Here Comes the Flood

Here Comes the Flood

If I had to pick a quintessential Peter Gabriel song, it would probably be Here Comes the Flood. While Wallflower is my personal favorite, there is a depth to the lyrics of Flood that allows it to take on various meanings, lending itself to reinterpretation through different performances. That helps to explain why I own four different recordings of the song.

Originally recorded in 1977, Gabriel was reportedly unsatisfied with the bombastic nature of the full band performance on the track. He favored a simpler piano accompaniment. I first became familiar with the version Gabriel recorded in 1990 for his first greatest hits compilation, Shaking the Tree (it also appears on his 2003 compilation Hit). It is a stunning departure from the original, just Gabriel's voice and his piano. While I usually give credence to original versions, I had always viewed the 1990 version as the definitive recording of this song.

However, the completist in me couldn't resist checking out the other available version of the song. Gabriel had developed a close working relationship with King Crimson's Robert Fripp over the recording of his first two solo albums. This yielded a collaboration between the two on Fripp's 1979 solo album Exposure. Gabriel got to re-record Here Comes the Flood with the simple piano accompaniment he wanted, while Fripp added an intro and outro (Water Music I and II) and some frippertronics to the track, and Brian Eno stitched a few sparse keyboards into the whole thing. To me, it contains the perfect balance between the full band version and the simplified ‘90 recording.

It gets better though. After a mess of record company obstructions and objections altered the 1979 release, Fripp ended up remixing and re-releasing Exposure in 1983. This resulted in yet another version of Here Comes the Flood. Basically the same track, the vocals were brought more to the forefront and the whole thing was given a much warmer, fuller sound. Some of Fripp's guitar on the first chorus was removed, and another keyboard section was added over both choruses.

I loved how the extra guitar tracks from the earlier version build up through the first chorus. If I ran the world, I would have kept the instrumentation as it is on the '79 version and given it the polishing it received on the '83 version. But I don't, so for now I'll have to live with competing versions of the song until one day when I do run the world (In fact, I think the '90 version has the best overall vocal performance, so I would slap that on the '79 version too if I could). The whole Exposure album has been beautifully remastered and contains both versions of the song.

I've never been able to put my finger on what exactly the song is about. I first heard it during my senior year of college while I was studying philosophy. At the time every song seemed to deal with the existential crisis of modern man lost in a cruel universe without God, values, or hope. I do think there is an element of that in the song. Stranded starfish waiting for the "swollen Easter tide" seems like a reference to modern life without religious hope. What the flood itself is, is harder to pinpoint, but I think it has to do with the ever-changing world in which we live. Existence is not static being, but rather, fluid becoming.

The song also has important associations with the end of the year for me. It actually sounds a little bit like Auld Lang Syne. The lyrics deal with continual change, and there is an ominous tone of something about to break which has been holding back "the flood" until now. Reflection, transience, and expectation all seem to meet in the lyrics and instrumentation. The Fripp version includes a sound clip during Water Music I of a narrorator describing cataclysmic climate change, rising sea levels, and the flooding of major cities. I think this song captures the essence of uncertainty and frailty in a world, seemingly, without absolutes or hope in anything beyond the natural order of things. Humanity tossed along on a sea of chance. It is the dreamer, the one who chooses his own reality, who will be able to survive in such a world. "Drink up dreamers you're running dry."

A rare song that merits multiple interpretations and repeated listenings.


When the night shows the signals grow on radios
All the strange things, they come and go as early warnings
Stranded starfish have no place to hide
Still waiting for the swollen easter tide
There's no point in direction
We cannot even choose a side

I took the old track, the hollow shoulder across the waters
On the tall cliffs they were getting older, sons and daughters
The jaded underworld was riding high
In waves of steel held metal at the sky
And as the nail sunk in the cloud
The rain was warm and soaked the crowd

When the flood calls you have no home, you have no walls
In that thunder crash you're a thousand minds within a flash
Don't be afraid to cry at what you've seen
The actor's gone there's only you and me
And if we break before the dawn
They'll use up what we used to be

Lord, here comes the flood
We will say goodbye to flesh and blood
If again the seas are silent in any still alive
It'll be those who gave their island to survive
Drink up dreamers you're running dry

A Dense Fog

A Dense Fog

It had set in the night before, but I was still surprised to be greeted come morning by a dense fog. Though the pillar of cloud appeared to block my way, the cotton ball aura yeilded to my car as I turned out of the driveway and onto the road. O coma way o coma way say I, sang U2 as I made my way through the neighborhood. I wasn't so much coma way-ing as goina way-ing to work. A new day obscured by clouds.

Life appears as a scene obscured by a dense fog. Events in the present are visible, moreso the closer they come. Events in the future or past, in front or behind, become hazy and eventually invisible. Experience and present view give an idea of what lies ahead, but only that. Efforts to project into the future, like high beams that shine back off of fog, often prove futile and have the unintended effect of blinding the view to the present.

On through the mist, the world white washed in wetness, I continued on my way. The skyline is still purified by the lather of clouds stretching up and over my twelth floor window. Awake without caffein, I wait for the coffee to be ready. Anticipation of future events confused with the awareness of the present and the memory of the past.


And you know it's time to go
Through the sleet and driving snow
Across the fields of mourning to a
Light that's in the distance

And you hunger for the time
Time to heal, desire, time
And your earth moves beneath
Your own dream landscape

Oh, oh, on borderland we run...
- U2

The Word of the Day is...

The Word of the Day is...

MacGuffin

Apparently coined by Alfred Hitchcock himself. I'm most impressed by the example from G.I. Joe.


At the moment when she knew we couldn't see
She came up from the ocean, driven by the sea
And she kept on hangin' round like she would never leave
In between the wind and rain she screamed...
- King's X

What a Perfect Mess

What a Perfect Mess

I've decided that the cleanliness of my apartment is exemplified by the condition of the blinds in my living room. I have two windows on one wall, and, thus, two sets of blinds. When I moved in, the blinds were caked with a layer of dust and grime that initial efforts failed to clean. When my brother moved in, he was determined to fix that. He spent about two days working at one set. Then he gave up too. Now one set of blinds is (fairly) clean and white, while the other is still a grimy gray.

The two sets now serve as symbols similar to Yin and Yang, representing my general attitude about cleaning. The white represents the extremes of cleanliness, and the dingy gray represents the apathy towards dirt that "doesn't hurt." When balanced against each other, these attitudes achieve an equilibrium of general cleanliness about the place.

The obvious and necessary parts of my house are kept rather clean (the carpet, the dishes, most of the bathroom), while the less noticeable parts (the corners behind the furniture, the dust on the blinds, the extra cabinets that I don't have anything to put in) are left well enough alone. The other day I noticed a family of spiders hanging out in the corner of the livingroom. At first I was startled and thought I should do something. Then I realized, "hey, as long as they eat the other bugs, they can stay." Generally, my motto is, "if you don't get it dirty, you won't have to clean it." These are principles that all men should live by, in all areas of life, I think...

In other news, I've re-discovered the joys of sweat pants. Why have I been depriving myself for so long? Warm, soft, flexible -- every man's best friend! Especially well suited for long, cold days (and nights) spent at home while nursing an illness, or for lounging around on the weekends. However, don't allow your new friend too much license. If you aren't sweating, you probably shouldn't take him out in public.

Mad props to Aquafresh. 24 years cavity free and counting. I should get paid for this type of publicity.


Speak to me in a language I can hear
Humour me before I have to go
Deep in thought I forgive everyone
As the cluttered streets greet me once again
I know I can't be late, supper's waiting on the table
Tomorrow's just an excuse away
So I pull my collar up and face the cold, on my own

The earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
At the blasphemy in my old jangly walk
Steeple guide me to my heart and home
The sun is out and up and down again
I know I'll make it, love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the earth
And you can make it last, forever
You can make it last, forever you...
- Billy Corgan

This Day Keeps Getting Better and Better

This Day Keeps Gettin Better and Better

I happen to be reading (or finally finishing) C.S. Lewis' space trilogy right now, so during lunch today I checked out Lewis' biography on Wikipedia. I had heard this before, but it was intersting to note that Lewis died the same day that President Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. Then I read the "On this day" segment on the main page and realized that today is the actual anniversary of Lewis' and Kennedy's respective demizes. It also happens to be Greg Hawkin's birthday.

So, happy home-going to you Clive Staples Lewis! President Kennedy, I haven't much to say to you. And G, have a happy birthday and knock back an Amber Boch for me! It certainly is a noteworthy day in world history!



Ok, hey, I'm goin' outside you can put the plate back on the shelf
And it's cold, though the snow isn't falling
The neighbor can speak for himself
And the cold, hard look in your eye is more than a line in the sand
And the truth gets hard to imagine the hours get harder to stand

He's a seasick terminal passenger singing this song to himself
Til the soul bought soul on his skelleton leaks into somebody else
He's a sea-saw caught in a storm, a hurrican after the war
When he drinks all the blood you can offer he still wants more

Now the planes and rumbling trains
Are shaking the ground in our town again
Thought it twice, kicking the ice
I got myself turned back around singin'
Everything's gonna be fine
I'm sure that we'll both be OK

Hey, I'm back and outside now just put the plate back on the shelf
And its cold, though the snow isn't falling
The temperature speaks for itself
Its a moonlit reason to quit, and nobody answers the phone
So if there's still blood left in your body I'll come back
Home
- Kevin Moore

The Foolishness of Paragraphs that are Better as One Word

The Foolishness of Paragraphs that are Better as One Word

The beginning of this Thanksgiving week finds us remembering Kevin Gilbert, who's birthday was today. I'm not one to jump on the dead hero bandwagon, but I'll recognize the influence Gilbert had on my musical landscape. Not only did he write Sharyl Crow's "All I Wanna Do," he produced the first two Spock's Beard albums, and was a major influence on Neal Morse and Nick D'Virgilio. He also inspired the songs "The Great Nothing" by Spock's Beard and "I Was Not Ready for You" by Mike Keneally. For a guy who wrote sarcastic folk-pop and who got his break engineering sessions for Michael Jackson and Madonna, Gilbert really did set the stage for a large segment of the nineties prog rock revival. Before his death, he was in line to replace Phil Collins in Genesis, and was supposed to produce what became Dream Theater's Falling Into Infinity album. I've been enjoying his album Thud for the last week. Pretty sad guy, but he turned a great rhyme. We'll be singing nah, nah, nah when we all fall down...

The Cubs are about to sign Alfonso Soriano to an eight year, gazillion dollar contract. That's pretty cool, except that it appears Juan Pierre won't be coming back, leaving us with a leadoff man who hit 40 homers last year. This guy has to bat down in the lineup if he's gonna do us any good. I'm still waiting to see how Jim Hendry plans on fixing the pitching problem.

I was contemplating the existence of Eskimos last night. I live in Mississippi and get cranky when the temperature drops below 40. It boggles my mind that people live in Alaska. So I wonder, how did Eskimos and other northern folk ever learn to survive up there? These people make houses out of snow. That is absolutely amazing. Crazy, but amazing nonetheless.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that I don't live in a house made out of snow, and that it is only 38 degrees outside, instead of 60 below. I'm trying to be mindful of the many blessings of modern America, and not be an ungrateful materialist. I've constantly been reminded this year that very few people in the history of the world have the wealth, convenience, and opportunity that I do. The overwhelming majority of people in the world live in extreme poverty (Why are little ones born only to suffer, for the want of immunity or a bowl of rice?)

I'm also reminded of the friends I have who are spending Thanksgiving on the mission field in China, Ukraine, Ethiopia, and Nigeria without all the American conveniences we take for granted. Let's not pull any punches, it's idolatrous to be thankful for "blessings" in the abstract. Our treasure is Christ, and our God is the one worthy of thanksgiving:

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change."

"Now there is great gain in godliness with contentment, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content."

"Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ"

(Case in point, I'm thankful for www.crosswalk.com, the Bible online in every modern English translation. People have died to have the Bible in their language, and so many people don't have it. I can search the whole thing on the net.)

No One Notices the Contrast of White of White

No One Notices the Contrast of White on White

Music created out of depression can be starkly beautiful. The history of art is riddled with the stories of tormented souls trying to express themselves. Is it any surprise that themes of sadness, despair, rejection, loneliness, anger, and cynicism resonate with people almost universally?

Kevin Gilbert, a bright songwriter who lived a tragic life and suffered a despicable death wrote the line, "and everybody has someone they can share their sadness with" in the satirical Joytown, a song about a place that doesn't exist. People are in sad shape. While listening to Rush's Presto album last week, I was struck by the songs The Pass and Red Tide. The first deals with trying to talk a friend out of suicide, and the second is about modern epidemics, environmental disaster, and the ability of technologically advanced humans to kill others and themselves more efficiently. I realized, unbelievers have everything to worry about, because anything that threatens their own world threatens everything they have. See Neil Peart's Ghost Rider for a good example of this.

I dusted off Counting Crows' debut album August and Everything After last night. This is an amazing album musically and lyrically, one of those albums with a sound that fills up and changes the mood in a room. The critics loved this thing when it came out. Singer Adams Duritz is the perfect tragic Romeo character, desperately sad but loveable. He and all the characters in his songs have problems, and you get the sense that he is sharing your problems and singing about them for you.

In the song Mr. Jones, Duritz theorizes, "when everybody loves me, I'm gonna be just about as happy as I can be." When Counting Crows' follow up album Recovering the Satellites included more songs about depression and a retrospective on how life as a rockstar wasn't all that great, the critics became very unhappy with Mr. Duritz, labelling him a hypocritic whiner. Subsequent Crows albums have still included that air of melancholy, but haven't captured the pristine sadness of their first two works. They haven't affected me at all in the same way.

In real life, Duritz seems to be kind of a lousy guy. He apparently went Brian Wilson a few years ago, staying home for a year, not shaving, and refusing to record or play live because he couldn't handle criticism. I can't say I blame him. If he's down and out, the critics don't want to hear him whine. If he's writing happy-cheery songs, the fans are unhappy. At this point, I would rather the guy get his life together and never make another classic, depressed Counting Crows album. It's kind of selfish to hope that your favorite songwriters stay depressed so they'll keep making good music.

All this begs questions about art in general. Authenticity is very valuable in art, and most people are genuinely suffering. Christians should be able to recognize this, and be mindful of the fact that coming from unbelievers, good art is art that tells us about the condition in which they find themselves. Likewise, Christian artists shouldn't gloss over the troubles that are present in their own lives, as unbelievers will smell a fake. I think it is important to make the contrast as vivid and real as possible, to accurately portray the effects of sin in the world, admit our own weakness, and then be able to demonstrate the real hope that we have.


I got bones beneath my skin, and mister
There's a skeleton in every man's house
Beneath the dust and love
and sweat that hangs on everybody
There's a dead man trying to get out
Please help me stay awake, I'm falling

Asleep in perfect blue buildings
Beside the green apple sea
Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby
Try to keep myself away from me
- Counting Crows

Canadian Cowboy

Canadian Cowboy

"When I'm writing lyrics I always wear a cowboy hat, because I figure that you can never take yourself too seriously with a cowboy hat on."

I find this quotation from our favorite songwriter and drum guru Neil Elwood Peart to be hysterical. Good advice for the average joe rock star wannabe. The mental image got me thinking, "I wonder if there are any pictures?" Then I decided to make my own. Get along little dogie!




We should all wear cowboy hats more often.


We can rise and fall like empires
Flow in and out like the tide
Be vain and smart, humble and dumb
We can hit and miss like pride

We can circle around like hurricanes
Dance and dream like lovers
Attack the day like birds of prey
Or scavengers under cover
- Neil Peart

When Today is as Far as We Can See

When Today is as Far as We Can See

Had a few items collect over the last week for posting...

Books A Million - I realized that Books A Million is the anti-Borders or Barnes & Noble. The place has absolutely no atmosphere. It is all white, the music is this tacky muzak, the chairs are a strange grey leather, and there is no hint of interior decorating. Still, I somehow found myself at home there. I ended up spending an hour or so reading in one of their cushy, grey chairs, all the while catching a spattering of employee conversation. I thought to myself, "These are real people, and this is a real store," not some manipulated environment created by Trading Spaces designer wannabees. Hats off to BAM.

Why was Brad Reading Anyway? - That's a good question. I finally got around to picking up Neil Peart's Ghost Rider. I read about two chapters in the store and decided I had to take it home. Great stuff as always from my favorite all around writer. Engaging non-fiction that is as poetic as his song lyrics - really holds my attention. Ghost Rider is the story of Peart's self imposed motorcylce exile following the death of both his daughter and "wife" within a two year period. I'm always intrigued by how poeple deal with loss. Rush's Vapor Trails album was the musical counterpart to this book, so it is cool to gain new insight into Peart's process of recovery which was hinted at in his lyrics. It's interesting to me that a common reaction to the loss of close family always seems to be guilt: at still being alive, at not being grieved enough, or of not being able to save the person you loved. I wonder if believers and non-believers share this struggle in the same way. One dissapointment was finding out that Peart was married to his "wife" only by common-law. Not surprising for someone who doesn't "believe" in God to not take any vows to demonstrate his commitment to his spouse. Note to self, agnostics make bad role models. "I'm not a role model, I'm a drummer. I just hit things with sticks."

Man is Not Free - So long as man must depend on another man to cut his hair, man is not free. At best, man can hope by force of will to cause another man (or woman) to give him the hair cut he desires. Yet the lack of perfect communication between different entities will always prevent the exact replication of the cuttee's desires by the cutter. Sometimes lack of communication will prevent the cuttee from getting inside the shop of the cutter.

They're There to Protect Us - Why is it that I wave to everybody I see in the neighborhood except for the security folks? Why do they make me feel so nervous? I think it is because I feel that they are outsiders, not actually part of the neighborhood. It is the reverse feeling I have when I drive around in a different neighborhood. I feel like everyone knows I don't belong and is suspicious of me. Weird huh?

1 Timothy 2:13-15 - For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet she will be saved through childbearing--if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.

I've always read this and wondered how the woman is saved through childbearing. Maybe it has to do with the seed of the woman crushing the head of the serpent. But I think the reason this verse seems so strange is that our society disparages the role of childbearing in womanhood. It is seen as optional, something a woman may or may not do in her lifetime. While some women are not called to be mothers, the Bible teaches the exact opposite of what is generally accepted in our culture. Childbearing is closely tied to what it means to be a woman. I think the refusal of a woman to have children is being paralleled with Eve's original transgression in the garden, in which she denied her God given roll as subservient to God through Adam's headship.

90125 - Every time I think I've exhausted the best of music from the 80's, I uncover another hidden gem. Well, this was more like a recovery than a discovery. I'm not a huge Yes fan, but I can't deny the exuberant catchiness of this record. I've always held the belief, albeit a tenuous one, that if people had more 80's rock in their lives, they would be a lot more positive. Listen to Our Song and tell me if having that bass line in your head doesn't give you a little pep in your step. It did for me on my way into work. Thank you Mr. Squire!


Foot upon the stair
Shoulder to the wheel
You can't tell yourself not to care
You can't tell yourself how to feel

That's how it is

It's such a cloudy day
Seems we'll never see the sun
Or feel the day has possibilities
Frozen in the moment - the lack of imagination
Between how it is and how it ought to be...
- Neil Peart

The Importance of Being Man

The Importance of Being Man

I've been thinking again. I know, dangerous you say. Well, I'm open to correction or rebuke on this one, whichever is necessary.

One of the things that I think can become confusing about Christianity is what it has to say about man's worth. Sure, as Reformed Christians we affirm what the Bible teaches about the fallen state of man. All mankind, since Adam, has rebelled against its creator, is born in sin, and is thus worthy of condemnation. There is none who is righteous, none who seeks after God, and all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

Then one considers the incarnation again, and things get squirrly. The Son of God lays aside the glory of being God, and veils himself in human flesh, taking on a human nature (all while still being God), and lives and dies on behalf of fallen men, in whom there is nothing lovely or worthy of such grace. It's pretty difficult to wrap your mind around Christ's two natures. It is so easy to emphasize one over the other.

It occurred to me recently, that if Christ was God, than the incarnation should have been a sinch. I mean, what is 30 years to an eternal God? What is the minuscule temptation of the flesh for the one who created all flesh and who commands the angels in heaven? You might even say, when considering this, that the deck was stacked in Christ's favor. Well, certainly it was. There was never any chance of Christ failing in his mission, because God had determined and bound himself via covenant to redeem fallen man. It was over when God gave the covenant to Abraham. It was as good as done when God promised Adam and Eve that one of their seed would crush the serpent. It was finished before it started, in a way. God cannot be thwarted.

I'm not going to try to figure out, much less explain, the correlation between God's perfect decrees and the will of man. However, there is a balance there, and I think it was present in the incarnation. In other words, Christ was a real man and he experienced that fully (short of possessing a sinful nature). But what really strikes me, is that the incarnation, and the value of Christ's life and death demonstrate the value of man. Schaeffer uses the term, "the mannishness of man." Man is made in the likeness of almighty God, and in spite of his sin he still bears God's image. Thus his feelings, desires, and emotions have worth. There is something about man that is noble, valuable, and significant. The incarnation proves this.

First, it was no mere pin prick that Christ experienced in his life and death on earth. The pain and suffering he felt was real, and it was valuable. We know from scripture that God cares about human suffering. He knows our needs in intimate detail. God has granted humans significance. "What is man that you are mindful of him, yet you have made him a little lower than the angels." If being a man were an insignificant thing, than I believe the incarnation would be less significant, and the death Christ died wouldn't seem all that great.

Secondly, if man were not created noble and righteous and for greatness, than the fall would be less significant. At various points throughout history, different theologians and philosophers have tried to explain the fall as being the natural result of a created being which was by definition imperfect. I think we can degrade God's creation too much in this way. Rather, consider the depth of depravity that a righteous being, made in God's image and having fellowship with his creator, has fallen to in his sin. If you begin to get a sense of man's importance than you begin to understand the wrath of God that our sins deserve. To whom much is given much is required.

Finally, if this is so, than the judgment poured out on Christ becomes all the more significant. Human suffering is a real and significant thing, because human nature is significant. Sin is a significant thing, because the status of man is significant. And the wrath of God towards sin is significant, because of this. It was no small suffering that Christ experienced on the cross. The full wrath of God was placed on Christ in the place of all whom God had chosen to save. This was the complete wrath of God, that not even the most depraved sinner can ever fully exhaust in Hell. Certainly, this would not be possible if Christ were only human. However, all of this emphasizes the point that we have a great high priest who can sympathize with our weakness, because he is fully man -- a significant thing.

Secular philosophy sees Christianity as devaluing and degrading to man. It denies man his pleasures and confines him to the chains of obedience to a higher being. Certainly, this philosophy in itself is the mind set of rebellion. However, as Christians, we have the ability to demonstrate the value of man, that Christ would identify with us and elevate us to an even higher status than that in which we were created. We shall be called sons of God.

And it's all because you made me see
What is false and what is true
Like the inside and the outside of me
Is being made again by you
- Marillion

The Ghosts of Mississippi

The Ghosts of Mississippi

Every man should encounter the reality of death while he is still young. A youth must also overcome fear of the unknown if he is to ever become a man. And with such thoughts in mind, the hero of our tale did set out nigh to midnight with four companions on a trip to the infamous ghost town of Rocky Springs, Mississippi.

Rocky Springs was a small agrarian community, once thriving but doomed to extinction by the bubonic plague, the Civil War, and poor soil conservation. Now all that remains are two bank safes, the church house and the old graveyard. It is rhumored to be among the most haunted places in Mississippi. A good place for five youths to go at midnight.

A mile's hike through the woods lay between our campsite and the town. I suppose we were all a little thankful for the nearly full moon which made midnight seem extraordinarily, and perhaps unnaturally, bright. I kept imagining myself as a renegade or a refugee, traveling by night with fear and adrenaline driving my escape from what lay behind and blinding me to what might lay ahead in the dark. Perhaps 200 years ago some runaway slave trod this same path, albeit in the other direction, with the slave catcher's hounds hard on his heals.

Before long we came to the church. The artificial light of the streetlights outside managed to dull the mood and took something away from the aura of a place that was supposed to be deserted (the church is still in regular use). We proceeded to enter the church, which oddly enough remains unlocked for adventurers such as us to come and go as they please. A rather humorous sign was placed by the piano, instructing anyone who wanted to play it to kindly replace the red velvet cloth over the keys before leaving.

The companion known as Nathan sat down to play. The one room church had a rich resonance, and the piano filled the air, thick and warm in contrast to the cold night outside. As we sung Amazing Grace I couldn't help but feel a little sacrilegious. It seemed like more of a charm to ward of the evil spirits than a hymn of praise to our Creator Redeemer. Imagine our surprise and amazement when Nathan then transitioned into the morose tones of Black Sabbath's Iron Man. In sudden fear of what such an arrangement might conjure, Nathan again transitioned into Blessed Assurance. Inspite of the original glances around the room and sudden turns to scan the dark behind us, we soon became relaxed in the spooky setting.

Our party proceeded to the graveyard, which was a much more somber location than the church. As we stopped to read the names and ages of the deceased, we naturally were reminded of the brevity of life. So many young among the dead, by our modern reckoning at least. We stayed for some minutes, weighing the reality of death and the uncertainty of whether or not those dead really did haunt this place. However, as we left I couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief that we didn't encounter any haunting spirits, and dissapointment that there really wasn't anything to be afraid of. The desire to experience first hand and with certainty what you only hear of in dubious accounts and urban legends would remain unfulfilled.

It is interesting how, as a child, I was deathly afraid of the dark, the supernatural, and the unknown. At some point in time, without realization or event, these things lost their mystery and awe and no longer hold sway over my emotions. I suppose it is a combination of age, sanctification, and a jaded scientific understanding of the world around me. I remember being young, and wondering how my parents could not be afraid. I suppose I've a little better understanding of that now, and a story to tell my children.


On certain nights when the angles are right
And the moon is a slender cressent
Its circle shows in a ghostly glow
Of earthly luminescence

Earthshine, a becon in the night
I can raise my eyes to earthshine
Earthsine, a jewel out of reach
For a dream to rise to earthsine

Reflected light to another's sight
And the moon tells a lover's story
My borrowed face and my third hand grace
Only reflect your glory...
- Neil Peart

Sometimes a View from Sinless Eyes

Sometimes A View From Sinless Eyes...

Last weekend I watched the movie Barry Lyndon, directed by Stanley Kubrick. It is based on the novel The Luck of Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackeray. It made me ashamed for being a part of the human race and overall left me feeling dirty. The main character Redmond Barry (aka Barry Lyndon) is an 18th century Irish youth who kills a British army officer in a duel for the woman he loves and is forced to flee his hometown. His character can be summed up in the line, "I'd sooner go to Hell than go to Dublin." What follows is a story of lying, cheating, infidelity, delusional pursuit of status, and all around selfishness. Barry is an opportunist who uses people and cirmcumstances to advance his status in life, going from a runaway to an enlisted man to an officer, and eventually to a gentleman.

However, his sins eventually catch up with him, and the movie leaves him a broken, poor, exiled man. Everyone around him also ends up ruined. However, the movie daftly avoids giving the viewer any real sense that justice was meeted out. The fact of the matter is, there are no characters in the movie who are worthy of justice. Barry's mother, though a poor widow, is ultimatly just a scheming, and self-serving miser. The characters Barry meets along the way are thieves, conivers, and flatterers. All of 18th century Europe is indicted on the charge of being trivial, opulent, and fake. The nobility live in great splendor and are surrounded by all the pleasures of life. But they are hiding behind powdered faces and wigs, performing services only to get ahead, marrying only for status, and spending all of their time in meaningless passtimes like playing cards (a central and particularly poignant motif in the film). Kubrick closes the movie with the pronouncement that all of these characters who strove for favor, wealth, and status in those days are now equal in the grave.

All of these events are portrayed against the breathtaking backdrop of Europe's landscape, art, and architecture, and set to classical music. The contrast is stark. This place has such great beauty, and history has painted it with a grand legacy, but its people were exceedingly hollow and ugly. The narrorator tells the tale as if it were one of significance, and as if the story were of a worthy subject. But ultimately, we find there was nothing noteworthy about Barry, save his exceedingly great wickedness.

Last night I was in a discussion about the incarnation, and this morning my mind traveled back to Barry Lyndon. The question arose of what it must have been like for the Son of God to not only lay aside the splendor of Heaven and become an insignificant man, but also to identify with a sinful people in his circumcision, baptism, and death. If simply watching the acts of others on screen can fill me with such disguist for being human, without even really taking stock in my own sinful character, what an absurd prospect it is for Christ to willingly become a man and die for a people which were as unlovely and sinfull as Redmond Barry.

This is great love, mercy, and glory that contrasts with and far overshadows the greatness of the evil that is displayed in Barry Lyndon. You see, Kubrick's Nihilsm only gets it half right. There is true morality and justice, and therefore true mercy, with God. When one considers that God, in His infinite wisdom, ordained all things in order to demonstrate His greatness in His Son through the redemption of His people, one should be filled with: 1. a sense of awe at who God is, 2. a humility and thankfulness for what He has done, and 3. a great sense of joy for being a part of that race of redeemed humanity.

Why do you boast of evil, O mighty man? The steadfast love of God endures all the day. Your tongue plots destruction, like a sharp razor, you worker of deceit. You love evil more than good, and lying more than speaking what is right. You love all words that devour, O deceitful tongue.

But God will break you down forever; he will snatch and tear you from your tent; he will uproot you from the land of the living. The righteous shall see and fear, and shall laugh at him, saying, See the man who would not make God his refuge, but trusted in the abundance of his riches and sought refuge in his own destruction!

But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God. I trust in the steadfast love of God forever and ever. I will thank you forever, because you have done it. I will wait for your name, for it is good, in the presence of the godly.
- Psalm 52

Mom, This is What I Wanna Do When I Grow Up

Mom, This is What I Wanna Do When I Grow Up

David Letterman in all his 1980's glory, setting fashion trends for the next several centuries:

Dave Wears the Velcro Suit

Dave Wears the Suit of Magnets

Dave Wears the Sponge Suit

I now have a new answer when people ask me that dreaded question, "If you could have any one job in the world, what would it be."


Even if the good old days were good
Even if the old days were golden days
Even if the good old days were good
The past is a terrible place to live...
- Steve Hogarth

For Those of You Who Ask About My "Other" Brother

This picture says it all:

It's nice here with a view of the trees
Eating with a spoon?
They don't give you knives?
'Spect you watch those trees
Blowing in the breeze
We want to see you lead a normal life
- Peter Gabriel

Empty Calories: McDonald's, Def Leppard, and Shaniah Twain

I grew up listening to bands like Def Leppard. Last week, I took a stroll down memory lane and bought a copy of their Adrenalize CD for about three bucks. It had been about 5 years since I'd listened to Def Leppard. In that time, I'd rediscovered grunge, accepted the Radiohead fad, and become more interested in obscure progressive rock bands like Marillion and King Crimson than glam metal.

I sat down to listen to Adrenalize as I ate my double cheeseburger from McDonald's. Needless to say, the cheese flowed liberally in more ways than one. It is amazing how comparable the music of Def Leppard is to a meal from McDonald's. You enjoy the first few bites, or maybe you even wolf down the whole thing. But then a few moments later, your stomach becomes a bit queezy, and you begin to question your judgment and taste. You see, the thing about McDonald's is that it tastes great, and if you go long enough without eating it, you begin to pine away for a big greasy cheese burger. Afterwards you realize you've stuffed yourself, but your body has received no real nutritional benefit.

And such is the music of Def Leppard. Oh, don't get me wrong. This has to be some of the most brilliantly produced pop music of all time. Pounding electronic drum beats, shimmery electric guitars, slick vocal harmonies, everything you need to make a great pop/rock song is there. Catchy is hardly the word to describe it. It's more like infectious. This is the kind of music that begs you to turn your car speakers up to ridiculous volumes. All this, and the drummer only has ONE arm! You can't beat that.


However... Joe Elliot has to have the most ridiculously affected vocal style aside from Creed's Scott Stapp. This is British campiness at its best. The whole thing is sugary sweet, like putting extra sugar on Frosted Flakes sweet. Layers upon layers of processed vocals are smothered all over the sing along choruses. But that only serves to accentuate the lyrics. A word of caution: when Def Leppard uses the word "love" in their songs, they aren't really talking about love at all, if you know what I mean. "If it pleases you it pleases me." Don't be fooled, this has nothing to do with self-sacrifice. This stuff is pure hedonism. Ah, but its all couched in the best (and I do mean best) of power ballad open heartedness. So when Elliot sings "Stand up for love!" with all seriousness and emotion, you kind of just feel nauseated.

But still, the whole thing has just enough believability to keep me listening for a weekend straight (I think my fever broke this morning). And it has enough charisma to sell about 150 million plus CDs worldwide. You see, the person largely responsible for Def Leppard's glorious "sound" is producer Mutt Lange. Now, even if you've never heard Def Leppard, chances are you've heard Mutt Lange. In addition to producing AC/DC, Brian Adams and The Corrs, Mutt Lang is married to the ostentatious Shaniah Twain.

Oh, and he makes her music too. If you listen closely, you begin to realize that Shaniah Twain is little more than Def Leppard with a country twist. It really is remarkable. Lange took a sound that had become dated, unfashionable, and hokey with rock fans, and turned his struggling, country-ditty singing sweetheart into the highest selling female artist ever. Certainly the whole midriff thing helps. But I've gotta think that somehwere deep down in the world's musical psyche, there is a hunger for the pounding, anthemic overtones of the Def Leppard/Mutt Lange sound.

Shaniah may be a nobody right now. The Leppard might be old and toothless. But in about 10 years, Lange will resurrect his sound with some new musical prodigy, and the whole thing will begin anew. "Try to stop this thing coming." I dare you.


All I wanna do is take a ride into the blue
Every time I wanna rock I'm stuck inside my room
Heaven knows I'm sick and tired of dancing with this broom
Do you wanna get rocked?
- Def Leppard

You Mad Dog, Shaven Head, Bottle-Boy Freaks!

The theme of the day is things you'll never be able to use in normal conversation. Such as the title phrase. It's a beautiful and heartfelt rant. But I don't really know anybody that fits the description. Alas, I'll probably never get to use it... much like Jerry Stiller's Festivus greeting in Seinfeld, "I've got a lot of problems with you people."

How about thouse big, ostentatious words (like ostentatious) that rattle around in your head while you're internally dialoging with yourself? You use them quite confidently with yourself, as if you were assured of their meaning and no other word in the human language could express your thought as well. My word is cognizant. I use it all the time to myself, as if I'm cognizant of the fact that my subconscious is screaming at me to use it in public. People would certainly be impressed by my using such a word. But the opportunity never quite seems to arise. By the way, who knew there was a "z" in cognizant?

Then there are some situations that call for a double negative, a subject/verb disagreement, mixed tense, or some other non-linear gramatical expression. Today's is, "used to was," because that is the truth. I woke up this morning and was cognizant of the fact that it is colder than it used to was. It is not just colder than it is, it is colder than it was. "Be" sort of carries the idea of something that is now. Obviously, the phrase "used to" makes up for it. But saying it my way emphasizes the fact that non-cold weather exists only in the past and was extremely transient in nature. It didn't just "used to be," it "used to was." See the difference? I give you permission to use logically incoherent phraseology at least once today.

One off topic thing to touch on before I go. If you have any dreams involving me sitting on the roof enjoying the view while on acid and hiding from society, please do let me know. I don't know how, but I fear such visions may really concern me and my wellbeing. Friends let friends know about that kind of stuff.


No sleep no sleep no sleep no sleep
And no mad video machine to eat time
A city scene I can't explain
The Seine alone at 4am, the Seine alone at 4am
Neal and Jack and me
Absent lovers, absent lovers...
- King Crimson

Updating an Item From Yesterday...

The platen glass is no longer dirty. I'm not sure what the cosmological significance of this is. I'm guessing somebody found some Windex. However, the copier is now requesting that I, "check the TCP/IP connection." Now that you mention it, I suppose my TCP/IP connection has been a little out of whack recently...



If I were as many miles from here
I'd be sailing on an open boat on the sea
Instead I'm on this window ledge
With the whole world below...

We can help you, we can help you!!
We're all your freinds
If you come on down and talk to us, Harry
Take a run and jump!!
- Genesis

Phrase of the Day and Riddle of the Week

“The platen glass is dirty”

Why do I feel like there is a deeper philosophical meaning behind this statement? Every time I go to make copies in the office, I am greeted by this phrase. It begs the question, why has no one cleaned the platen glass? Maybe it alludes to the reality of things which were once meant to be good, functional, and clean which have now become dirty and useless due to neglect or abuse. Is it an analogy for this sin stained world, which was once good and perfect, but which now can never be made clean apart from Divine intervention? Perhaps it is simply a testament to the tendency we have to coddle those imperfections in our personalities which hold us back from being all that we could be. Maybe the phrase is simply put their to mock us, and let us know that no matter how hard we try to clean something, it will inevitably become dirty again. But most telling, is the fact that no matter how many times I see that phrase flashing on the screen, I will never bother to clean the platen glass. Partly because I don’t feel it is my responsibility; mostly because I am too lazy. And then there is the cynical side of me that says even if I try cleaning the glass, the phrase probably still won’t go away. And so it will continue, until I become totally desensitized to the warning…

It’s time for my afternoon coffee.

Meanwhile, lurking by a stone in the mud
Two eyes looked to see
What I was, and then something spoke
And this is what it said to me…

Clothes of brass and hair of brown
Seldom need to breathe
Don't need no wings to fly
With a heart of stone
And a fear of fire and water
Who am I?
- Genesis

One Last Great Summer Blockbuster
Little to tell you this fine late summer morning. I will say that getting 8.5 hours of sleep in a night is infinitely better than getting 5.5.

The other night Nathan and I watched the longer than I remembered it as a kid but still pretty funny No Time for Sergeants starring Andy Griffith. A couple observations:

1. Griffith's character, Will Stockdale, possesses super human strength and is no mere mortal, ripping gas pumps apart with his bare hands, throwing other GIs around the room like bowling balls, and guzzling whiskey, scotch, and kerosene like it was grape juice.

2. Private Ben Whitledge is Taylor Wilson, for all of you Twin Lakers. "Airman!!"

3. If this movie has any basis in reality, then our military is filthy with corruption at every level. There is a Sergeant who breaks regulations by creating the position of "Permanent Latrine Orderly" and then bribes said PLO in order to avoid reprimand. There are the Generals who transfer soldiers out of their division under cover of darkness to cover up the truth. There are soldiers sleeping on the job, and deserters who abandon their post at the first sign of danger. This explains why we lost in Vietnam.

"End of the story he gets the pony anyhow."

And be on the lookout for the new film Lost in Criticism, possibly coming in September to a theater near you...

~ Taken from The Newsletter of Joy ~

...Lost in Criticism, the new film starring Daniel Shaw and John Aaron Johnson who also wrote, directed, and produced the film in the space of six days. When two famous 19th century literary figures get caught in the afterlife, things begin heating up as Oscar Wilde (Johnson) becomes lost in a maze of modern literary criticism. This is the story of two unlikely partners who become fast friends in the midst of hidden perils and pernicious critics. Can Melville (Shaw) find Wilde in time? Will they escape before they and their texts are lost for good? Can Wilde win the hand of the woman he loves? Careful--You might never find your way out!

Hear what the movie critics are saying about this new suspense-filled action adventure romantic thriller comedy drama:

"Post-postmodern. A luminescent, incendiary piece of cinema and artistry." - Andrew Hilleke

"A sexy new thriller. Captivating, breathtaking. A scintillating toure-de-force of film-making." - Lydia Goeglein

"Due to this movie, my winter is no longer discontent." - Michael Phillips

"A triumph of the human spirit." - Dr. Edwin McAllister

"I loved this movie." - John Aaron's mom

(Used without permission from Daniel W. Shaw - i.e. free publicity)

And Then the Rains Came

After spending the last week swimming in humidity, something had to give. Last night it did. Blessed rain!! The temperature dropped about 30 degrees and is now at a reasonable 73. Massive downpours and lightning are pretty sweet when you think about it (provided you have adequate shelter, I was walking/running home when it hit). But the best part was that I managed to catch an incredible sunset after the storm. One half of the sky was all layers of red clouds, and the other half, still dominated by the storm, was black with the occasional streak of lightning. Pretty cool stuff.


You can do a lot in a lifetime
If you don't burn out too fast
You can make the most of the distance
First you need endurance -
First you've got to last...

From first to last
The peak is never passed
Something always fires the light
That gets in your eyes
One moment's high
And glory rolls on by
Like a streak of lightening
That flashes and fades
In the summer sky
- Neil Peart (from Marathon)

For a Moment of Forgetting... (Musings on Materialism)

To paraphrase Glenn Phillips, we've all got a lot to be thankful for. Some mornings you don't wake up feeling too thankful. Isn't it odd then, that an icecream cone and a chocolate cookie can suddenly make you feel better when you're feeling low? Conversely, eating an icecream cone and a cookie can ruin your chargrilled chicken sandwich. Had to eat the cone before it melted...

I listened to Peter Gabriel on the way into work this morning, and got hit by these lines. We're all so alike...

I caught sight of my reflection, I saw it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing, they had been there from the start

And the darkness still has work to do, the knotted chords untying
The heated and the holy, oh they’re sitting there on high
So secure in everything they’re buying

I can hear the distant thunder of a million unheard souls
Of a million unheard souls
Watch each one reach for creature comforts
For the filling of their holes

... To paraphrase (more like read into) Chris Cornell, I can have the Wooden Jesus of materialism and "spend all my money on a future grave" or the real thing and be satisfied. I shouldn't quite be so much like everyone else.

I Had A Dream...

Do people still read this thing? We'll find out I guess.

So I had this dream last night with Dr. Sachs, the chair of the Belhaven music department, in it.

There was a record shop (they sold actual records) that I frequented. It was similar to Beebop on 55, only it was around the other side where Blockbuster is now. Apparently, it was owned by Dr. Sachs. Well, one night when I went to the store, it had been replaced by a Barnes and Nobles. The only records they had were these Shel Silverstine records (don’t know if Shel Silverstine ever made a record…). While I was brousing the store, I got a call on my cell phone, which turned out to be Dr. Sachs…

Dr. Sachs was very upset. Apparently he went out of business on the account that I didn’t buy enough records. He felt that I owed it to him to be his friend, since it was my fault the store got bought out. I decided I better get back home before he showed up. He started following me around, and I got really creeped out (he was wearing a light blue cardigan the whole time). After I got home, I was really paranoid. He came and knocked on my front door, and I locked the door. Then somebody knocked on my backdoor. I let out a tremendous “NOOOOOO!!!!” and then I looked out the window. It was not Dr. Sachs, but Danny and Jon Aaron. I opened the door and told them to hurry up and come in, because Dr. Sachs was hanging around and I didn’t want him to get in. They stood there like complete morons, smiling and making Danny and Jon Aaron hand gestures. Just as Dr. Sachs started to force his way in the door, my alarm went off, and I awoke from my dream.

Pretty weird huh?

Earlier, I had dreamed that due to some sort of impending military strike in the area, which was somehow connected to the current conflict in Lebanon, Grant was organizing a militia (consisting of He, Page, the young-marrieds, and I) and was going to use the event as a foil to take the local Wal-Mart by force. It was his assertion that 1.) If we controlled Wal-Mart, we would have everything we needed to survive the war (or nuclear attack or whatever it was, can’t remember), and 2.) because it was the middle of a war, there would be no retribution for our actions. At first I went along with it, then I realized there was no way Grant and a bunch of us pencil necked geeks could take a Wal-Mart by force (although we were heavily armed for some reason). The whole thing fell apart in the end, but I can’t remember why…


All your spirit rack abuses
Come to haunt you back by day
All your Byzantine excuses
Given time, given you away

So don't be surprised when daylight comes
To find that memory prick your thumbs
You'll tell them where we run to hide
I'm already dead, it's a matter of time
- Marillion

I Was Gonna Post Something Serious...

But it just wasn't coming to me. However, I've made up for it by providing your entertainment for the week in the link below. There is a reason why Rush is one of the greatest bands ever. Aside from their music being great, they are just plain funny. Just watch this video and tell me you don't want to be Geddy Lee's best friend!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIeZBeUTOSY&search=Geddy

"Small children, and those worried about their brain..."



And a woman needs a man
Like a fish needs a bicycle
When you're trying to throw your arms around the world
- Bono

70 Years Ago Yesterday...

The Orthodox Presbyterian Church was born. No, you are not the only perfect church, but you have been faithful to the word for seven decades. Happy Birthday OPC!!!

http://www.opc.org/today.html


The OPC's Founding Father, J. Gresham Machen. Swell Guy!!


















How sweet and awful is the place
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores.

While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
"Lord, why was I a guest?

"Why was I made to hear thy voice,
And enter while there's room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?"

'Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.

Pity the nations, O our God,
Constrain the earth to come;
Send thy victorious Word abroad,
And bring the strangers home.

We long to see thy churches full,
That all the chosen race
May, with one voice and heart and soul,
Sing thy redeeming grace.

It Started Out as Innocent Fun...




And Ended Up in Bloodshed...




OK, you can't really tell from the picture, but that my friends, is a lacerated chin. It resulted in an unspecified number of stitches, three hours in the ER, and a substantial medical bill. By the time it's all said and done, I will have the $1,000 chin to go with my $1,000,000 good looks.

The greatest tragedy here folks, is that I was definitely safe at home. I slid in right under that tag. Both catcher and runner tumbled to the ground. The ump was in no position to make the call. As it turned out, we lost by one measily run. Watch out Rhythm and Brewes, we will have our revenge...

So I've decided that this gives new meaning to the legend that is Brad's Beard. The immortal question of whether or not I will ever be able to grow a beard apart from some miracle of medical science seems to have been answered last night. In the words of Dr. Karl Hatten, Jr., "You used to grow hair here. You won't anymore." Little did he know, I never grew hair there. Ha!!!! Jokes on you Hatten!!

For a long time I felt
Without style or grace
Wearing shoes with no socks
In cold weather

- Talking Heads

Hmmm.... what is this formatting stuff? Script? Obviously this is not blogging for dummies over here.

Well, this is the sequal to www.xanga.com/theaveragebrad. Don't know which one I'll end up using. It is actually the third in a series of blogs which I have had entitled "The Average Brad," but the original The Average Brad was more of a prequal than a first version. A prototype if you will. Oh, it still exists, but you will never know where...

There is exciting news about my chin, and I'd like to share it with all of you, but I'm waiting for the pictures. Thursday, June 8, 2006 was an historic day in the life of Brad's Beard. It may never be the same...

I was safe I tell you.


Cause I'm the one who knows what scares you
I'm the one who loves you best
I'm the thirteenth at the table
I'm the uninvited guest
I'm the Banquo at your banquet
I'm the cuckoo in your nest
I'm your fifteen-stone first-footer
I'm the uninvited guest

- Marillion

"That blast came from the Death Star. That thing's operational."

Is this thing working?