Tricky
Briefly immortal
Hallelujah!
I have had what could likely be called a religious experience. It happened last night at a pub in Houston called McGonigal’s Mucky Duck. The Duck is a wonderful place to catch acoustic and local music in an atmosphere that includes plenty of European beers, great pub grub, and which excludes smoke. Also, because it is acoustic, the music is not so loud as to shatter your incus, malleus or stapes with volume. People don't shout, or even talk over the music. It is a listening club.
The artist is one of my long-time favorite singer-songwriters from the great Midwest, Susan Werner. I feel in love with Susan about fifteen years ago when she wrote a song about the loss of innocence called “The Last of the Good Straight Girls”. I’ve been stalking her ever since.
But I had no idea what to expect when Ms. Tricky and I found our table at The Duck. I figured it would be good. Little did I know what I was about to be exposed to.
It was gospel. Susan, the girl who was “Weird in School” had released a gospel album. I had already bought the CD, called The Gospel Truth from her product table (I like to have the liner notes handy when I’m listening to new music) and I must say I had some misgivings about the title. Though I totally enjoy some church music, much of it leaves me cold and angry because the writers are so smug and self-righteous. Had Susan become one of those? Well let’s see…
The first song she did was called Our Father. It was in the traditional gospel sound, or as close as could be achieved by a guitar and harmonica. Something was different about the words though:
Glory glory, I could see that I was going to be saved that night.
The lesson continued with Why is Your Heaven So Small? It asks the same question I have asked so many times about why the most powerful entity in the universe would be so insecure that He needs constant praise.
There are other great songs of love and ambivalence, Help Somebody which beautifully answers Plumjam’s questions. Sunday Mornings about the void that is left when you realize that you really don’t care for what your church is saying, but you like the ritual. And of course, the one that she calls a “flight risk” because there is the danger that some will be offended enough to walk out, Probably Not.
The patter between the songs was great too, and she was relating to the audience, which (being in Texas) was by no means a totally secular crowd. She was talking about hearing The Lords Prayer sung and one woman in the audience said she sang it at weddings every week. Susan handed her the microphone and she sang the whole thing (beautifully) and the crowd went wild. There was so much love in that room. I notice that she didn’t hand the microphone to me when I offered to sing Locomotive Breath. I guess there is even love has its limits.
I have had what could likely be called a religious experience. It happened last night at a pub in Houston called McGonigal’s Mucky Duck. The Duck is a wonderful place to catch acoustic and local music in an atmosphere that includes plenty of European beers, great pub grub, and which excludes smoke. Also, because it is acoustic, the music is not so loud as to shatter your incus, malleus or stapes with volume. People don't shout, or even talk over the music. It is a listening club.
The artist is one of my long-time favorite singer-songwriters from the great Midwest, Susan Werner. I feel in love with Susan about fifteen years ago when she wrote a song about the loss of innocence called “The Last of the Good Straight Girls”. I’ve been stalking her ever since.
But I had no idea what to expect when Ms. Tricky and I found our table at The Duck. I figured it would be good. Little did I know what I was about to be exposed to.
It was gospel. Susan, the girl who was “Weird in School” had released a gospel album. I had already bought the CD, called The Gospel Truth from her product table (I like to have the liner notes handy when I’m listening to new music) and I must say I had some misgivings about the title. Though I totally enjoy some church music, much of it leaves me cold and angry because the writers are so smug and self-righteous. Had Susan become one of those? Well let’s see…
The first song she did was called Our Father. It was in the traditional gospel sound, or as close as could be achieved by a guitar and harmonica. Something was different about the words though:
Susan Werner said:
Glory glory, I could see that I was going to be saved that night.
The lesson continued with Why is Your Heaven So Small? It asks the same question I have asked so many times about why the most powerful entity in the universe would be so insecure that He needs constant praise.
Susan Werner said:
There are other great songs of love and ambivalence, Help Somebody which beautifully answers Plumjam’s questions. Sunday Mornings about the void that is left when you realize that you really don’t care for what your church is saying, but you like the ritual. And of course, the one that she calls a “flight risk” because there is the danger that some will be offended enough to walk out, Probably Not.
But she balances it with…Susan Werner said:
Susan Werner said:
The patter between the songs was great too, and she was relating to the audience, which (being in Texas) was by no means a totally secular crowd. She was talking about hearing The Lords Prayer sung and one woman in the audience said she sang it at weddings every week. Susan handed her the microphone and she sang the whole thing (beautifully) and the crowd went wild. There was so much love in that room. I notice that she didn’t hand the microphone to me when I offered to sing Locomotive Breath. I guess there is even love has its limits.
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