Which is why he brought this kit to church last Sunday:

I’m sure there’s more to it, but he didn’t bring the rest of it because he knew he wouldn’t need it.  Manna (the little church I attend) meets in a smallish, low-ceilinged room, with people sitting right up next to the stage.  Most of the time we don’t have a drummer.  

It’s going better for me at Rockford Res.  At least they’re not saying anything.  It might be that they’re just keeping their mouths shut, comforting each other by whispering behind their hands that I’ll be gone after Christmas.  Or I might have actually hit all the marks last week.  Whatever—I’m having fun.  I didn’t throw up in the parking lot beforehand this week, which is improvement. 

So between the second and third services we’re sitting around discussing what Steve (the leader) called ‘the devolution of modern worship music’.  To paraphrase Steve: 

“If ever there was a time to start playing guitar in a worship band, it’s now.  It’s gone from strumming full chords to playing rhythmic ‘5’ chords, to just plinking one note over and over.”  (This is not lost on me, how the guitar players are plinking too.) 

We asked Brian, young bass player (and really good, too), what he thought of the ‘older’ music, and brought out a Tommy Walker song from the 90’s as an example.  He made a face.  “Hokey”, he said. 

Still they all feel the need for a change.  The question is, where does the inspiration come from? 

My friend Randi said it pretty well yesterday, in our monthly lunch with some area church music directors.  We were sitting around my studio eating bag lunches and discussing…stuff.  Ed the Other stops in unannounced (my friend, and the guy who leads the music at my little church) and he’s just back from a pilgrimage to Memphis.  He waxes eloquent about Stax Records, Sun Records, etc. 

Randi says, “What should we listen to?  I mean to get inspired?”  Ed rattles off several suggestions (including Aretha’s first album with, I think, was on Atlantic). 

And then Randi says (and this is the money quote), “I think it’s important that we position ourselves to be inspired.”

I wish I’d said that.  She’s so, so right.  Are we listening to new, different stuff?  ‘Cause you never know where inspiration’s gonna come from. 

You may or may not be familiar with and old jazz album, Miles Davis’ ‘Kind of Blue’.  I know I wasn’t, until recently.  But it apparently influenced, of all people Duane Allman.  Here’s from the liner notes to Davis’ album:

Critic Robert Palmer…discovered that very link backstage at the Fillmore East in 1969. “Duane Allman [was] the only ‘rock’ guitarist I had heard up to that point who could solo on a one-chord vamp for as long as half an hour or more, and not only avoid boring you but keep you absolutely riveted…. ‘You know,’ he told me, ‘that kind of playing comes from Miles and Coltrane, and particularly Kind of Blue. I’ve listened to that album so many times that for the past couple of years, I haven’t hardly listened to anything else.’”

Wait a minute: Duane Allman gets his inspiration from Miles Davis?  Here’s Duane:

And here’s Miles:

What?

But the connection is there.  So, my point:  set yourself up to be inspired, by listening outside your normal sphere of influence.  If you want suggestions, I’ll throw some at you, but really, just start off in any direction, and see what you find. 

Well, okay, here’s one, because I can’t resist: 

Feelin' Alright from Sundroid on Vimeo.

I give you permission to go out and be inspired.

So it went much better.  I’m relieved.  I think.  I didn’t make any big mistakes, and there were a couple of times I actually just closed my eyes and played from the heart—always the goal.  This might have been due, in part, to there being no important keyboard parts for me to play.  Not sure whether this was by design, but I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know.  Although at one point I hit all the marks in a little rhythmic passage, and Steve (the worship leader) said into the mic, "You hit every one of those!  I was watching." 

Sigh.

The music is well within my ability to play it.  Billy Joel said “Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout the new sound, honey, but it’s still rock and roll to me.”  Mostly that’s true with the stuff they play at Rockford Res.   In fact, it’s not challenging in the sense that I can’t keep the chord changes straight, or pull off fast passages.  Nothing like that.  I can play the Cma9’s and Asus2’s, and take a whirl on the bridge, etc.

What I find difficult is the way this music goes together.  It's tricky for me, knowing who I am in the band, because the parts they give me aren’t the kind of parts I’m used to.  The guitars drive the sound along, so I’m not ‘holding down the fort’, and the second keyboard player is playing ‘pads’, filling in all the cracks.  So what’s left?  The little plinky parts.  That's what I'm playing; little plinky parts.  Is that what the music needs? 

I’m used to holding the whole middle together with strong 2-&-4 chords, working at keeping my voicings away from the vocals, coloring it up with altered 5’s and 9’s, pushing and pulling the band along, doing a workman’s job.  If I was a cyclist in the Tour de France, I’d be one of Lance Armstrong’s domestiques, pulling the Peloton along, protecting the team leader, fetching water, watching out for aggressive riders, etc.  I like that roll onstage.  In this band, I feel like the guy Sinatra used to hire for recordings, the guy who sat in a chair on the side and played little tasty, jazzy riffs whenever Frank stopped to take a breath.  Yeah—there was a guy especially for that stuff. 

So I dunno know how I feel about my little plinky parts.  They don’t feel, well, necessary, and I like feeling necessary.  I like the work of it.  I like the adrenaline rush, solving problems by playing my way out of them.  But the little plinky parts?  Who'd miss those?

I’ll figure it out.  I always do. 



I remark to my friend Bob, who plays bass in my band, that I’m feeling less and less useful as a musician.  The music I like, the music I know, is now ‘classic’, and the new music leaves me…if not cold, then lukewarm.  It all sounds like U2 to me, and I really don’t like U2 very much.

Two weeks ago:

Doug, an old friend and former bandmate, calls me.  He’s the pastor of Rockford Resurrection Life Church, and he needs a keyboard player for a few months.  Says the regular guy has moved on, and until they find a replacement, he’ll take me as many Sundays as he can get me, now through Christmas.  When he tells me the name of the guy I’m replacing, I recognize it immediately—this is a player I really respect.  If HE plays for them, it might be a pretty good band.  Doug goes on to say they play of lot of the cool contemporary stuff.   When he names a few names, I realize he’s talking about the U2-influenced recordings.  I hesitate, he offers me decent money, I stop hesitating. 

Last week Thursday:

I head out to Rockford to check out the scene.  Their music guy is friendly, personable, and I like him immediately.  He’s not terribly young, but has pointy hair and black glasses.  I have black glasses, but my hair is still high-school-hair.  I can’t bring myself to wear my hair pointy, with a lot of product.  I wonder if it’s symptomatic (along with my dislike for ‘new’ music) of a larger, aging-related issue, or if, like Samson, my hair is hindering me.  Either way, a voice whispers in my ear: “That ‘new’ sound is 30 YEARS OLD, Mr. Schief”.   It’s come to this: my inner voice is calling me Mr. Schief.

Last week Friday:

I download the charts and mp3’s for the upcoming weekend (okay, THIS part I like, the downloading), and listen through everything.  No problem.  I should be able to easily keep up.  Steve, the music director, tells me, “We do the songs just like the CD, so make sure you listen to the piano and organ parts.”  I listen, and I hear one or two little things I should probably get familiar with.  I spend maybe an hour with the music, sort of listening and re-organizing the charts to my liking. 

Sunday: 

6:50 am:   I sit in the parking lot at the church, and my heart is pounding.  This is about more than just playing a couple weekends at a church, I realize.  There are a bunch of people here I used to do church with, used to hang with, people from my other life—the life of my first marriage, a different church family, a different era.  I think they’re expecting something from me.

7:05am  It’s just me and the janitor.  Got my music set up, keyboards fired up and tested.  I think I’m ready.

7:15am  Everybody comes in at the same time.  Handshakes all around.  Jonathon, who is Doug’s son and used to be my student, says, “Where’s the fat guy with the beard?”

7:20am  The good news is I can adjust my own monitor settings.  The bad news is I can’t figure it out.  Can’t hear vocals, and I’m hearing mostly one of the guitars and the other keyboard.

7:30am  I’m in the weeds.  I don’t know the little parts I thought I knew, and they’re switching from song to song at a breathtaking pace.  This is a good band, seasoned players.  They sound great.  Steve comes over.  “Hey, really, really glad you’re here this morning.  About that little part in the intro…”   I’ve switched places.  It used to be me helping out the guy in the weeds.  It’s humbling.  Well, it’s humiliating.  It’s humiliating, but it’s also kinda funny, if I watch it from a third person perspective.

8:20am  The service starts, and I absolutely RIP IT UP on the Hammond organ.  I surprise even myself. 

8:25am  Too much self-congratulation.  The song ends, I take literally three seconds to savor the moment, and hear the click track starting for the next song.  No!  I’m not ready.  What sound do I need for the next song?  What’s that little part I’m supposed to know? Crap--I’m supposed to be at the other keyboard.  Crap crap crap.

8:45am  We’re wallking off the stage, heading back to the office for breakfast.  Steve says, “Hey, the hard part is done, getting used to a new situation and all.”  I appreciate his words, but hate it that he even feels he has to say them. 

10:00am  I play worse than the first service.  Can’t remember JACK.   There’s a moment when the song is starting, and I know I have a little part to play.  I can’t remember the little part.  Steve looks over at me from the guitar, and I avoid his gaze. 

11:20am  Back on my feet, third service I play respectably. 

1:15pm.  Pulling through McDonald’s, hands shaking from the adrenaline come-down.  I realize I have two choices: either get with the program, or get old.  I’m getting with the program.  I'm on again this coming Sunday, we’ll see how I do.  Maybe I can show the young guys a thing or two.  FAR more likely they’ll show me something.  I’m ready. 

So I auditioned for piano, got the spot, and then pestered the guitarist who did know all the chords until he showed me.  He was a fantastic jazz player, and I still couldn’t beat him today, but I learned a lot. 

These six chords are among the many he taught me as essentials—learn to use these and you’ll have a great start moving past barre chords.  They sound great, and they make you look smart.    

Chord #1

Major 7 with a 6^th string root.  Here it is at the 3^rd fret: 

The easiest way to grab this chord is to first play a Bmi barre chord at the 2^nd fret, then move your 1^st finger so it only frets the 6^th string at the 3^rd fret.  The back of your 1^st finger should deaden both the 5^th and 1^st strings.  Thinking of it this way makes it instantly familiar (providing you already know the Bmi). 

This Major7 form is a very clean sounding chord, because the 6^th string acts as a sort of bass note, with the rest of the chord starting almost an octave up.  Especially below the 5^th fret, this keeps the low strings from sounding muddy and undefined. 

It is of course, a moveable chord form, so it’s useful up as high as you can reach.  You find the chord just like you’d find a regular ‘E’ type barre chord.  In other words, Gma7 is at the 3^rd fret, Ama7 at the 5^th, Cma7 at the 8^th, and so on. 

If you’re unfamiliar with the sound of this chord, try substituting it for a regular ‘G’ chord, and see how it sounds. 

Chord #2

Major 7 with a 5^th string root.  Shown at the 3^rd fret:

This one is easy to translate visually from its open form—Ama7.   It sounds best with the 6^th string deadened (as shown), because the 5^th string is the root of the chord.  Makes for a clean sound.  Use the tip of your 1^st finger—the one you’re barring with—to touch the string and deaden it. 

I actually like the sound of this chord with the 1^st string deadened too.   I do that with the back of my first finger.  A little practice and you’ll have it. 

You find this chord like any other A-type barre chord—i.e, Cma7 is at the 3^rd fret, Dma7 at the 5^th, Fma7 at the 8^th, and so on.  Along with the 6^th-string-root Major 7 I showed you last time, you can find any Major 7 chord from the 8^th fret down. 

If you need a song to try it out, it works great (along with the Gma7) on America’s ‘Tin Man’.  Like this, strumming up and down:

Gma7     -     -     -    |  -   -   -   -   |Cma7   -   -   -   |  -  -  -  -  |

Sometimes late, when things are real and people share the…

If you don’t have the recording, check it out here on youtube. 

Chord #3

Minor 7, 6^th string root.

LOVE this form for a mi7 chord.  It’s really a simplification of this basic mi7 barre chord:

We’re just taking away the 5^th and 1^st strings.  The thing that’s so great about this chord is that it puts your wrist (and elbow) in a very relaxed position.  Once you get used to it, you can play this chord easily, even when your hand is tired.  And just like the first chord in this series, it’s like the chord is actually a bass note with a chord on top of it—very clean. 

You deaden the 5^th string with the back of your 2^nd finger, and deaden the 1^st string by raising your 3^rd finger just slightly.  If getting that 1^st string to go dead is hard at first, don’t worry—the note actually fits into the chord.  It’s just better without it.  Note:  it helps to roll your fingers a little to the outside, so they’re more rigid.  This chord took me a week or so to get used to. 

You find it like any other E-type barre chord—i.e., Gmi7 at the 3^rd fret, Ami7 at the 5^th fret, Cmi7 at the 8^th fret. 

To try it out, play along with Van Morrison’s ‘Moondance’ here on youtube.  You just move back and forth between the 5^th and 7^th frets. 

Ami7 – Bmi7 - |

Chord #4

Minor 7, 5^th string root.

Although this form will require a little more practice before you can grab it easily, I guarantee you’re going to love it.  You’ll love it for two reasons:  it sounds great (which makes it usable), and it’s another form that’s easy on the hand.  (In the next installment I’ll show you it’s 6^th-string counterpart—they make an extremely useful pair).  Here it is at the 5^th fret:

Just like the Gma7 and Ami7 I showed you earlier, this chord has the bass note/chord thing going.  Clean. 

Chord #5

Dominant 7, 6^th string root.

This one is going to feel like a freebie, because it’s the exact same position as the previous chord, only with a 6^th string root:

By now you will have noticed this is another chord with a sort of bass note/chord thing going.  It’s a useful chord.  All the chords I’ve shown in this little series are useful.  They’re not esoteric, once-in-a-while chords, but utterly practical.  You don’t need a jazz chart in front of you to find a place for these; they work in ‘regular’ music. 

Putting it to use

Along with chords 2 & 4, try this little progression:

Dmi7  - - - |G7 - - - |Cma7 - - - | - - - - |

Move the whole thing up one fret and you have:

Ebmi7 - - - |Ab7 - - - |Dbma7 - - - | - - - - |

NOW we’re talkin’.   Seriously.  You don’t have to be afraid of progressions like the one above.  One more chord to go, and then I’m going to give you some sample progressions so you can practice these in useful ways.

Chord #6

Dominant 9, 5^th string root. 

Okay, this one for SURE will make your playing sound sophisticated.  It's an excellent substitute for a ‘7’ chord.  If the music says D7, try D9 instead.  It might not sound right every time, but it’s good to have in your pocket.  The more you use it, the more you’ll like it, I think. 

With any new chord, it helps to ‘see’ it on the neck—so here’s how to see this chord.  Play a plain old C7, the open version. 

Do you see the triangle formed on the 3^rd, 4^th & 5^th strings?  This is basically a C7 chord.  We’re stealing this triangle, moving it up two frets to make it a D7, then adding the first two strings back into the mix for a 9 chord. 

Putting all six chords to use

Here are some chord progressions to get you started.  Mix and match these a little, and try them up and down the neck. 

Chords 1, 2 & 6

Gma7 - - - |Cma7 - - - |D9 - - - |Gma7 - - - |

Chords 1, 3 & 6

Gma7 - - - |Ami7 - - - |D9 - - - |Gma7 - - - |

Chords 2,4 & 5

Cma7 - - - |Dmi7 - - - |G7 - - - |Cma7 - - - |

Chords 5 & 6

G7 - - - | - - - - |C9 - - - | - - - - |D9 - - - | - - - - |G7 - - - | - - - - |

Any questions, post them here at the bottom as a comment, or hit the contact button above--I'll get back to you as soon as I can.  If you want some chord charts to try these out on, ask me--I'll attach them to an email.  I have a lot of them. 

All right—get to work. 

If you’d like even more help improving your knowledge of the guitar neck hit the CONTACT button, and let’s set up a few lessons. 

Here’s the quick, non-whiny version of why I got out of music directing, and I’ll apply my own principles here.  The reason I told/tell everyone is that I got sick of working six days a week and every weekend.   That’s true, but that’s not the whole deal.  I’ve been out of it several years now, and I’m only beginning to sort through it.  Here’s how it looks now, with the wisdom of distance:

After eleven years of it, I was getting bored.  I had pretty much played out all the ideas I had, and wanted to do something new.  I approached the church about writing a Christmas musical, which, if it succeeded, I hoped would move me out of music directing and into more creative endeavors.  I saw myself writing dramas (which I’d done successfully for several years), working on original material for holiday presentations, maybe keeping a toe in the music department.  I ran this past my boss, who answered to the pastor, and both of them said yeah—go ahead and write it. 

Christmas was a Sunday that year, and I’d conceived the thing as a twenty-five to thirty minute presentation—a mix of video and music.  This would keep our volunteer need to a minimum (always a consideration at Christmas time), it would be a middle-sized project for my first attempt, and it would be consistent with the Christmas Eve services we’d done in the past, at least as far as length went. 

On June I presented the idea, and they liked it.  Except…except that a few weeks later, in a meeting which I didn’t attend, a committee decided that what we needed was a full-blown Christmas Extravaganza.  A two hour full-court press, a musical with song and dance and original tunes, presented over four weeknights.   Lights, sound, wireless mics, months of rehearsal, and all for MY production.   Here, my friends, is where I went wrong:  I said yes. 

I said yes because I saw the church as a way to live my life the way I wanted, to do the things I loved, and to get paid for it.  In other words, I wanted the church to provide me with my dream job.  I convinced myself that it was the best thing for the church, and that, well, any fool could see it.  And if they didn’t, I’d show them.

I spent evenings and weekends all summer and all fall writing that thing.  Seven or eight original songs and an entire storyline to go with it.  Seven or eight speaking parts, a live band, a choir…I bit hard on the opportunity.  When I got done, they’d owe me. 

We pulled it off.  It was a long, exhausting season, from September rehearsals until Christmas week, but I thought it went well.  I wrote all the arrangements for the band and vocals, recorded background tracks to go along with the live band.  I played in the band, and came to some of the acting rehearsals as well.  I completely threw myself into it.  When it was done I was tired but euphoric--I'd done it!

Two weeks into January I asked my boss if we could now start talking about how to change my job, and my boss said, basically,  “Are you serious?  We don't have the budget for that.  Besides, I need you in the music department.  We have a big, big spring season coming up, and we have work to do.  I'd advise you not to even talk to the pastor about it." 

I became disillusioned, and a couple months later I gave them my notice.   I blamed them.  What I didn't see was this:  My motivation for wanting to change my job around was selfish—it was best for me.  It made me happy.  I made up a direction for the Arts Department to go, and then got mad when they didn’t go along with it. 

In short, I didn’t know why I was doing the job.  I thought I was doing the job for lofty motives, but when I couldn’t get my way, I cried foul. 

Here’s what I should have done.  I should have told myself the truth about being burned out on the job, then gone to the management and laid it out.  Instead I tried to muscle the situation by writing the big musical and forcing their hand.   It was a little dysfunctional all around, and they probably could have handled it better too, but that’s not the point.  I could have completely circumvented the hard feelings and saved myself a lot of trouble, by just telling myself the truth.   And it turns out they're just fine without me!  Go figure. 

So how’s it going with your situation?  Back to my initial question:  why are you doing this?  You need to know. 

When I was dating my soon-to-be wife seven years ago, my prospective father-in-law said, "So, you're a church music director.  That a part time job?"  He had no idea.  And to be fair, how would he know?  

I love the TV show 'Dirty Jobs', and I always end up saying, "I never knew somebody had to do all THAT!"   Church music directing is like that.   So again I say:

You must know why you’re doing this. 

Church music directing pays poorly (sometimes not at all), the hours are long, and the frustration level is high.  Not only that, but the turnover rate is high among church staffs (staves?) in general, and churches change direction like a paper bag in the wind.  It’s okay to have mixed motives—everybody does.  But if you don’t really know why you’re doing this—or worse, you’re lying to yourself—then you’re setting yourself up for frustration and failure. 

Here’s my (not exhaustive) list of legitimate reasons to be a church music director:

• You're good at it, and it's better than working in a factory
• You want to further the cause of Christ by elevating the level of music in church
• You have a passion for helping people connect to God through music. 
• There's no one else at your little church who can do it, so you're pitching in.
• You can't imagine doing anything else.
• It's a way to make money and serve the Kingdom at the same time.
• God has called you to do it.
• It's a career you've always wanted to pursue.

 Here’s my illegitimate list:

• Your church music department SUCKS, and you have to fix it.
• You want control over the way things go.
• You love the attention.
• You know better than everyone else.
• Your music will change the way everyone does church.
• Your church will fail if they don't do the music right, and you're the only one who sees it clearly.
• God will like you better if you work for the church.
• Joining the church staff puts you on the inside.

You get the picture.  Here’s why I bring this up:  sooner or later (if it hasn’t happened already) you’re going to be treated unfairly.  This is a foundational truth, an undeniable tenet of church music directing.  You’d better know ahead of time how you will respond when:

• The church adds a Saturday night service and expects you and your band to perform at exactly the same level. 
• The Committee-That-Decides-Stuff—with three week’s notice—decides there will be a Summer Concert Series, featuring your music department.
• The worship song you wrote when you thought your spouse might have cancer—the song that everyone loves—is discontinued because the elders feel the congregation shouldn’t dwell on such dark issues. 
• You’re told (by the pastor and elders who went to a church growth conference without you) that drums and guitars are critical to your church’s growth strategy, and that they will be featured on every single song from now on.
• The budget is slashed (again), and your administrative assistant will be let go.  Every program you started because you had extra help will be expected to continue as before.
• You’re asked to work extra hours for no extra pay.

The bigger the church, the more likely something like this will happen, because folks, it’s a little nutty out there.  Yes, you should work with your superiors (*see below) to build a good working relationship.  Yes, they should do the same.  But it doesn’t always work that way.  Do your best to make it good, but don’t, don’t, don’t assume that it’s going to be like starting a club with your best friends.  It won’t be. 

Maybe your situation is working absolutely great for you.  If so, and I say this with all sincerity, good for you.  Bask in it.  Thank God for it.  Don’t take it for granted.  Just be aware that churches are fertile ground for political maneuvering, backroom deals, and people who hear from God and aren’t afraid to tell you so.  Everyone’s read a book, everyone’s an expert. 

Listen—church work isn’t for everyone.  Some people aren’t suited for it temperamentally, or for a variety of reasons, but you will not hear that talked about at any church seminar.  I routinely heard this, or some variation of it, at practically every conference I attended:

 ”If you’re in a position as a church music director, it’s because God called you to it.  If God has called you to it, He’ll equip you.  You just need to work harder and smarter.”

I even asked one time, “Okay, so what if you just really feel like quitting?”  The guy really didn’t have an answer.  So before you and I go any farther, I’m going to give you permission to think that maybe this just isn’t for you.  Or maybe it’s good for now, but not forever.  Be happy.

Next:  How I did not take my own advice, and ended up burned out. 

*I steadfastly maintain that I have no superiors, and very few equals.

Hang a guitar around my neck and give me a chord chart written in Bb, and I immediately start making plans to shove the music director into the bushes after rehearsal.  Put the same chart in front of me while I’m on the piano bench, and I grin evilly:  let’s see the guitar player ‘Led Zepellin’ his way out of THIS!

 It might be fun to watch the guitar players squirm, but right away it gets old.  The rehearsal comes to a grinding halt as they wrestle with their choices:  play way up high on the neck and rob the guitar of it’s sustain, or play down around the nut and get a hand cramp by the second chorus. 

 I’m talking acoustic guitars here.  The electric players just need to buck up.

So here’s the answer to all this melodrama:  the capo.  The guitar players bestest buddy.  I used to think capoing was for sissies, but I’ve changed.  I’ve matured, I like to think. 

 Acoustic players:  there’s no shame.  In fact it’s smart to capo up.  Here’s why:

 -  You can concentrate on how the song feels, rather than use up all your available brain cells just trying to think your way around the neck.

-  You can take advantage of open strings, which ring better.

-  You can play all your cool little licks and tricks that only work in sharp keys

Music Directors:  Rehearsals don’t bog down, guitarists are easier to get along with, and you can even throw an intro or interlude at a guitarist with confidence. 

The key (pun intended) is knowing where to put the capo, and how to transpose.  Here’s the simple answer:

For every fret the guitarist capos up, the key drops a half step. 

One fret = half step.  So if the music’s in Bb, the guitarist capos up one fret and plays in A.  Or…and this is the really great part…the guitarist capos up THREE frets, and plays in G.  Or six frets up, and plays in E. 

There’s a hidden benefit to this, also.  A BIG ONE.  As the guitar player moves up the neck, he moves away from the middle range the piano players usually play in.  This makes the guitar easier to pick out for the listener, and makes it easier to mix for the sound person.  And it sounds kinda cool.  Experiment with moving the capo farther up the neck for an interesting change in the usual sound of the guitar. 

There’s one catch:  the guitar players need new music written.  With Song Select, and other music download options, this should actually be pretty easy.  Print the chart in Bb for everyone else, and print it in A for the acoustic guitar players, with a note to capo at the first fret. 

To make this easier, I’ve printed up a chart that lays out the keys, capo frets, etc.  I’d be glad to email it to you--just hit the CONTACT ME button above, and give me your email address.  If you have any questions, I’ll try and answer those too. 

First, The Other Ed (pictured below) and I did two songs with piano and guitar:

God of Wonders

Lord I Lift Your Name On High

It's always a challenge for me to do something new and different with these familiar songs, and I think I got a pretty good mood for God of Wonders--I played off the upper chord extensions a lot, hoping to make it kinda moody.  The Other Ed played his wife's Esteban classical.  With two really great guitar shops in our little town (both on the main shopping street downtown), I can't believe they ordered an Esteban guitar, but the painting on the front was kinda cool. 

We switched to ukes after that, both of us, and did

I'll Fly Away

Grace Greater Than Our Sin

The Other Ed actually threw me a little solo on the uke for I'll Fly Away, and I acquitted myself...moderately well with a little bluesy rambling.  He one-upped me though; he had a uke with a factory pickup.  All I got was an SM57.  This must not go unanswered. 

(This post is part of Fred McKinnon's Sunday Set Lists)

Friday I bought two new slides.  At my age, it's a cheap indulgence.  (There's my new band name--'Cheap Indulgence')  Saturday afternoon I spent an hour fiddling around with retuning the guitar and finding some chords and licks. 

We were pretty much just a bunch of fairly good musicians playing all the wrong instruments (some of us).  It worked out pretty good.  In fact, there were some really nice moments.  We didn't start rehearsing until 5:30, and the service started at 6:00, but seriously--you either know the licks in G, or you don't.  Fortunately, our little crowd is up for anything, and we all had a great time.  The songs featured impromptu solos, which mostly went well.  Ed would just point, and we did our best.  I muffed what I thought was the last solo I'd get, but in an act of Christian mercy, The Other Ed gave me another shot.  This is why you should be friends with the music director. 

I'll Fly Away

When The Saints Go Marching In (very lazy and moody--I liked it.)

Pass Me Not O Gentle Savior (The lyrics on this one got mis-typed, so we actually sang Pass Me Not O 'Gentile' Savior.  Not kidding.)

And one more I can't remember. 

So now I'm all jacked up about slide guitar, and thinking about getting a cheap lap steel.  I'm sure I can learn. 

(This post is part of Fred McKinnon's 'Sunday Set Lists')