Saturday, November 29, 2008
Through Thick and Thin
Greg, one of our teen employees and rather accomplished drummer and rap artist, approached me the other day wondering when we were going to write a song together. This came as a bit of a surprise to me—I’m an acoustic guitarist who listens to bluegrass and experimental rock; I don’t know the first thing about rap except that in my earlier, more rebellious days I occasionally listened to Coolio. I didn’t expect Greg to be altogether interested in writing a song with me. But write one we did. Greg and I sat down together one Friday evening in the small back office at New City, waiting for inspiration to strike, when Greg burst out, “Let’s write a song about friends.” Alright, I said, sounds good. I played a guitar riff—“How about something like this?” I asked. Greg listened and slowly his head began to groove to the music. “Yeah I like that,” Greg smiled, “I can work with that.” Which is exactly what he did. Forty-five minutes later we had two rap verses that Greg wrote, with a sung chorus and bridge that I wrote.
This past weekend we debuted our song, entitled Through Thick and Thin, at the Xchange, the monthly hip-hop worship service put on by the New City teens. With the addition of an electronic drum beat created by Giovanni, a member of the Xchange Prep crew, and a bass line written and performed by Khalil, another teen-staffer, we performed our song to the crowd of about fifty, all of whom were out of their seats, waving their arms and singing along by the end of the song. It was, if I may designate it so, a hit. But perhaps more than just a “hit,” it represented to me the coming together of not just two rather different music genres, but the coming together and intermingling of two rather different cultures. For four minutes and ten seconds, it was the joining of two different musical, creative, and cultural backgrounds, sacramentally fused together in the form of a song about friendship.
This past weekend we debuted our song, entitled Through Thick and Thin, at the Xchange, the monthly hip-hop worship service put on by the New City teens. With the addition of an electronic drum beat created by Giovanni, a member of the Xchange Prep crew, and a bass line written and performed by Khalil, another teen-staffer, we performed our song to the crowd of about fifty, all of whom were out of their seats, waving their arms and singing along by the end of the song. It was, if I may designate it so, a hit. But perhaps more than just a “hit,” it represented to me the coming together of not just two rather different music genres, but the coming together and intermingling of two rather different cultures. For four minutes and ten seconds, it was the joining of two different musical, creative, and cultural backgrounds, sacramentally fused together in the form of a song about friendship.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
One of the most exciting summer programs at New City is City Sail, which takes eager Jersey City teenagers and gets them out on the Hudson River in a sailboat, something that many of them would otherwise never dream of doing. When I got to New City in June, Pastor Trevor asked me what some of my goals were for the internship. So, of course, I dreamed up a few lofty, high-minded, and prestigious sounding goals to impress PT like "become well-acquainted with the city of Jersey City and be a contributing member of the neighborhood surrounding New City" and "learn to disciple kids and teenagers as they grow in their relationship with Jesus" and also "develop a worship service planned and led by teenagers for the New City community." And at the end of the list of these noble goals I concluded with "And learn to sail." I was half-kidding, of course, that learning to sail would be one of my internship goals, but PT took me seriously.
And so, later that week I found myself out on the Hudson, learning all about halyards and fenders and jib sails and starboards and ports and helms and all the other rather regular things that sailors give funny names so that they feel special about themselves.
"Can you hand me the jib sheet?" PT would say to me, pointing to the rope that lay on the side of the boat.
"Oh, you mean that rope over there?" I replied, innocently, as any normal person would.
"No, no, it's a jib sheet, not a rope." He replied, brow furrowed at my ineptitude.
See what I mean?
And so, even in ineptitude, I attained a first mate's position on the sailboat with Captain Pastor Trevor. We went out on the Hudson twice a week with sometimes as many as fifteen teenagers. We learned to sail together, jib sheets and all. We laughed and smiled and screamed together, certain of our ending up soaked, as the boat heeled heavily in high winds. We bonded over scrambling from starboard to port and then port back to starboard as we tacked back and forth between the skylines of Jersey City and lower Manhattan. And when, in the cool early evenings of late summer, the sun began its setting behind Lady Liberty's outstretched arm, we returned to the marina. Everything still, save for the gentle clanging of hundreds of halyards against hundreds of masts of sailboats in their slips, we docked, folded sails, coiled lines, washed decks, and left the marina in our fifteen passenger McDonald's bound Church Van. Another successful voyage for City Sail.
Just this past week, Wendy, our communications specialist at New City, finished up the 2008 City Sail promotional video. It's posted on YouTube at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHm0DjgueBg
Do give it a watch, it's not only cinematic brilliance, but offers a rather comprehensive look at what City Sail is all about. Enjoy.
And so, later that week I found myself out on the Hudson, learning all about halyards and fenders and jib sails and starboards and ports and helms and all the other rather regular things that sailors give funny names so that they feel special about themselves.
"Can you hand me the jib sheet?" PT would say to me, pointing to the rope that lay on the side of the boat.
"Oh, you mean that rope over there?" I replied, innocently, as any normal person would.
"No, no, it's a jib sheet, not a rope." He replied, brow furrowed at my ineptitude.
See what I mean?
And so, even in ineptitude, I attained a first mate's position on the sailboat with Captain Pastor Trevor. We went out on the Hudson twice a week with sometimes as many as fifteen teenagers. We learned to sail together, jib sheets and all. We laughed and smiled and screamed together, certain of our ending up soaked, as the boat heeled heavily in high winds. We bonded over scrambling from starboard to port and then port back to starboard as we tacked back and forth between the skylines of Jersey City and lower Manhattan. And when, in the cool early evenings of late summer, the sun began its setting behind Lady Liberty's outstretched arm, we returned to the marina. Everything still, save for the gentle clanging of hundreds of halyards against hundreds of masts of sailboats in their slips, we docked, folded sails, coiled lines, washed decks, and left the marina in our fifteen passenger McDonald's bound Church Van. Another successful voyage for City Sail.
Just this past week, Wendy, our communications specialist at New City, finished up the 2008 City Sail promotional video. It's posted on YouTube at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHm0DjgueBg
Do give it a watch, it's not only cinematic brilliance, but offers a rather comprehensive look at what City Sail is all about. Enjoy.
Monday, August 25, 2008
School of Rock
Last week saw a trial run of a new program--a three day mini music school at New City kids. The idea for a music school came from Greg, one of our teen employee musicians (see also previous post). Greg has long envisioned a music school as part of the programming at New City. Greg plays drums phenomenally well and teaches them with creativity, tact, and yelling. I am rather confident Greg will one day run a music school of his own.
Being, myself, a guitarist, I found myself rather captured by the idea of a music school. Being also, myself, an “intern,” I found myself with rather enough creative license in my schedule to pursue such an endeavor. And nearly immediately the endeavor revealed benefits at least twofold: (1) I could teach guitar, therefore increasing the number of guitarists in the world and thus contribute (directly, mind you) to the general social good, and (2) I could learn to play the drums under the guise of creating an atmosphere of mutual learning.
Now, I jest about the “guise of an atmosphere of mutual learning,” behind which I could legitimately be paid to learn the drums, but mutual learning was, in fact, a legitimate hope and goal of the music school. And although our numbers were not huge—only about six folks (teachers included) were regular attendees of the music school—a small seed of mutual learning actually took root. For instance, For the first half of the morning I taught a guitar lesson to three students: Will, Naya, and Derek. Meanwhile Greg taught Taylor to play the bass. And after an hour or so, everybody would switch. Will, gave keyboard lessons to Taylor and Naya while Greg took Derek and me to show us the drums.
I had just taught Derek his first guitar lesson. He grew visibly frustrated when he couldn’t get his fingers to make the C major chord sound right. Derek is not a proficient guitarist, yet, but he is a rather proficient drummer. When I sat down at the drum set, I looked at Derek and said, “Remember how your face looked like you were in a battle with your guitar?” He looked back with a face that said I didn’t know you could tell I was frustrated, but yes, I know exactly what you’re saying. “Well,” I said, “You’re about to see my face look like it’s in a battle with this drum set.” He smirked, knowingly, back at me.
So perhaps it was a clever guise behind which I could learn the drums, but I think there was something to this idea of creating an atmosphere of mutual learning. We were all each others’ teachers, and I think there were moments when we all sensed how much we appreciated each other—both how much each of us had to offer, and how much each of us had to gain from being with each other.
Being, myself, a guitarist, I found myself rather captured by the idea of a music school. Being also, myself, an “intern,” I found myself with rather enough creative license in my schedule to pursue such an endeavor. And nearly immediately the endeavor revealed benefits at least twofold: (1) I could teach guitar, therefore increasing the number of guitarists in the world and thus contribute (directly, mind you) to the general social good, and (2) I could learn to play the drums under the guise of creating an atmosphere of mutual learning.
Now, I jest about the “guise of an atmosphere of mutual learning,” behind which I could legitimately be paid to learn the drums, but mutual learning was, in fact, a legitimate hope and goal of the music school. And although our numbers were not huge—only about six folks (teachers included) were regular attendees of the music school—a small seed of mutual learning actually took root. For instance, For the first half of the morning I taught a guitar lesson to three students: Will, Naya, and Derek. Meanwhile Greg taught Taylor to play the bass. And after an hour or so, everybody would switch. Will, gave keyboard lessons to Taylor and Naya while Greg took Derek and me to show us the drums.
I had just taught Derek his first guitar lesson. He grew visibly frustrated when he couldn’t get his fingers to make the C major chord sound right. Derek is not a proficient guitarist, yet, but he is a rather proficient drummer. When I sat down at the drum set, I looked at Derek and said, “Remember how your face looked like you were in a battle with your guitar?” He looked back with a face that said I didn’t know you could tell I was frustrated, but yes, I know exactly what you’re saying. “Well,” I said, “You’re about to see my face look like it’s in a battle with this drum set.” He smirked, knowingly, back at me.
So perhaps it was a clever guise behind which I could learn the drums, but I think there was something to this idea of creating an atmosphere of mutual learning. We were all each others’ teachers, and I think there were moments when we all sensed how much we appreciated each other—both how much each of us had to offer, and how much each of us had to gain from being with each other.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
On Being Myself
Welcome, friends, welcome again to The Front Porch. Do sit awhile and make yourselves at home. I've not much to offer in the way of food and drink save for a little left over iced coffee and a few treats from Starbucks--expired, of course, but Robin Hooded from the Corporate Standard Operating Procedure of being trashed and instead gifted to our little porch care of Sarah--thief to the rich, giver of good gifts to the friends of the porch.
Playing currently on the stereo is Radiohead's most recent release, In Rainbows. I'm not sure that a more beautiful collection of tones and sounds have ever been put together on the same small little piece of digitalized plastic. Moments exist on the this record so sonically lush they exact nothing other than gratefulness for having been alive to hear--no, not hear, but swim within--them.
Probably no one at New City, however, would agree with me. "Radio who?" They ask when I tell them about my favorite band.
And I respond likewise: "Lil who?" I ask when they tell me about the artist who, unbeknownst to me, happens to be topping all the popular music charts.
I am learning, slowly, the necessity of being oneself and being comfortable with difference between one another. A few weeks ago I attended the XChange, a once-a-month hip hop variety show put together by the teens of New City. The night includes raps, spoken word poetry set to music, videos, and peanut butter and jelly eating contests. Although my appearance may suggest otherwise, I am not a connoisseur of rap and hip hop music. But as I listened, I found myself quite enjoying it. The beats, electronically produced, differed in sound, but rhythmically resembled the music I know well. The vocals, delivered primarily rhythmically rather than melodically, open up an entire new world of musical creativity and possibility--one which I hope to explore in my own music.
I sat in my chair, bobbing my head to the beat of that musical world of new possibility, when one more band took the stage. Perhaps best described as Hard Core Screamo meets Hip Hop Chorus Hook, the band played one song, a rendition of Psalm 23. My head stopped bobbing. I'm not sure what expression my face wore, but it elicited"Are you doing alright?" from one of the New City pastors. Oh, I'm fine, I thought. This is just bad music, and that's all there is to it. I looked around, however, and everyone else was rocking out to the bad music. Headbanging to the bad music. Fistpumping to the bad music. Jumping up and down to the bad music. Don't give in, I thought, as I resisted the urge to fake enjoying myself.
There exists, I'm convinced, a line difficult to perceive, but essential to understand in new situations that require developing relationships with others. On one side of the line is hospitably going outside one's comfort zone to legitimately try new things, and on the other side is faking it. One side allows you room to be authentic, the other discredits you as a person seeking genuine relationships. I could not fake it, it would be ingenuine. But I wanted to fake it because that would have been easier. It is so much easier to be agreeable around folks that you want to get to know. And while being agreeable is important, being honest is even more so.
This past week I went to a bluegrass show with some New City teenagers. Another favorite band--the Punch Brothers--were playing a show in NYC. I figured a bluegrass show would be a bit of a hard sell for the teens, but when I put out the invitation, some seemed genuinely interested. Within the first song, as Chris Thile, the world's greatest mandolin player, feverishly played out some of the most impressive bluegrass licks the world has ever heard, Greg was asleep, snoring. He made it clear this was not his kind of music. And I'm glad he did. As much as I would have loved to have Greg love the kind of music I love, I would not have had him fake it.
In a paradoxical way, acceptance and appreciation of difference is the very foundation upon which genuine relationships develop. It is counterintuitive for me to allow myself to be different. I prefer to search for every possible way in which I share something in common with another person. And while points of commonality are important ways to develop genuine relationships, so must be points of difference. For it is in honesty about difference that we will know the relationships we build will be built with genuineness and authenticity.
As a closing thought, I will continue to listen to Radiohead and Punch Brothers, but I did find myself last night, inexplicably, sampling Lil Wayne's latest record on iTunes. Not bad, not bad.
Some unrelated images to follow.
A Day at the Zoo:
...And some others:
The little yellow building in this picture is for sale--future site of The Front Porch Coffee Shop?
Sunset in the city.
Greg and I after the bluegrass show (after Greg woke up-ha!)
Ashley and I teach the Rap and Song class at Summer Camp.
This one's for dad--kayakers on the Hudson in front of Ellis Island
Playing currently on the stereo is Radiohead's most recent release, In Rainbows. I'm not sure that a more beautiful collection of tones and sounds have ever been put together on the same small little piece of digitalized plastic. Moments exist on the this record so sonically lush they exact nothing other than gratefulness for having been alive to hear--no, not hear, but swim within--them.
Probably no one at New City, however, would agree with me. "Radio who?" They ask when I tell them about my favorite band.
And I respond likewise: "Lil who?" I ask when they tell me about the artist who, unbeknownst to me, happens to be topping all the popular music charts.
I am learning, slowly, the necessity of being oneself and being comfortable with difference between one another. A few weeks ago I attended the XChange, a once-a-month hip hop variety show put together by the teens of New City. The night includes raps, spoken word poetry set to music, videos, and peanut butter and jelly eating contests. Although my appearance may suggest otherwise, I am not a connoisseur of rap and hip hop music. But as I listened, I found myself quite enjoying it. The beats, electronically produced, differed in sound, but rhythmically resembled the music I know well. The vocals, delivered primarily rhythmically rather than melodically, open up an entire new world of musical creativity and possibility--one which I hope to explore in my own music.
I sat in my chair, bobbing my head to the beat of that musical world of new possibility, when one more band took the stage. Perhaps best described as Hard Core Screamo meets Hip Hop Chorus Hook, the band played one song, a rendition of Psalm 23. My head stopped bobbing. I'm not sure what expression my face wore, but it elicited"Are you doing alright?" from one of the New City pastors. Oh, I'm fine, I thought. This is just bad music, and that's all there is to it. I looked around, however, and everyone else was rocking out to the bad music. Headbanging to the bad music. Fistpumping to the bad music. Jumping up and down to the bad music. Don't give in, I thought, as I resisted the urge to fake enjoying myself.
There exists, I'm convinced, a line difficult to perceive, but essential to understand in new situations that require developing relationships with others. On one side of the line is hospitably going outside one's comfort zone to legitimately try new things, and on the other side is faking it. One side allows you room to be authentic, the other discredits you as a person seeking genuine relationships. I could not fake it, it would be ingenuine. But I wanted to fake it because that would have been easier. It is so much easier to be agreeable around folks that you want to get to know. And while being agreeable is important, being honest is even more so.
This past week I went to a bluegrass show with some New City teenagers. Another favorite band--the Punch Brothers--were playing a show in NYC. I figured a bluegrass show would be a bit of a hard sell for the teens, but when I put out the invitation, some seemed genuinely interested. Within the first song, as Chris Thile, the world's greatest mandolin player, feverishly played out some of the most impressive bluegrass licks the world has ever heard, Greg was asleep, snoring. He made it clear this was not his kind of music. And I'm glad he did. As much as I would have loved to have Greg love the kind of music I love, I would not have had him fake it.
In a paradoxical way, acceptance and appreciation of difference is the very foundation upon which genuine relationships develop. It is counterintuitive for me to allow myself to be different. I prefer to search for every possible way in which I share something in common with another person. And while points of commonality are important ways to develop genuine relationships, so must be points of difference. For it is in honesty about difference that we will know the relationships we build will be built with genuineness and authenticity.
As a closing thought, I will continue to listen to Radiohead and Punch Brothers, but I did find myself last night, inexplicably, sampling Lil Wayne's latest record on iTunes. Not bad, not bad.
Some unrelated images to follow.
A Day at the Zoo:
...And some others:
The little yellow building in this picture is for sale--future site of The Front Porch Coffee Shop?
Sunset in the city.
Greg and I after the bluegrass show (after Greg woke up-ha!)
Ashley and I teach the Rap and Song class at Summer Camp.
This one's for dad--kayakers on the Hudson in front of Ellis Island
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Summer Sunday
A lazy summer Sunday. Reading and writing. A mug of French pressed coffee welcomes me into the day, leaving my teeth gritty with coffee grounds as my ears enjoy the Punch Brothers' inaugural masterpiece of a record, "Punch." A warm breeze off the green and full leaves of the trees dances with the drapes and finally graces the dining room table where I type. Kids' feet plod along the floor of the apartment above me: a kind reminder that living in this country's largest metropolitan area means one lives never without the comfort of others nearby. I do love the city. How our lives depend not only on coffee and the warm summer breeze and the sound of lovely music--surely good gifts of our Lord and Creator--but upon each other, not only the gifts but the very likenesses of God.
Welcome to The Front Porch. Do sit and stay awhile, even if just to watch the people and cars go by and generally soak up the day. Let's eat meals together, and share our stories from the day, weaving the thread our lives into this fabric before us, inevitably arriving at the conviction that our threads inextricably wind together.
Home.
Central Ave at night. Always alive.
Central Ave at night.
Evening ride.
After hours.
Lower Manhattan at Sunset.
Little League in Central Park.
New City Kids' Church: Home of Summer Camp 2008!
Khalil and Greg groove at the keys.
Readying to Sail. City Sail is a program that teaches kids to sail. More on this to come.
A vain portrait.
Gone Sailing.
Welcome to The Front Porch. Do sit and stay awhile, even if just to watch the people and cars go by and generally soak up the day. Let's eat meals together, and share our stories from the day, weaving the thread our lives into this fabric before us, inevitably arriving at the conviction that our threads inextricably wind together.
Home.
Central Ave at night. Always alive.
Central Ave at night.
Evening ride.
After hours.
Lower Manhattan at Sunset.
Little League in Central Park.
New City Kids' Church: Home of Summer Camp 2008!
Khalil and Greg groove at the keys.
Readying to Sail. City Sail is a program that teaches kids to sail. More on this to come.
A vain portrait.
Gone Sailing.
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