Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough" is, appropriately, in the Jackass movie (cousin Johnny Knoxville was the hookup on that). But what struck me was how Roger has poured his heart and soul and talent into songs about things and places that only a relatively small group of folks could really appreciate, such as in "Down Brainerd Road." Not the formula for radio hits, but what a gift to hear your own life experiences in these songs--and brilliant ones at that. It makes them more valuable, not less. Roger sheepishly apologized for the problems he was having with the sound system when I spoke to him after his set, but it really only seemed a natural match of a raunchy sound for raunchy songs.

Overall, the weekend was a nice reminder of how far I've come, but also how far I have yet to go, musically and otherwise.

But how's her casserole?

Since my degree from UT is in broadcasting, what most people call "watching the tube," I call "post-graduate work." There are a couple of programs that are "must-see TV": "30 Rock," a sitcom, and the endangered comedy-drama "Studio 60" (almost no one uses the full title "Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip"). Both are on NBC, both started the same season and each is about the backstage (and some onstage) goings-on around a fictional sketch show like "Saturday Night Live." Very odd already. The show-about-a-show thing has been hot since Shakespeare (when it was "play-within-a-play"), and still results in fun twists but also confusing conversation when talking about them, so try to keep up.

I've been a fan of SNL since the 70's, not counting several seasons in the 80's where I didn't watch much and have found via reruns how little I was missing. I also like behind-the-scenes stuff in general, as well as well-written dialogue. So both of these shows are made for me.

"Studio 60" is written by Aaron Sorkin of "West Wing" fame (or as much fame as a writer gets). The dialogue in this show meets the "well-written" standard, other than being a little manic and self-consciously clever to the point of being cute (think "Gilmore Girls").

One character that is especially interesting is Harriet, the overtly Christian (Southern Baptist, even) player on the show-within-the-show. She has a romantic "history" with Matt, the head writer. The fact that he's Jewish has been a point of contention for obvious reasons, and now that he's her boss makes for even more potential for conflict (the basis of good storytelling).

Though I appreciate that hers has been more true-to-life than most portrayals of Christians on network TV, I've felt the references are clunky and obvious; kind of like someone using "cowboy boots" in a song title and thinking that makes it country.

I found out via a talk show she was on that actress/singer Kristin Chenoweth is the original role model for Harriet. She and Sorkin had a romance in real life, so there's a foundation of reality for the show. I always figured it was at least partially based on Victoria Jackson from the 80's SNL, and was happy to be proven right in this article:

http://www.wittenburgdoor.com/archives/studio60.html

It's an interview by The Door (a Christian satire magazine that cracks me up and offends me, alternately and occasionally at the same time) with Aaron Sorkin's Studio 60 partner in success Thomas Schlamme, and with Sarah Paulson who plays the above-mentioned Harriet.

One thing the interview made me realize is that, instead of her portrayal of a Christian that is clunky, it may be the attitude that the character Matt has toward her on the show--which is apparently by design of the writers (Sorkin et al). Most of the cliches are in what he says, not in what she does or says.

Like most Christians, it bothers me even to see anyone, fictional or real, familiar or stranger, who professes to be a Christian but does not meet what I would consider the minimum standards of Christian thought and behavior (not that I'm even close to perfect myself, but we all apply standards to ourselves and others whether consciously or not); it's hard enough to find one that isn't portrayed as an idiot or a jerk. This is partly a genuine concern for other people--that they will make real-life bad decisions based on the images they see on screen. And there's the "p.r." concern; what will they think of us, is it accurate, etc. I'm also concerned about what they think of ME. On the one hand, I'm offended when Christians are slighted en masse; on the other hand, I can see why someone would want to slam Christianity if Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson or the purple-haired ditz on TBN are all they have to go by. To the credit of Sorkin and crew, they try harder than most, with better results than most.

The show challenges me to reconsider whether all my standards are really as essential as I tend to believe, or are they too surface to matter anyway, compared to the one Essential himself. And it's debatable as to whether it really matters what is said on TV about Christians or anyone else. It doesn't change the facts, and at its worst it's keeping a very important issue in the viewer's mind, as well as confirming what the Bible says about the ongoing spiritual conflict we're all involved in, despite our tendency to ignore it (partially thanks to TV).

The weak point of "Studio 60," especially compared with a topic like the international politics of a "West Wing," is that it's hard not to want to say "lighten up, people, it's just a TV show." Well, maybe it is...and maybe it ain't.