I Never Met Charles Ives

I've been listening to "alot" of Ives. From his biography via the immensely useful Charles Ives Society, Inc.:

...Charles Ives came to associate everyday music with profound emotions and spiritual aspirations. One of his father's most resonant pieces of wisdom came when he said of a stonemason's off-key hymn singing: "Look into his face and hear the music of the ages. Don't pay too much attention to the sounds--for if you do, you may miss the music. You won't get a wild, heroic ride to heaven on pretty little sounds."

Charles Ives grew up determined to find that wild, heroic ride, that music of the ages--the spiritual power he felt in the singing at outdoor camp meetings and in bands marching during holidays. It would take many years of struggle and experiment, however, before he fully possessed the musical language to transform that spirit into orchestral and chamber music.

A man before my own heart. I hope it takes me fewer years of struggle and experiment to fully possess the musical language to transform that spirit into songwriting. Because Ives started at the age of 13 and I've gotten off to very a late start.

Orchestral Set No. 2 - III - From Hanover Square North, at the End of a Tragic Day, the Voices of the People Again Arose

My father was a barber

Great bangs have great beginnings.

For my birthday, I would like to tell you a story. I recorded it last night.

First, you have to sit down and close your eyes. Imagine the sound of a marching band drumline cadencing onto a crisp wet field. Imagine a drone in the low brass. Imagine a fiddle double-stop, the sounds of banjo and strings joining in, loaded with a full battery of percussion in the chorus.

And then... press play.*

  My father was a barber 

 
*Please forgive the recording quality. I am making these rough draft recordings to give would-be band members a sense of my songs. Until then, most of the instruments must be imagined. I am seeking a drummer/arranger, fiddler, cellist, and an upright bassist. If you're into this, by all means drop a line.

Charlene's Ordination Song?

It's true that, from time to time, I do some creative writing during church services. Stand up and sing a hymn, back to the notebook, take my place in the choir, to the notebook, pick up the French horn for the offertory, to the notebook, to the notebook, to the notebook. It's my own private call and response.

And it's a happy coincidence that today, during the ordination of the new Reverend Charlene Han Powell [WAHHOO HUZZAH!], I finished writing my latest song [YAAAAY]. What's unusual about this song is that it is finished and I still really like it. (Usually, now would be the repulsion stage in my process.)

You know how rappers will often start with an exposition, like "My name is ... and I'm from ... and this is what I'm about ... so I'm here to say..."? It's like that. Sort of. This is definitely an album opener and a show opener. Also you hafta hafta hafta imagine that it opens with a drumline cadence, then perhaps a brass pedal drone and/or a double stop in the violin before the voice comes in. And there's a banjo. And harmonies and lots of strings and drumline action as it picks up.

untitled

my father was a barber / and my mother made our home
in the sweet idyllic country / Wilderness and Locust Grove
honeysuckle spring and summer / maple leaves in early fall
without fail one day the truth prevailed I somehow lost it all

so long I've tried to say it / but I couldn't find my words
displaced Americana / hymn sings and hope deferred
fantasy or pure conviction / you can claim that I am wrong
but i do not need your third degree to put this into song

lay low, let it go
there are stranger works of fiction that I know
since then, where I've been
is the place where grace moves in

studied Carter, Ives, and Barber / dropped the needle one by one
symphony and private lessons / Theory IV and Methods I
it took several years of schooling / just to finally learn one thing
that I do not need a third degree to stand up here and sing

lay low, let it go
there are stranger works of fiction that I know
since then, where I've been
is the place where grace moves in
(repeat)

----- instrumental break w/ much drumline ------


my father was a barber / and my mother made our home
in the sweet idyllic country / Wilderness and Locust Grove
honeysuckle spring and summer / maple leaves in early fall
without fail one day the truth prevailed I somehow lost it all

----- transition to 3/4 time + 4-part harmony ------

I thought it was over
I thought I was done
some kind of an old soul
found out I was young
(repeat x3)

----- end humming the coda + add drumline to finish -----