The Law of Gravity
I just got back from a quick visit to Andy Gullahorn’s childhood home in Texas, and it was exactly as you would imagine it to be: a picturesque ranch house, ATVs, big trucks, wide fields pocked with cow patties, and Andy’s dad in the backyard teaching Andy’s daughter how to shoot a gun. I’m not joking.
If you’ve seen Gullahorn live, you’ve probably heard him talk about the fact that he’s from Texas. Most people from Texas can hardly stop talking about the fact that they’re from Texas. They brag about how everything in Texas is better than everywhere else, and how Texas was the only state that used to be a country, and how they’re allowed to fly their flag at the same height as the American flag, and how guns are cool and so is Texas. I remember, for example, George W. Bush responding to the accusation that he has a swagger by saying that in Texas they just call it walking.
I tend to roll my eyes at Texophilia (a word I might have just coined), but I have to admit that there is some evidence that Texas is pretty great. Take my recent trip to Laity Lodge for example: three days with the Gullahorns, Buddy Greene and Jeff Taylor, Eugene Peterson, a delightful group of attendees, fine meals, mist on the Frio River, a Steinway piano and a library of my favorite books.
Then there’s Taco Cabana, beef brisket, Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove (my favorite western book and movie), Lyle Lovett and a passel of other singer/songwriters like Townes Van Zant and Guy Clark. So yes, Texas has some cool stuff–but I think a lot of that has to do with its sheer size. It’s a matter of mathematics that they’re bound to have a few more notable residents than, say, Rhode Island.
But when I watch Andy play his songs, I wonder if there’s more to it than math. There must be something in the water, I think. Otherwise, how could he do that? How did he just move an audience from howling laughter to deep stillness in the space of a few lines? And as a songwriter I wonder how he keeps finding angles, new ways of looking at things, new turns on old clichés. I wonder how a guy who grew up shooting deer, riding four-wheelers, raising cattle, and baling hay could have learned to write songs about not just funny things but wise things: faithful marriage, obedience, Christ, sin, children–Kingdom things. I wonder how a guy who never reads can be so deft with words. And so deft with sideburns. I wonder how someone from the cockiest state in the union–yes, union, Texans–can so humbly tell a story.
I have a hunch Gullahorn will read this, so to preserve our friendship I’ll stop gushing. But I wanted to tell you his new record is about to release (December 1) and that you can order it here in the Rabbit Room Store. If you pre-order you’ll get an immediate download of the album.
Like his previous albums Room to Breathe and Reinventing the Wheel, this one features little more than Andy’s voice and acoustic guitar. Of course, his wife Jill Phillips sings on it, and cellist David Henry added some pretty sounds. But what’s front and center here are songs. Excellent songs, from start to finish. And that’s exactly how Texas wants it.
Here’s one from the new album. It’s called “Someone to You”.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
I’ve been living with The Law of Gravity for a week or so, so I’ve been pondering some of the questions you raise, Andy. I don’t know how much an aritist realizes that it’s hard to separate the work from the worker, the art from the artist. And it’s not in a weird fanboy way. More so, it’s like one is taken in by the stories, whether they are song biographies or just creative writing. In the same way one may like a particular character on-screen, one develops a like for the way a particular recording artists communicates. To loosely quote Karl Childers from Slingblade, “I like the way he talks.”
I’ve had that Ernest Hemingway quote about Faulkner running through my mind this week as I’ve listened to Law of Gravity over and over again, and it reminds me of Gullahorn’s writing:
“Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?”
As I’ve listened to Law of Gravity, the thought keeps running through my mind: Gullahorn doesn’t need big words because the emotions and ideas are framed so cleverly and skillfully, we just get it without the fancy footwork.
Since the CD I’ve heard is a download, I haven’t seen the lyrics yet, but this record seems to be like every other record that Andy Gullahorn writes in this regard (Old Hat is one Andy didn’t mention): Words are short but the depth of emotion is tall. It really sucks when your driving down the interstate and “New Pair of Eyes” fills a guy’s eyes with tears and the Kleenex box is on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
See, I know Andy Gullahorn’s secret. I’ve been following his music from day one. He lowers our expectations–small words, a low-key stage demeanor, a CD cover featuring a torn old hat, stuff like that–and we wonder if he can even carry a tune. Then while we slack off on defense, he drives right by us and slam dunks with authority (the metaphor is appropriate, since Andy is a sports fan).
This is my round-about way of seconding Andy’s motion to buy Andy’s new record. I was going to write a review, but maybe I just did.
I have been enjoying it immensely, all week; even the irreversible mental images I have from “Money Where Her Mouth Is”
AP, I’ve had this within the hour that he announced it’s availability. It was not a long drawn out thought process of whether to get it or wait for some gift bearing event. And as we say here in Texas, that dog’ll hunt! What an awesome record Andy made. Two or three of the songs on this album Andy was gracious enough to play in my living room last summer.
After listening to it at least a dozen times at this point, I think I’m ready to claim that this might be his most personal record. Yes, he’s had songs before (”That Man”) that stop you dead in your tracks and do a quick inventory of your life and beliefs. But almost every tune on this record has Andy opening himself up.
And he does all of this without loosing an ounce of his patented Gullahorn wit. Veterans of his music are much too savvy to start chuckling at lines like “have you ever been so selfish that you let your baby cry while you finished up a video game. I haven’t either, that’s pretty bad.”. Because you just KNOW that by the end of the thing he’s going to have punched you in the gut really hard with a strong Texas right upper cut as he does here (not putting in the spoiler for the rookies out there.)
And underlying all of these songs is the amazing technical acumen of his guitar work. Having been within 5 feet of him as he played for me and 40 good friends, I can say that the guitar is truly like another appendage for him. He makes it look like there is 0 effort to play.
One last thing. The bonus song (Working Man) should definitely come with a warning. First I cried, then I laughed, then I wet myself laughing (somewhere near the bridge and the “modulation”), then I almost went over an actual bridge with the ending. All while driving home… from work. Cause… (wait for it), I’m a workin’ man….
3 words to those still reading this comment - Buy This Album. Don’t wait, don’t walk, RUN to the nearest rabbitroom/jillphillips.com outlet and buy this album. You deserve it.
I wholly agree with you, Curt. Gullahorn’s subtle mannerisms, sideways glances, and self-depricating humor set the stage like props. Then he strolls in and spits out some Shakespeare level word play in a Texas drawl (please, don’t think Kenneth Brannagh in Wild West). Within seconds he’s got you hooked. Call it a feint, a hustle, a misdirection, whatever. I think it’s a perfectly executed game-plan by a guy that knows his own strengths and weaknesses.
Mr. Peterson, I, like you, started out as a Floridian (Floride? Floridiot?). Texas was an acquired taste for me. Austin is a great place to get acclimated. However, it didn’t take me any time at all to become a fan of Mr. Gullahorn. I’ve been hoping you’re right about their being something in the water since I’ve lived out here. Maybe I can catch what Andy has. I haven’t listened to the download enough to speak educatedamubly about it (that’s a word I learned in Texas), but the first few passes have been golden. And like Curt, I can’t wait to get my hands on the liner notes of The Law of Gravity.
I love Texas but the Texophilia even gets on my nerves sometimes, too.
So glad you enjoyed Laity Lodge. Thanks for the good words. I can’t speak for Steven and Mark, but I’d love to see all of the SquareHalo Alliance folks come out to Laity eventually.
Workin’ Man is my favorite country song.
Texas rocks, even down here in the Armpit O’ Texas where I live. There are many reasons to be proud of this great state. Andy’s music makes me that much more so. I’m very excited about the new CD!
P.S. Can I request more concerts south of Dallas? It takes me ten hours of straight driving just to get there. (In case you didn’t catch it, I’m bragging about the immensity of my state.) We’ve driven the five to six hours to get to Austin just to see Behold the Lamb, and it was so worth it, we made a similar drive the following year just to see it again. But Dallas is a bit far.
Right on! Waiting on this one.!
The album is great…my favorite so far is “I haven’t either.” I heard somebody comment about the last record that AG sets trap songs that catch you and you do not see it coming…that one got me big time.
If you guys like the album version of Working Man go search YouTube and hear the alternate ending…It is hilarious.
Chris
This is like Andy’s last record for me. I’m listening, and I can’t stop…
I had the privilege of watching him play some of these live this past week at Laity Lodge in TX, and I had so much fun watching friends in the audience be pulled in laughing, crying, and be mesmerized by this humble, likable guy.
I was sent to the grocery for some mild cheddar the other day, and “New Pair of Eyes” came on. My son had just emailed me a smiling picture of my new grandson who is due in 7 weeks. Needless to say, I sat in the parking lot wiping the tears. I will be forcing all of my friends to listen to this disk. (at least the bonus track…)
I am consistently impressed with the music that the Andy’s write. Not only do I love the melodies and chording, but I am struck by the theological depth that they can put into three and a half minutes. What an amazing God that he would give such grand gifts to his people. Great work.
I agree with all the praise that’s been lofted toward Andy’s newest. I also can’t stop listening to it. The snaps and claps on the opening suck me in like a black hole and then I can’t stop until the end.
However, I must take issue with the Texas abuse that is being peddled here. Particularly this statement: “So yes, Texas has some cool stuff–but I think a lot of that has to do with its sheer size.”
This is like saying, “Yes, Andrew Peterson is talented–but I think a lot of that has to do with his sheer ability as a musician, writer, and human being.” You can’t fault Texas for being big any more than you can fault Andrew for being Andrew. That’s what makes it Texas! And that’s what makes you Andrew Peterson. And Andrew Peterson is awesome and talented. But Texas is … Texas.
Wow…where to start. I have just recently been exposed to the talents of Andy Gullahorn.Having just seen him in concert here in Cleburne TEXAS…I have been a fan of Andrew Peterson for years and am ashamed I was so ignorant of Andy Gullahorn. I Had the pleasure of watching the folks for a day. Playing music rehearsing and laughing.Andy Gullahorn impressed me with his quiet mastery of his craft. I look forward to hearing more of his and his wifes work…Come on home to Texas soon…