BOB BENNETT: MEPHEMERA

Still Loving the Disheveled Bride

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 02:36:00 +0000

For the past thirty-five years, by choice, I've been in and around Christian Churches of almost every description. Utterly setting aside for a moment how one might assess my overall fidelity to the Faith, my best intention has been to be about the business St. Paul writes of in his Epistle to the Church at Philippi: "Be keener than ever to work out the salvation that God has given you with a proper sense of awe and responsibility. For it is God who is at work within you, giving you the will and the power to achieve his purpose." (Philippians 2:12b Phillips Translation).

To me this has always meant that, while there are some things only God can do, we are still called to participate in our own lives. This is not a gussied-up version of "God helps those who help themselves" which, while unbiblical, has its merits in context. But neither is it "Just let go and let God" with the sense that our lives are merely on Cosmic Cruise Control until the end of our collective human road-trip.

We have work to be about, we have responsibilities. Our ticket is fully paid for, but no one (and, as I think about it, no One) forces us to get onto the train or ties us to our seats once we're aboard.

The pivotal "face to face" meeting between humankind and the Second Person of the Trinity (Jesus) first happened at His birth. Of course other essential things that are part-and-parcel of the Gospel are to come. Cross, Resurrection, etc. But at the first, it's Incarnation.

We Christian folk rightly like to emphasize that there's nothing anyone can do to earn their way to favor. And, conversely, there's nothing we can stop doing to assuage God's singular and holy commitment to both justice and mercy. But sometimes we're tempted to miss the fact that discipleship requires actual effort. Not earn-your-keep effort, but effort that's necessary to the functioning Body of Christ and to demonstrate that what we believe (or, perhaps, don't believe) has actual, incarnational consequences in the touted real world that we all purport to want to live in.

We're not called to escape this present level of existence, we're called to fully engage with and inhabit it. We're called to INCARNATE, to make flesh-and-blood-real the things we believe. To put our every day existence "money" where our all-too-easy-to-talk-about-it "mouths" are. We are, in a healthy sense not to be found in the DSM-IV, to "act out".

It would take a book's worth of writing to recount some of this and I'm not yet convinced that book is in me, but I'm thinking about it. Part of the reason for this blog is to work out some of these ideas and see where, if anywhere, they might lead. Suffice to say that for every one thing that I might have gotten "right" along the way, I'm pretty sure there's a much longer and more painful list where I've been flat-out, no-excuses "wrong". That pertains to me as an individual and, if I may be allowed to make the leap, to all the individuals who collectively make up the Church.

Those who might not be inclined to darken the door of a church often have an understandable bone to pick with the beliefs and practices found within those pointy structures. I can't blame the suspicious. I'm a card-carrying member of the Congregation and I dearly love the Church. But sometimes I'm just shaking my head over how we manage to collectively snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory.

I loosely remember a years-ago quote from Brennan Manning where he mixed-and-matched a description of himself as a "son of the Church" but concluded that he, nonetheless, had a "lover's quarrel with Her". (Don't over-think that juxtaposition boys and girls, just move on.)

Somehow we feel strangely drawn to the Family Thanksgiving Dinner even though we know, by definition and experience, there might be some annual disappointment and frustration served up alongside Grandma's righteous stuffing. Yet even with scandals, lunacies, infighting, and serious-damage done, I still want to be part of the Household of Faith. I would like to think this desire is something more mature and insightful than just a siege mentality in sheep's clothing.

Christianity calls us to be in proximity to others just as whacked out as we are. Close enough to receive a pat on the back or a sucker punch. It's a full-contact Religion. It may look like a Convention of Underachievers, but it takes guts to even attempt to play nice with others. In order to get along with people, you actually have to keep company with them. Not just "friend" them and then ignore their news feed. **

I'm not excusing or minimizing bad behavior in the Church. God forbid. For instance, even now, I'm wrestling with the world-class anti-Semitism from the pens and pulpits of early Churchmen who are still considered to be Heroes of the Faith. How can this be? And what I can I do to make sure it doesn't happen on my watch in the Name of Jesus. Good God, help us.

But as I once answered my Dad after he opined, "Church? It's full of hypocrites." … "Hey, we need a place to gather too!"

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** Added on June 13, 2012 at 2:07 p.m. PDT:
After a day of mental percolation, a thought came to the surface and I wanted to add it to this post. The last sentence of this paragraph, while absolutely not a direct lift, is probably attributable to my awareness of a great quote I discovered in mid-March from Dr. Nicholas Perrin: "At its worst, Western Protestantism has functionally defaulted to a notion that views the Church as little more than a loose association ... the equivalence of Jesus' Facebook Friends." So while I'm letting my sentence stand as is, in an abundance of caution I'm giving credit to its more-than-likely antecedent.

Ray Bradbury: A Brief Appreciation

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 18:22:00 +0000

Earlier this week author Ray Bradbury passed away at the age of 91. If you like to read at all and you're of a "classic" age (borrowing that adjective from Coca-Cola marketing because classic is so much friendlier than just plain old), it's fairly unlikely that you haven't, at least, heard of him or read him.

Alas, it's an odd feature of our times when we often only "meet" people upon the widespread reporting of their deaths. For years I've joked, "The best thing I could probably do for my album sales is to drop dead, but I'm just not committed to that strategy." So if you haven't read Bradbury, fire up your library card and go get something. I remember, in particular, The Illustrated Man collection and the story The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit (later turned into a play and a movie).

When I was junior high age, I read a ton of Bradbury. But when talking about my own modest career as a songwriter, I naturally and easily always cited other musicians as influences. A long list of people who mentored me via a turntable.

For reasons I don't quite know, it only dawned on my a few short years ago that I enthusiastically took in so much of Ray Bradbury's writing that he would also be properly listed among my major influences.

I expect in the next few days, I'll pull a paperback off my shelf and take fond trip back to his worlds-in-words that so aptly described and informed both our world-at-large and the world inside a young, fascinated reader.

Underwriting and Overwriting

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 17:35:00 +0000

Underwriting in terms of tightening up "songcraft" and Overwriting by being too un-creatively "obvious". This could, perhaps, apply to all songwriters writing for all types of listeners. But this dual malaise is particularly represented in a lot modern/post-modern songwriting intended for a Christian audience, one I'm fairly familiar with.

"Underwriting" is my shorthand term for a song structure that simply feels unfinished or not fully attended to. The most common culprit is the lack of any sort of rhyme scheme. This is, admittedly, an old-school notion. And I have plenty of songs that do not utilize a strict scheme or simply eschew it altogether. This is not an exact science of course.

But there seems to be a marked difference between "I jettisoned using a rhyme scheme for artistic/aesthetic purposes" and "I wouldn't know a rhyme scheme if it bit me on the heinie." Skillfully attending to the craft of songwriting, in terms of listeners' awareness, is often a thankless task. If you do your job correctly, no one but you will have to think about it too much. But whether the listener knows it or not, a well-designed song means less distractions and a more effective delivery of the lyric or enjoyment of other elements of the song (music, groove, great production, etc.). Again, there's nothing hard-and-fast about all this.

One of my songwriting heroes insists on perfect rhymes (bring and thing as opposed to world and girl). So when I put on my ruthless editor hat, I call it "Getting in touch with my Inner Jimmy Webb!" His book Tunesmith is still, to my mind, essential reading. Part memoir, part primer, part manifesto.

"Overwriting" is the mistake of removing any sense of mystery or discovery in your lyric. Two related images come to mind: reaching over to cut up the steak on someone else's plate … and (pardon the unsavory nature) pre-chewing someone else's food. This is particularly egregious in the most well-intentioned Christian-themed songs. Of course in any songwriting, there are choices a writer makes as to what will be shown and what will remain hidden. To mix images even further, it's very much the songwriting equivalent of a newspaper editor managing the news.

But to rob a listener of the sense of discovery, of finding their own place in a song. This results in a sometimes unintentional artistic theft that leaves almost everybody unsatisfied. Or, God help us, leaves some people satisfied with zero effort to actually engage with what they're listening to. The example I've cited for years on this is Paul Simon's masterful lyric "Something So Right".

He writes:

They got a wall in China

It’s a thousand miles long

To keep out the foreigners

They made it strong

And I got a wall around me

That you can’t even see

It took a little time

To get next to me

A lesser writer would have settled for the most direct expression of the thought "I'm a little hard to get to know" and that would've been that. But Simon weds that simple notion to the Great Wall of China. Creative and unforgettable.

Yes, sometimes you need to be Captain Obvious. But for my money, more often than not, the most efficient route to communicate an idea is not the most direct route. When the listener has room to maneuver and discover, they can make your song part of their soundtrack. You give them credit for being at least as smart and intuitive as you are.

Prophetic Warning or Panic for Sale?

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 18:46:00 +0000

A few years ago NBC had what I considered to be a brilliant ad campaign for an extended period of summer reruns. NBC's pitch was "If you haven't seen it, it's new to you." We're invariably and habitually attracted to the "new". I can put out an album and the next week be fielding questions about when my next new album is coming out.

Anyway, my point in that brief preface is to link to a 2007 video with Andrew Keen which was recorded at Google Corporate Headquarters. This speech was given the day his book The Cult of the Amateur was released. (I haven't read it yet.) He seems to be a polarizing figure, as all provocateurs have a tendency to be I suppose. But I think he sounds an important clarion call worth paying attention to.

I am not a conspiracy theorist by nature. I recognize the "man bites dog" story still garners more attention than "dog bites man". There is no shortage of news alerts that are absolutely not urgent.

But I found this "warning" worth my time. Given my recent discovery of Seth Godin (see my blogroll), I found myself wondering if they've ever had any public discussions/debates. [Stops writing, checks] ... Click HERE for an interview excerpt with Messrs. Keen and Godin.

I'm trying to find my way between mistaking time at the computer for "real work" that I need to do versus properly paying attention to the communication tools that are, literally, now the coin of the realm. Keen's talk is not on that struggle in particular, but a fascinating counterpoint to the many ways in which the internet has aided and abetted my ability to continue on (albeit quite modestly) with my life in music.

Your thoughts?

Crowded at the Summit

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 18:29:00 +0000

Today I was going to write a little about the "offense" of the Christian Gospel message. (Although I'm as committed a Christian as I know how to be, not every post here will make that obvious.)

Before starting, I Googled the phrase "gospel is offensive" to determine where St. Paul writes about this. Several places it turns out. But it was also a little daunting to find references to a couple dozen blog posts which, in one way or another, were making my point and, I expect, doing a better job than I would do.

You climb a mountain, reach the summit, and then find dozens of folks who've already planted their flags. Shoot, it felt so good when I came up with this. But, of course, I didn't really come up with it.

But you know what? That's absolutely okay. Thinking original thoughts is, of course, exhilarating when you can manage it. But scaling your own process of learning and experience and then making a thought your own (regardless of origin), learning a lesson that leads you to a conclusion (summit), that's an absolutely good thing as well.

So, my little "flag" was going to be something like this:

The Gospel, by definition, is offensive to many. But my job as a Christian is not to be "not offensive," but to try to make sure that if people are offended, they're offended at the right things. The absolute waste is when we, in the household of Faith, give people dozens of legitimate reasons to be offended at other things. Kind of a bait-and-switch in reverse so the Gospel may never receive the full consideration it needs.

I did some solo climbing on a not-so-high hill to get there, but ultimately it's gratifying to join the companionable crowd at the summit.

G. K. "Fills In" for Me Today

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 07:16:00 +0000

As I write, I'm off to bed in a few minutes with an early call tomorrow. My Church (St. Matthew's in Newport Beach, CA) is hosting a Synod Meeting and I'll be there all day and evening. So, I'll be Blog MIA today. But I'm posting one of my very favorite quotes from the eminently quotable G.K. Chesterton.

This little gem is also on my personal "Rules of the Road" list.
See my 5/26 post "The Right Thing Usually Happens the Wrong Way".

"The artistic temperament is a disease that afflicts amateurs." -- G. K. Chesterton

Vetting an Idea: "House Call Concerts"

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Thu, 31 May 2012 21:52:00 +0000

[This is a lengthy, against-basic-blog-rules post. Please give it a couple paragraphs at least. And, if so inclined, kindly comment, re-post, email, link, etc. Much appreciated.]

In mid-2008, a woman emailed a question to me that, to put it mildly, caught me off guard. She essentially asked, "My Husband is a big fan of your music. He has terminal cancer. Would you sing at his funeral?"

I replied to ask, "Is he still with us?", "What's his condition?", etc. To make a long story somewhat shorter, I offered to come over to play a House Concert for him. We worked out a few details, scheduled a date, and I did just that. It turned out splendidly. He was having a pretty good day, lots of friends and family showed up, the snacks were great (you gotta have snacks). And I was able to deliver something that only I could deliver: me singing my songs.

Let me pause to set something straight because I'm a worrier. As Brent Bourgeois once wrote in a song lyric, "I still have an ego the size of Montana and change". (I wish I'd written that line but I'll have to settle for it being true about me. With attribution, I've quoted it for years.) Still, I don't walk around thinking, "Hey, don't you know who I am?" I live my life in anonymity the vast majority of the time. But it's also true over the years, I've been blessed with a modest life in music and many folks who listened to my music made it a part of the soundtrack of their lives. I'm a listener first and foremost, so I absolutely understand how that works. I have my own highly personal list of artists and songs who comprise my own soundtrack.

So even though, in one sense, it was no big deal … it's just me ... it DID mean something to him, his Wife, and his Family and Friends gathered. My apparently-obligatory wrestling with modesty aside, what's not to love about that? The fact is we all won big-time that night.

Scene Two.

A dear friend lost a large-man's-worth of weight on a medically-supervised program. He had his life back, he frolicked with his young Son, he worked out at the gym, life was very good. Until he had a sudden stroke, went into ICU in a coma and, ultimately, did not recover. I was at the hospital with mutual friends and his family the day it happened. Despite the fact that he was in a coma I thoght, "I want to sing for him. Until he's not here, he's still here." (I'm told that there's good reason to believe that a coma we observe externally does not necessarily mean that's all there is to the situation at hand.) At best, he might be able to hear. If not, I can still worship God in the same room with him and trust the Holy Spirit will know how to sort out the value and consequences of the thing. So I sang four songs in his ICU room with his Wife, Son, and a couple Grandparents present. It was a curious mix of somber, solace, and yet surprisingly, joy peeking through the circumstances. Again, so glad I was able to do it. I got as much as I gave.

Scene Three.

A month ago, I played a concert in Atascadero, a couple hundred miles north of where I live in Southern California. At intermission (again with the snacks), one of the event volunteers remarked, "I have a dear friend who wanted to come tonight but he's recovering from a serious stroke and sometimes it's difficult for him to get out at night. He really wanted to come." So, I know you're ahead of me now … the next day I played a private House Concert for him and his Wife. Geesh, you'd have thought Elvis showed up. It was only me, but by virtue of all those albums over the years, we had a history of sorts even though I met him for the first time that afternoon.

And again.

Shortly after Atascadero, a dear woman who is, for all intents and purposes, the sister I never had goes in for serious surgery. Things went about as poorly as they could have gone and now she's facing a much longer and rockier road to recovery. But when I heard about it, it was clear as day ... I called her Husband and when the time was right I was singing at her bedside in the hospital. It's something I know how to do, it took an hour, I wanted to do it, and she appreciated the musical visit.

The Idea.

So, here's where all of this leading to: As I age, so my audience ages. Although I have no way of measuring the numbers of people who have listened (or still listen) over these many years, I'm less concerned about those statistics than I normally would be. The point is, nationwide, among that specifically-defined-group of people some are terminally ill, in poor health with an unknown prognosis, etc.

I want to make it part of my work to visit and sing for people in these circumstances whenever I'm able to do so. The most stupid-but-accurate way to describe this (with apologies to the many organizations that do this for real and do it quite well): A "Make-a-Bob-Bennett-Wish Foundation" is the skeletal idea/model for I'm thinking of. You'll just have to trust me that my intentions are as good as I know how to make them. There is no posturing, no con, no bait-and-switch, etc.

If out-of-town travel is required, I'm not currently situated to pay for that. I can gladly donate my time to perform a House Call Concert, but I don't have the finances yet to say to a Person or Family, "I'll take care of everything, let's just schedule a time and do it."

I'd like to start a foundation or use some other method to fund the travel, lodging, etc. that would be necessary. And I would absolutely hope for paying gigs surrounding a House Call Concert. If I'm in St. Louis to sing for someone on a Saturday morning, I would love to fill in Friday/Saturday evenings and Sunday AM-PM with other bill-paying gigs. But the goal would be to make this as free/no-cost as possible to those who are probably as financially stretched-thin as they'll ever be.

Now it would be easy to do this wrong or unwisely. I need feedback and ideas on how to do it. I need to know whether you think it's a worthwhile idea, and even though I have almost none of this worked out, I need to know if this prompts you to think of someone specific who might appreciate a House Call Concert.

Again, I would sing for anyone. This idea is not meant to be exclusionary. But it would be most helpful and, I hope, most effective if I'm singing for someone who already knows of me and wants to hear a few of the songs only I can sing. Perhaps this is analogous to a food item. If I'm laid up and a diet of hospital food until the doctor finally okays a cheeseburger from the outside, any good burger would probably do. But given that my favorite is specifically an "In-N-Out Double-Double", that specific medicine would be good indeed! Similar thing here.

Eventually, House Call Concerts might become a make-a-musical make-a-wish group to connect other artists with their own fans who are in dire straits. (I've received very positive feedback from a couple artists who are close pals. They've said, "When you get it going, count me in."

Please pardon the weaknesses of this as a "blog post", kindly consider the ideas within, and let me know what you think. And, in an abundance of caution and given my penchant for sometimes making simple things too complicated: I am NOT asking you for money. If something develops where I do seek outside funding, I'll spread that as far and wide as I can and people can opt-in for more information or move on as needed.

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For those who pray, I'd appreciate a sentence or two Heavenward about this.

"House Call Concerts" - I want to make it part of my Job.

The Adjective That Dare Not Speak Its Name

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Wed, 30 May 2012 07:05:00 +0000

Several years ago my Wife and I were at an Emergent Church Conference. (For those not fluent in Churchianity-speak, "emergent" is the catch-all term for a large cadre of people trying to figure out what comes next in Christian Faith and practice. Oftentimes that can be quite helpful, other times it seems a heartfelt but misguided effort to redefine terms. It's one thing to gussy up the terminology, it's quite another to do it for real and and to do it well. If we're just trying to re-brand apples by convincing people they're really oranges, what's the point?. But that's a whole 'nother blog post.)

Anyway, eventually we gathered at a General Session where a well-known author was scheduled to speak. As is customary in most of these Christian-themed conference meetings, there was a young team of musicians leading worship/congregational singing. These were young, earnest guys. Not my cup of musical tea, but I expect I wasn't their target audience anyway. As they were working through their set list they were commenting between songs. ("Sharing".) These were encouragements to focus, surrender, join in with the Community, etc. All good and standard issue as far it goes.

But then one of them announced, "We just want to be authentic."

I turned to my Wife and said, "You know, the minute you announce you want to be authentic, that's sort of the ball game. You've sort of tainted the deal and there's no turning back." Now why would I nitpick such a noble and practical goal?

In large measure I blame my generation, the Boomers, for this sort of "over-sharing". We announce, pronounce, and proclaim. We love to hear the sound of our own voices. But we mistake assigning language to a concept and agreeing with that concept for the actual doing of the thing. (Longtime listeners will note that I just cribbed a phrase from one of my own song lyrics. In my defense, I would only point out that I waited three full blog postings before I indulged in that kind of self-referential behavior.)

What I'm getting at is the difficult line between what you want to proclaim about yourself, your work, your goals versus things that you might want to simply do without much comment or grandstanding. It really is best to let others draw conclusions about your authenticity, reputation, quality of your work, etc. All of that can, and should, be part of your Mission Statement … but perhaps internalized and not spelled out for public consumption or announcement.

Maybe I'm being too cautious or, God help me, sanctimonious. But I truly mean no harm. I simply think that "incarnating" our values is a lot more effective and persuasive than talking about them alone.

Oh, how guilty I have been here. Maybe that's the "ouch" I'm passing along to you now. But for all the necessary verbiage we must employ … I'm a songwriter for goodness' sake … whenever possible, I would rather "put up AND shut up". Trying to encourage a true humility is probably suspect by definition. But I trust you to sort out what I'm trying to get at even if I'm doing it rather clumsily.

My pal Michael Card had a dear friend and mentor who I had the pleasure of meeting when we toured together in 1990-91. Dr. William Lane once told Michael, in response to his frustrations with the Christian Music Business: "Let the excellence of your work be your protest."

Your protest, your proclamation, your calling card, your identity. The "excellence of your work" should be the ultimate unspoken adjective that leaves the issue of your authenticity in the hands of others ... where it truly belongs.

Memorial Day 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Mon, 28 May 2012 15:27:00 +0000

The majority of us commemorate those who died from a generalized distance.

Others have to painfully remember and mourn up close and specifically.

My heart, in all it's blessed ignorance, goes out to them.

In Defense of Occasional Worry

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Sun, 27 May 2012 18:36:00 +0000

Bobby McFerrin's catchy 1988 song notwithstanding, sometimes it's downright difficult to "Don't Worry, Be Happy". But I would argue that you're probably in much better shape if you can occasionally "Be Happy Because You Can Still Worry". Of course, as Desi would intone to Lucy, I "have some es-plainin' to do".

Years ago, John Bradshaw made an important and helpful distinction between "healthy shame" and "toxic shame". Sometimes when you do (or fail to do) something that hurts others or even yourself, the ability and willingness to allow for healthy shame is actually productive. Sometimes it might do us a bit of good to feel bad about something, maybe bad enough to do something different if there's a next time. Whereas toxic shame is, as advertised, freaking toxic. Some of the loveliest people drawing breath are too locked up to know just how wonderful they truly are … or can be. Whenever I'm able to affirm and encourage someone whose mirror is broken, my heart beats a little faster.

If you have a functioning sense of right and wrong and instinctively, sometimes-involuntarily troubleshoot, congratulations! You've just signed up for the greater burden of humanity. You see something that needs fixing, you sleeplessly stare at the ceiling, you're faced with a heavily armed brigade of "we're all in our places with sun-shiny faces" see-no-evils and you think, "Man, I wish I could bliss out with those guys."

On top of that, the people who throw litter out the window, are turn-signal phobic, lie with a straight face, etc., these folks sleep the deep sleep of the clueless. Not knowing any better or not caring is a luxury they can afford. Sometimes I worry, sometimes I'm troubled. I try not to inflict this on others in unhelpful ways, but I expect those who love me enough to be close to me on a regular basis might have a less highfalutin' characterization of my worrisome behavior.

Over a lifetime, the late Dr. Paul Brand worked with lepers and co-authored a book called The Gift of Pain. He found that many of the degenerative symptoms of leprosy were caused, at the root, by a lack of feeling, by numbness. Now I'm certainly no fan of pain, especially the self-inflicted variety. If I have a choice between the character-building properties of pain and not having pain in the first place, I'm a coward every day of the week. But feeling pain (and circling back around to the issue of "worry") is a necessity. With apologies to Dr. Bradshaw for the thought-theft, maybe we can helpfully distinguish between "toxic worry" and "healthy worry" … and give ourselves and others the room to occasionally wrestle with things outside the lockstep of the Sunshine Patrol.

The Right Thing Usually Happens the Wrong Way

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Bennett) — Sat, 26 May 2012 16:49:00 +0000

Most everyone has an internal list of thoughts, sayings, and insights which they find helpful. Positives to be remembered, warnings to be heeded, etc. Whether self-composed by direct experience or passed on by others for lifelong use, they comprise what I call "The Rules of the Road".

My most recurrent one is: "The right thing usually happens the wrong way." Something goes haywire, you get fired, somebody does you dirty. In some sense, a situation feels unfair or "wrong". But, more often than not, the very thing that is the most irritating, painful, and just plain "wrong" becomes the point of entry (admittedly, sometimes kicking and screaming) that leads to a "right" you might not have otherwise entered into.

Does it sound like a bad Hallmark card?
Yes it does.
Is it true much more than I would like it to be?
Yes it is.