The Nashville Weaklings
A few days ago, we had our first Weaklings meeting in more than a year. If you’re not familiar with the Nashville Weaklings, it’s a collective of songwriters not much less diverse than the group of contributors here in the Rabbit Room. Randall Goodgame and I decided a few years back to try and emulate the Oxford Inklings by meeting with other singer/songwriters for the purpose of…what?
Well, for one thing, for the purpose of getting off of our rear ends and really working. There were other considerations, like community, encouragement, critique and the like, but for me at least, having some kind of accountability on a regular basis was a big plus. Knowing that a Weaklings meeting loomed on the calendar meant that I’d better stay up that extra hour or two to make sure I had my newest song in the best shape possible before I sat in a circle with these formidable songwriters and laid it out for inspection.
One of the fun aspects of the meetings is the Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader writing assignment. We open a Bathroom Reader to a random page and read it aloud. Then we all have until the next meeting to write a song tied some way, however tenuous, to the article. I wrote a song called “Love is Blind” in response to a Bathroom Reader article about the infamous Maginot Line (if you’re wondering what it is, Google it. It’s a pretty interesting story). Eric Peters wrote a song inspired by the same article, and it ended up on his record Miracle of Forgetting. (You can buy the song here, at iTunes.)
Our next assignment was on the Legend of Pope Joan (again, Google it). I wrote a song called “Over My Head” (a live version is on Appendix M), Ben Shive wrote a fun Lyle Lovett-like song called “I’m Your Man”, and Randall Goodgame wrote, of course, “The Legend of Pope Joan”.
There were others, but you get the idea.
So a few days ago when our friend David Wilcox was in town, we arranged a Weaklings meeting so he could take part in our little community. The call went out. The call was answered by myself, Eric Peters, Andrew Osenga, Randall Goodgame, Ron Block, Andy Gullahorn, and David.
The article from the Bathroom Reader was about a telephone repair man who on a random house call discovered a valuable piece of furniture underneath piles of newspapers and dishes. He called the landlady and asked her to sell it to him, but she declined, saying that she needed the furniture for the tenants. Ten years later, the phone man (an antique hobbyist) finally convinced her to sell it, and the furniture fetched a million bucks.
Eric, Randall and I all made attempts at writing a song about it, and while none of them were really finished (or very good–yet), they all were the result of our talent and time being put to good use. I was up until 4 am working on mine, and had the distinct and horrible honor of playing first. It was kind of a nightmare, given the company I was in.
When I was writing the song I thought about Jesus’ offer of abundant life, and how we balk and make excuses, unable (or unwilling) to believe that he’s as good as his word. I remembered the C.S. Lewis quote about our desires and how they aren’t too strong but are too weak. “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”
Then I thought about the famous Walt Wangerin, Jr. story called Ragman. In it, Jesus walks through the streets trading his fine clothes for the rags of the homeless, trading his health for sickness, his joy for tears and so on until he’s so ragged and wounded and broken that he dies. I thought about the way I cling to worthless junk, refusing to believe that Jesus’ offer of his love in exchange for our broken lives actually yields new life.
Here are the words that came out:
Get out of my kitchen
Get out of my life
I don’t want to sell what you’re buying no more
I don’t want to listen
Don’t care if you’re right
Just what kind of fool do you take me for?
(I don’t want to let go)
Oh Ragman, how can you come here
Telling me things too good to be true?
Oh Ragman, how can you come here
And make me an offer that I can’t refuse?
I know it ain’t pretty
It’s charming at best
But the spell that I’m under is appealing to me
So spare me your pity
I know it’s a mess
But it’s mine from the floor to the ceiling, you see
(And I don’t want to let go)
Ragman, how can you come here
Telling me things too good to be true?
Oh Ragman, how can you come here
And make me an offer than I can’t refuse?
Your love is a loaded gun
So hard to deny
I’ll give you what you want
But please, I don’t want to die
So take all the chaos
All the clutter and crap
Take all that’s left of the life I have
Even if you have to pry it from my cold dead hands
(I don’t want to let go)
Ragman, how can you come here
Telling me things too good to be true?
Oh Ragman, how can you come here
And make me an offer than I can’t refuse?
When a song is only a few hours old it’s hard to know what to think about it. I played it (shaking like a leaf) and the reaction was…silence. Maybe it was because it was the first song and folks hadn’t loosened up enough to feel comfortable offering any critique. Or maybe it was because I played the song so badly they couldn’t really listen to it. It is what it is.
But my point is, whether or not the song will grow into anything I’d ever perform, I learned a lot in the process. I was forced to think about grace. I was forced to exercise my imagination. I wrote a song that I never would’ve written otherwise. And hopefully, I’m a better writer because of it. Later, Eric and Randall played their songs about the article, coming at it from two other angles. Wilcox didn’t write anything new for the topic but played a cool version of “A Touch of the Master’s Hand” because it fit so well.
Osenga and I talked about it on the phone tonight, laughing at how horrifying it is to play something new for someone, especially when that performance exposes the glaring problems with the song. But that’s the most valuable part of the experience. He played a new one and after our comments went home and rewrote the whole thing.
So if you’re a creative type, I’d highly recommend tracking down a bunch of artists who are better than you, meeting with them as often as you can, and welcoming their criticism. It has to be people you respect, otherwise you’ll ignore their advice.
Of course, sometimes you ignore their advice even then.
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.
“Of course, sometimes you ignore their advice even then.”
“I don’t want to listen
Don’t care if you’re right…
I know its a mess
But it’s mine from the floor to the ceiling, you see.”
I know the meanings aren’t exactly the same. But they’re certainly reminiscent.
I think the song makes a good point and I appreciate your sharing it. I see these things in my own life. I think they are a worthy comment on the human condition (of sin) and the need, but discomfort, of redemption.
Things are different once you are redeemed and we, as people, tend to move toward the old life, the life of oppression. We want the easy life we can see over the good life that is unknown. Just look at the children of Israel after they were lead out of Egypt. Thats a picture of us too, our own sinful nature, our own redemption.
I remember the guy in the Great Divorce with the lizard (maybe it was a lizard) on his back and the other guy with the ogre on the chain (Its been a while since I read it). But those are pictures of us, pictures of how we want to hang on to our sin.
I like it Andrew.
Plus you used the word “crap.”
my son has three or four volumes of uncle john’s readers for kids. i’m not sure if all the stuff he shares w/ me from it is true or not. i never could’ve imagined getting inspiration from it. i think this is smart of you guys to do. so, where’s the city of writers (not musically gifted) where i can meet for coffee on someone’s porch? not long ago, i looked up the knoxville writer’s guild online, but was pretty intimidated by it. anyone out there have experience w/ this kinda thing?
I like your song, AP. It’s an interesting reversal on the kingdom of heaven and the pearl of great price.
Maybe you could give a creative assignment to the RR crowd…
How cool! I love the lyrics . . . I am always intrigued by the inspiration process. I find it amazing how one creative work can inspire another. The Nashville Weaklings group is something similar to what I’ve been longing for and concepts I’ve had floating around in my head for many years now (I even tried to create a blog-like atmosphere at one point that presented a creative work so others could create their own work based on it . . . but most people didn’t want to take the time). There are so many ways to take the concepts of a group like that and use them in different ways . . . to push those involved, to inspire those on the sidelines, to use as a means of worship or prayer, bring more personal meaning and growth as a result of critical examination of someone else’s work, etc . . . Creatives need community, much like us Christians need fellowship! It forces us to reach out and push our limits and evolve our talents! Thanks for sharing this experience! It helps to reignite my ideas on similar endeavors!
“Your love is a loaded gun
So hard to deny
I’ll give you what you want
But please, I don’t want to die”
I love it. This is faith, the life that Christ calls us too… the opportunity to live in his love, the demand to die to self and this world. One is full of blessing, the other is impossible to do without his help. Guaranteed to have trouble in this world, we can take heart that He has overcome.
An exercise that my friend Ethan suggested that he and I do was to watch a movie and then write an entire soundtrack for that movie (no matter if it already had a soundtrack to begin with).
Haven’t done it yet, but I think we might soon. We just watched “Into the Wild”, and I’ll have to get Eric Peters’ “Bus 152″ out of my head before I do any writing.
Oh, and by the way, Andy, it’s good to know that you write songs that you find to be terrible. That destroys the hope-sucking illusion that I have of you sitting at home and birthing out fantastic and mind-blowing material like a musical Pez dispenser.
AP,
Meeting with a bunch of real songwriters was great for me. I sat there after hearing your song written on such a random topic and was amazed. I write by chance, by hope, and sometimes I come out with a decent song. Your songs sound like you - even though they are all different, with various subjects, feels, chord progressions, they’re stamped with your unique identity as a writer and a person. You not only have the Muse, but you’ve got a solid handle on the craft as well. It was incredibly enlightening to sit there and listen to everyone’s songs and critiques.
And I always like anyone who can work the word “crap” in there somehow.
Nate, I just finished reading The Great Divorce last night; I put it on my Amazon wish list after the excellent comments in the RR, and I was not disappointed… though I had to come at it from the right angle, which was not necessarily mine.
The lizard guy was the most joyful scene for me, the dwarf the most tragic. Lewis’ had a fascinatinly insightful take on the dual nature of our desires and the merits (or demerits) therein.
AP, way to step outside your comfort zone; these words resound. Now if I could just keep those vibrations from being dampened by all the other junk — dare I say, crap — in my heart…
Peter,
In Divorce I love how Lewis brings out that “no natural feelings are high or low, holy or unholy, in themselves. They are all holy when God’s hand is on the rein. They all go bad when they set up on their own and make themselves into false gods.” Human attributes, talents, emotions, propensities, are neither good nor evil; they are neutral, and manifest good or evil based on the Spirit (or spirit) that drives them. The beauty and power of the lizard after it is sacrificed is the power our humanity has when indwelt and operated by Christ. His perfection in us is static, a one-time event that lasts forever - and yet the outworking of that is a process, one that can be sped up greatly by saying, “Lord, work Your will in my life no matter what the cost.” Otherwise we can live even our Christian lives in this way: “There is always something they insist on keeping, even at the price of misery.”
Divorce is one of my favorite books, along with Screwtape.
I second Aaron Roughton’s suggestion; I think Rabbit Room readers would eat it up if we were given an assignment and a deadline where we could do a Weaklings-esque exchange over the internet, perhaps utilizing home recording and myspace pages or something like that. Unless you are in Nashville or another big city like that it can be hard to find a group of local artists who are all equally as serious about songwriting. After visiting with you guys in Nashville a couple of years ago I’ve tried with a couple of different groups locally to do something similar and most people who seem serious about it don’t have the time to put much effort into an assignment. The Chattanooga music scene isn’t dead but it has never quite thrived.
Jonah, I like your idea.
Your entry reminds me of another great use of the word ‘crap’ in a song. From a Vigilantes of Love tune:
“I bought a crap detector
Emptied all my savings
It has a hair-trigger feel
For the slightest provocation.”
I think that is from ‘earth has no sorrows, heaven can’t heal.’
I have to agree with Chris about being far from Nashville and hard to find musicians. The Nashville music scene is so influential in the area. I guess there are good aspects of that and bad. I moved to Louisville and there is just a world of difference. I cant find a base player for my worship band at church. Its a sad state of affairs.
Everything about this post is appealing to me, from the idea behind the Nashville Weaklings, to the assignments within the group, to the lyrics you posted. I particularly love the rhyme of, “….appealing to me,” with, “….ceiling, you see.” I love witty rhymes. Some of the better writings from my youth came as a result of being made to do them for some class and I actually miss the motivation that an assignment with a deadline created. I also miss the feedback that I got by way of a grade. Paint me dorky, but there were times when I was hyper for days with anticipation after turning in an assignment and was waiting on getting it back. The feedback that I mostly receive these days sounds a bit like, “Can you stop playing for a sec? Gladiator’s back on. You can pick it back up at the next commercial.”
Anyway, I’m jumping on that bandwagon of respecting the way you worked crap into a song. Take a bow for that one, my friend.
Stacy
What an interesting and hilarious compilation album that would make:
Appendix BR (aka Bathroom Reader)
Perhaps Uncle John would consider a 2-fer-less book & CD combo set… what innovation that would be, to combine such literary and musical talents in such a clever montage of humanity and godliness!
Ron, YES. Lewis, as always, provides such sharp insight into what makes us human, and how it can help (or hinder) our transformation.
Fans, I’m still holding out for Appendix BM. Come on, AP; we know you have it in you.
I thought Gullahorn would call me so I could slip in and watch a great meeting of the nashville weaklings. Perhaps if I pay?