REMEMBERING MARSHA SUMNER

I had to break out the cassette player, and find some batteries. I'm so glad it still worked. I spent some time yesterday afternoon listening to the Marsha Sumner interviews I found...One was dated Sunday, May 5, 2002...It was two days before my first CD dropped. She invited me to be a guest on her show. She was so much fun, and always so encouraging...She told me that my mom had called in to Heaven 1580, and said she wanted to hear her daughter. It had been my mom's first time ever calling into a radio station, but Marsha was gracious, honored her request, and played a song from my CD. She told me, "I know how to deal with the mothers. I know how to hook them up!"...She talked about how much she admired Richard Smallwood and Vision..."Richard is the same all the time; someone I well respect--wonderful person--as well as a blessing to the Body of Christ"...She recalled a concert given on the parking lot of the now closed Circuit City, celebrating the release of "Persuaded: Live In Washington"...I love that she had the freedom to play what ministered to her. She wasn't just playing the music for others. She was enjoying it, too, and confident her listeners would be pleased...You never knew when you would hear a "God bless your heart" a "Glory, glory, glory!" or a "My, my, my" in the middle of a song...She was enjoying her time on air. "We're gonna go IN before we go out...I'm gonna go through and pick 'em...I'm a worshiper. All of 'em are good, but I'm looking for the one that's gonna carry me in!...Just go 'head and give 'em Jesus. They can't mess wit' cha!...Any time I can help you; hug your neck, you know where to find me...I try to bring ya'll nothing but the best."...On another cassette, I listened as she replayed War On Sin's "Couldn't Keep It To Myself", interrupted the track and said, "I haven't found my range yet, but that's alright. I'll fall in there somewhere. Come on ya'll! Sing!"
She was a consistent, enthusiastic, sincere cheerleader for so many of Washington, DC's gospel musicians and singers-- always admonishing everyone to keep God first.
Rest in peace, Marsha. Thank you.
"Love you most much!"

SUNDAY THOUGHTS : REAL PIANO

 http://www.cafepress.com/dd/96248422

I love music. 

I especially adore the sound of an acoustic piano. Hammers hitting strings, lush harmonies…Aaah…It’s heavenly in the right hands.

In the hands of a skilled musician, an acoustic piano's sound is divine. 

A well played piano makes me want to sing.

Advances in technology haven't been lost in the musical world, but I wonder if ease and cost are potential enemies of authenticity. 

Do we always know what we're hearing? 

Do we care?

A local restaurant/piano bar has decided to convert its acoustic piano to digital. 

I think if one touts oneself as the best at a specific thing, one should care about the tools, ingredients, and methods one employs. Hearing about how the conversion was done makes me wonder if it's a true conversion, or a criminal act. 

I'd read about the Bulgarian youth center employee who facilitated the destruction of a handmade, Bluthner grand piano, because she didn't think it had any value. Maybe she should have asked someone--a musician, perhaps. 

A musician would have schooled her (or locked her in a closet and whisked the precious piano to safety). 

Why do people make decisions without seeking the potentially life, time, energy, face, or money-saving input of those who have expertise, or experience? 

A lot of apologies, waste and outrage could be avoided. 

On the other hand, why was such a valuable instrument allowed to progress to a state where a non-musician would consider it worthless, and even a safety hazard? 

Why wasn't it better protected and cared for?

Now, I can't play anything except the radio, so I'm trying to understand what happened in Alexandria, Virginia. 

Neither the size of the venue's acoustic space, nor sound was a factor, but the heart and guts of a beautiful, real, acoustic grand piano were ripped out, and the keyboard was replaced by a bottom-of-the-line digital piano, suitable for a child, or a beginner who has a minimal interest in music. At the helm of the newly installed keyboard, is not a first-year piano student, but a virtuoso, a Berklee College honors graduate, a Barry Harris-mentored musical phenom, who is expected to bring to fore over 40 years of expertise, so that patrons can still experience, from the gutted shell of a real grand piano, the sound and feel of... a... real... grand... piano. 

Huh? 

Is it an insult to the intelligence of listeners? Does it matter to patrons, as they dine, whether the piano is real or not? 

Is it unfair to the musician to demand he display Sublimotion skill on a McDonald's instrument? Should a skilled musician be able and willing to play whatever instrument is available, and play it well?

One musician friend lamented, "The acoustic piano is an improvement on the harpsichord. You don't regress, you develop. 

I don't hate technology. There are really good digital pianos on the market, that are a result of years of experimentation and study, that will give you the sound of an acoustic piano, but fitting an expensive grand piano with something made by Fischer Price? I don't understand! You don't buy a Harley to get a mini-bike sound and feel. It's like giving a great vocalist a Mister Microphone and saying, "Here ya go! Use this!"

I wonder why the establishment's owners would not simply invest in a new digital piano, hire a piano tuner, or contact a piano manufacturer.

Why have what is essentially a 1200lb. Casio on deck? 

 

Granted, the piano will never have to be tuned again, and volume control is available, but is tuning so expensive that the best option is to permanently alter a fine instrument?

FRIDAY THOUGHTS: UPTOWN FUNK

I heard and saw the "Uptown Funk" video, for the first time, while waiting for a flight this past weekend. 

It was on a loop, so everyone in the B terminal at Cleveland Hopkins Airport had an opportunity for it to grow on us. 

For a minute, we were playing our personal versions of "Name That Tune"; just humming and trying to recall what songs this new offering reminded us of. 

Turns out, that we could be naming songs all day, because it's a super funky puzzle, made up of pieces of a lot of songs.

This is one, fun, catchy tune (and it's always good and refreshing to hear actual singing and real instruments being played on a track), but is it an homage to, and celebration of Zapp, Prince, The Gap Band, and others, or just straight, unintended musical theft? 

Doesn’t every song have the potential to remind you of another, by virtue of the limited amount of notes that are available to musicians? 

Still, I liked the nostalgia of it, and downloaded it when I got home.

When I figured out they were saying "smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy", I cracked up laughing. That IS pretty smooth...lol...(By the way, fellas, is saggin' officially over? Will we see the return of suits from Cignal and Cavalier Men's Shop?) 

Now about that "Hallelujah". Hey! HEY! Wait a minute! Is that cool? Can you just throw a "hallelujah" in a song all willy-nilly? Is it poetry? "Hallelujah" isn't one of those words you can hijack to mean something else, is it? 

Many religious people get pretty testy (and even violent) when any aspect of their faith is used in an unorthodox or disrespectful way. 

Do Christians have a bone to pick with Mr. Ronson and Mr. Mars, or no? Should we feel some kind of way? Should we call the religious "POlice"?... 

"It's your hallelujah?" "Shake your hallelujah?" "Hit your hallelujah?" 

“Sit your hallelujah?"... followed by one of the HIGHEST notes in the song, sung in that back vowel "oo"...and the promise that Uptown Funk will give the girls a reason to... say it?...or dance?...on Saturday night?...in the spot?...and if you don't believe him, just watch...him...dance...like...ummm...David?

 

Okay...okay...I know...way too deep...lol

The string and horn sections are smokin', and you COULD kinda lose yourself (and some weight) dancing to this little ditty.

Should we be prudish and "slow to take offense", or keep on tapping our feet, and think, "God you're gonna get the praise, that's due your great name, one way, or another."
Whatcha think, Chirren? 

"Just watch".

FRIDAY THOUGHTS: DREAMING

I dreamed I'd been invited to sing at a church. To say that the facility was ridiculously humongous would be an understatement. 

I'm not sure what the occasion was, but there were throngs of people all over the place. The invited guests had been herded into a large room to wait until their scheduled sound checks. 

I milled around greeting people for a while, then heard someone yell, "Vanessa, they're ready for you!" 

A lady told me she would be leading me to the sanctuary. She kept looking back and smiling to see if I was keeping up with her.

 

The sanctuary looked more like a bazaar. It also looked as if 20 different people had been given the opportunity to design a portion of the interior. There was no order; no continuity in the room. In some places there were neatly placed pews in neat rows. In another there were plush seats arranged in a semi-circular configuration. In another there were single folding chairs randomly placed. The windows on one side didn't match the windows on the other. Some were stained glass, some were plain, some were curtained, and others were high, and let in very little light. 

The only common thing in the place were the bright theater-style lights that bounced off of everything and shot beams in every direction.

The choir stand's rows ascended to the ceiling and stretched wall to wall. Thousands of people, dressed in formal attire, filled the stand's seats, and although they were all sitting quietly with their hands folded, loud chatter filled the room. 

I walked behind the lady who led me into the sanctuary, and she deposited me at the foot of the carpet-covered platform, the height of which was well over my head. 

A man carrying a clipboard and wearing headphones greeted me. He seemed to be directing the event. 

I waited as one guest after another checked sound for their performances. 

When I thought it would be my turn, a group of impeccably dressed and groomed people were selected from the enormous choir. They walked like models from their places, and positioned themselves at the microphones. Their faces were emotionless. They seemed to be staring off into space. They made gestures with their arms, and their lips were moving. They were making no sound, but everyone was clapping wildly for them. 

I strained to hear them, and was a little frustrated that I couldn't experience what everyone else seemed to be hearing. I'd been standing in heels and wanted to sit down, so I slowly walked around to the side of the platform.

There were round tables set up where the choir had eaten meals, but no one had finished their meals or cleaned up behind themselves. There were half-eaten hamburgers, plates of french fries, chicken and spaghetti, spilled ketchup, and dropped napkins. 

I looked around, but there was nowhere to sit. The chairs that hadn't been dirtied with spilled drink, or condiments, were covered with coats and purses. 

I didn't want to stray too far, so I gave up looking for a seat. Then I heard several people asking harshly, "Where is she? Where did she go? Can somebody find her?" 

There was a group of seasoned ladies sitting together in a corner, and one of them seemed annoyed by the urgency of the search for me. She pointed at me and said, "Here she is! She's right here! She's been here all the time!"

I walked back in the direction I thought was the way I came, and ended up on an incline that was paved with green, grass-like carpet. I was feeling anxious as it took me high above the choir to a platform that became softer and bouncier with every step. By the time I got to the spot I was told to stand, the floor was like a trampoline. There was nothing onto which I could hold. Behind me was a painted mural. The platform looked stable and straight, but standing on it was nearly impossible. I thought if I took off my heels I could keep my balance, but every move I made had me worrying if I would go tumbling forward into the choir. I finally got my shoes off, but told the man with the clipboard, "I can't stay here. Can't I come down to where the choir is?" 

Someone yelled that I could, so I walked down to the next level. The path to the microphone was wooden and suspended in air, and I felt like I was 'walking the plank'. 

There were hundreds of microphones of different types all around me. I asked the man with the clipboard which one I should use, and he said, "Try the pink one." When I picked it up, its color changed to a dull beige. I could hear clapping and people encouraging me to sing. Then, the sound engineer angrily said, "I have this track but there's only one song on it. This is all you gave me! It only has one song! Are you gonna sing this? Are you gonna sing "O Happy Day"?" 

I couldn't understand why he was complaining, and told him to just play whatever he had. When the track he chose began, I soon realized it wasn't a performance track at all. It was a CD with the lead vocals on it. I sang anyway, just to get through it. 

When the song ended, I put the mike back, and turned to leave. 

As I headed in the direction I'd come, I was suddenly surrounded by blue and gold trimmed, ornate frosted glass doors and windows. Even the ceiling was made of the exquisite glass. I looked for handles or knobs and couldn't find any. I could feel I was about to cry. 

A lady appeared at the other side of the door. I asked her, "How do you get out of here?" 

The opening of the glass door didn't go all the way to the floor. It opened, but you had to climb up and out of it to get to the other side. She showed me how to open the door which led to a hallway. Behind the hallway wall was a portion the choir. As I was trying to keep up with the lady, I heard a man say, "Why is she here? Why are they promoting her? They could have gotten a lot of other people to sing. Why her? We could have just sung ourselves!" 

I followed the voice, and confronted the man. I was surprised that he was an elderly gentleman. He was startled to see me, and immediately began backpedaling. I asked him why he was saying such things. I told him he didn't even know me. I was screaming at him, "What did I do to you?" He began apologizing profusely. 

I backed away from him, and realized I'd lost my guide. I saw exit doors and headed toward them. Someone told me there was a driver outside waiting to take me home. As soon as I got into the car, the driver began telling me that the source of all of the problems in the world was gospel music that had been influenced by secular music. Her voice was so calm and she really believed what she was saying. She wasn't watching the road as she drove. She was looking at me, as if the car was driving itself. 

I began screaming at her. I screamed at her all the way to the large house she parked in front of. I was rattled, but I thanked her for the ride and got out. 

My daughter opened the door for me. I realized I'd been driven to a house that she was renovating. When I got inside, I commented how beautiful and peaceful the rooms were. My daughter told me that the last things she needed to replace was the flooring in the kitchen, and the room she decided she would convert into her bedroom. "It's an ideal space" she said as she pointed in the direction of the upper floors. "I can still see where the pews were"...

She took me to the room and all along the walls were silhouettes in the original paint color, where the sides of the pews met the walls. On the floor were indentations where the pews had been bolted to the floor....Then I woke up... unusually remembered and recanted it all...and realized I had an actual headache.

The headache was so bad it, sent me directly to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I felt as if I must have tossed and turned all night and hadn't rested at all. I googled to see if dreams had the capacity to induce a headache and found that they do. 

I recalled what I had eaten last night. Hmmm. 

The smoked, hot sausages had been delicious. 

Maybe I'd had one too many. 

I wondered what were the last words and images I experienced before I drifted off to sleep. I'd laughed at Jerry Seinfeld, Miranda Sings, and Jimmy Fallon in episodes of "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee". 

I'd had a nice conversation with my daughter about her day. I'd read that Andrae Crouch passed away. That saddened me, and reminded me of my childhood church and my time in the young adult choir. I listened to "Take Me Back" on youtube, just because. 

The person in my dream was a me that started out content, cooperative and happy, but became frustrated, impatient, confrontational, and direct, and perhaps with ample reason to be so. It was a me that was also slimmer...lol

There are three random things I'd like to have from my dream: The full sweep black silk skirt, the waist that wore it, and the Louboutin pumps I had to take off...lol...Other things have me thinking more soberly:
1. Who, or what do I need to confront?
2. What foundation, of what thing in my life, is shaky?
3. What mystery person has my back, but I don't know it?
4. What do I need to embrace, revisit, or join, and from what or whom should I separate myself?
5. Who do I think is in my corner, but isn't?
6. Have I been getting enough sleep?
7. Should I prepare more intently to sleep? Change my sleeping environment?

The good news is that the headache subsided, I made oatmeal on purpose, as if I like it, and ate it.

I walked on the treadmill as I laughed at Gracie Allen, and have no plans that would require me to tackle the bitter cold outside today. 

If my dream has done anything, it has motivated me to some action, and changes.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: FIRST SNOW

Yesterday, I enjoyed the loveliness of the year's first snow-- from indoors. 

The weather didn't seem to stop some people, though. 

Today, I decided to embrace it, run a few errands, and take advantage of the early morning sunshine. The sunshine, I discovered, is deceiving. 

It's very cold out. I thought I had my "Nanook of the North" thing going on, but I could have used another layer. 

I hurt for every person I saw who wasn't wearing gloves...

(Note to self: 

T'is the season to keep a spare hat, pair of gloves, and scarf in the car.)

At the register, Miss Barbara doubled my bags so I could have one heavy thing to carry to keep me grounded. 

When I got back home, and parked the car, I wasted a little gasoline for a few seconds. The car was so warm! 

I got out, and then did the balance dance on the edge of the sidewalk, holding on to the car on my way to the passenger door. 

It's usually a very short walk, that requires little thought. Fear of falling, however, inspires patience, care, and strategic thinking. 

I envisioned myself wedged between the sidewalk and the car, face down in an icy puddle and laughed. 

I just wanted to get the bag, quickly get inside, and yell at myself for forgetting the hot chocolate. 

As I closed the door and planted my booted right foot in the snow, I heard, "Oh my!". 

The quiet of the morning amplified the woman's voice. 

It was my neighbor. She walks with a cane. 

She'd made it down the clear walkway successfully, but that was as far as the ice scraping and melting went. The sidewalk outside the gate was like The 2015 Ratchet Ice Capades. 

It demanded sure footing, confidence, and a pick of some sort.

I'd looked out of the window before deciding to go out, and debated whether comfort foods and dish detergent could wait another day. 

I could see it was nice, thick ice covering the sidewalk, and not the powdery stuff that had fallen as I'd slept Monday night. 

As I age, my love affair with cooler weather and temperatures amuses me. 

I used to detest Winter and all that it entailed. 

Here I was contemplating going out--voluntarily.

The ice reminded me of my childhood. 

I remembered myself crying as I stood at the top of Upsal Street hill. 

I wanted to go to school, but was terrified of falling down that hill. 

It hadn't occurred to me to use my vinyl book bag as a sled, like my sister and the other kids had done. They yelled from the bottom of the hill for me to hurry. When I yelled back, "I can't!" one too many times, it became apparent that I'd gotten on all of their collective nerves. 

They trudged back up the hill, grabbed me by the arms, and ran me down that hill. 

I screamed all the way, but it was nice to get to level ground. (When was the advent of the beloved snow day? I don't recall such a thing, but I digress.)

That same terror that I'd felt as a child, made a comeback, and was all over my neighbor's face. 

I wondered if she would just say "The heck with it" and go back inside. She was standing still--trying to figure out how she was going to navigate the ice. 

It's too cold today to be standing outside for even a little while doing anything, let alone thinking. 

My neighbor seemed frozen, and I knew she wouldn't be able to tackle the ice.  

In the back of my mind, I could see us both sprawled on the ground, but she needed help. 

Just as I decided to put my bag back in the car, a very tall, strong, brother clad in a liquid-paper-white, hooded, quilted, snowsuit/jumpsuit/onesie thingy, was walking up the hill. 

He just appeared out of nowhere. 

Yeah. I said it...out loud. He was an angel! 

His appearing couldn't have been timed better.

Chivalry lives! 

He opened the gate, took my neighbor's arm, and guided her across the ice and snow, off of the sidewalk, into the street, and to a waiting car. 

It was beautiful to see, but I didn't look very long. 

It was still cold-- and I smiled all the way inside.

It's nice when blessings come precisely when you need them.
Oh...and kudos to all of the Metrobus drivers on the A route, who waited for passengers as they navigated Bellevue's frozen, snowy, hills.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 I had a lovely dream. A group of friends were sitting at a large conference table laughing and making up nonsense songs. One tune was about people who sing to loudly, and another was an ode to singers who always forget lyrics. All of a sudden, two friends stood and started humming. Someone went to the piano that was in the room and began to play. The music was so beautiful that everyone stopped to listen. Once we all picked up the tune, we continued to hum as my two friends began to sing:

Feeling like I've taken on wings
Feeling there's a new song to sing
Wondering what the day's gonna bring
I'm feeling better
 
Feeling like there's great things ahead
Reeling in the words that were said
Feeling I can get up instead
I'm feeling better
 
Feeling something all over me
Feeling like there's hope, finally
Looking, and there's something to see
I'm feeling better

When I woke up, I really wanted to remember what I'd heard. I grabbed my computer and the light from it was blinding, but I typed as quickly as I could. Now if I could only remember the tune! Before I busied myself with other things I was supposed to have recorded a memo...oops. It'll come back to me...I hope...and I hope the sentiments of the song apply to you, too, this year.

Happy 2015...: )