Q: So when is a soundtrack not a soundtrack? A: When it is not attached to some work of art, like a film or drama. Q: Why then A Soundtrack for the Close of the Age? A: Well, for one thing, since the Bible's apocalyptic texts speak, e.g., of "the sound of God's trumpet" (1Thess 4:16) and bear witness to seven angels being given seven trumpets that signal the events of the end (Rev 8:2), I have always liked the idea that the second coming should be accompanied by a soundtrack of sorts. But if that aim is perhaps a bit ostentatious — bear in mind, I don't presume my little record has passed the audition — then think of this as a soundtrack attached to a life, a minor opus that for me arose at a major transition, at the close of a chapter in my life, such a transition as many people experience when they leave everything, follow God's call, and go to seminary. (This was in the days before "distance theological education," but even distance students well understand this way of speaking.) Although I might not have always been able to put it this way, I think the eschatological and the existential are never as far apart as we think, and twenty years ago, the process of responding to the call to seminary sure felt like the end of the world, and in a very real way, it was indeed the end of my self-constructed existence. In the months after I resigned my job and before my seminary classes began, I recorded this material that I'd been working on in my spare time for several years, and in some cases, since college. (My poor roommate must have suffered no end as I plucked out The Call over and over again on his guitar, since I didn't own one myself.)
Technically, this is the more professional and polished of the two CDs just re-released on CreateSpace, it having benefited from the talents of a proper engineer at the desk. The first musical track, ... And They Were Given Seven Trumpets, was the first track recorded on December 5, 1990. Say what you will, it still rocks!
The rest was done in a couple of long sessions which consisted of simply transferring the keyboards onto tape, usually with a single pass, and then adding the guitar or lead synth tracks in the studio. The Spirit is Like the Wind and He Got the Devil on the Run is, to my mind, the most satisfying track, since as far as the composition goes every note just seemed to just fall into place.
Lament has seen some use in traditional worship, in the hands of Barry Davies, former organist at Columbia Seminary, and the late Vanessa Gail Knight (flute), who breathed real life and spirit into it on at least three occasions. [Barry kindly transcribed it for me, but I can't seem to find the score. I know I've got it around the house somewhere ...]
Applecross takes its name from a village in Scotland. While I know the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was probably not an apple (!), it has been depicted as such so many times, it serves as a symbolic shorthand for the fallen state of the world, while the cross is, of course, God's triumphant answer to sin. Thus the piece unfolds in two distinct parts. If the first part sounds like the machinations of fear, that's what is intended, while the closing section is unapologetically triumphalistic and decisively outbids the former.
Oran Mor (lit. "Great Song") is so named for the simple fact that these chords seem to me inexhaustibly uplifting and inspiring — thus the reprise in Oran Beag (lit. "Little Song")— the peregrinations (and chord progressions) of a soul set free.
The Call is an old piece that evolved over the long process of my discernment of the same. It's the one solo guitar track on this record, and my earliest composition. Engineer Jack Black (no relation to that other guy, as far as I know) did a fine job of miking my Ovation guitar so as to sound both deep and bright, but not plastic as they often do.
Aqua Vitae is probably the second oldest composition, at least in terms of achieving a near final form. My friend Steve Mann chides me for having the trumpets way too loud in the mix, and he is probably right, but the trumpets and bells are meant to connote the brightness of the Water of Life, and I can only think such brightness should — at least at first — make one wince.
Imago Dei, written and recorded in 1993 in Glasgow, Scotland, was added as a bonus track, and is to my mind the coolest of the lot. For this I was borrowing time in Andy Thornton's Jump Studio, as well as his keyboards, so it was inspiring to have a whole fresh bank of sounds to work with. It was written as a track for the Late Late Service as we were heading to the Greenbelt Festival (1993). Andy added the vocal effects, which really completes the track, and makes it "say something." Imago Dei, juxtaposed with the traditional spoken (word-only) testimony with which the record opens, completes the framework, and leaves us with the realization that, now it falls to us as people of faith to "find the words," and to do so in a way that reflects "in whose image" we were created and "in conformity to whose image" we have been restored: "when he is revealed, we shall be like him!"
My attempts to shop around this album of "instrumental contemporary Christian music" — in the early 1990s, when Phil Keaggy was about the only guy who could get away with such a thing (and that's not much of an exaggeration) — met with no response from record companies, whether secular or Christian, and I soon had other things on my plate. Meanwhile, it still sounds good to me, twenty years on, this despite the commercial "tune out" at the beginning: a recitation of The Apostles' Creed. Dave Stewart (of Hatfield and the North/National Health/Stewart & Gaskin, not the Eurythmics) — I still have his postcard somewhere) was gracious to listen to the whole thing (i.e., the 1991 version) and comment on it; he cautioned me regarding the cost of its overtly religious references, and he was right. Nevertheless, the statement of faith was, and still is to my mind, the only credible jumping off point for such a project. If debut albums are generally self-titled, my aim here was to set that aside, and place the profession of the faith of the church down through the ages squarely up front.
Meanwhile, Dave's other advice proved itself as well. He basically said, "Get more gear." The idea was to have greater variety in one's sonic pallet, which in turn inspires more compositional and conceptual ideas. In the case of Imago Dei, that is precisely what happened: all new (albeit borrowed) gear, a whole new major idea. Of course, if I ignored his advice in the one instance (as a matter of faith, by which I would also attribute such inspiration to the Spirit more than to musical gear per se), in this case I ignored it for having to make do on a student income.
For all its production flaws and technological limitations, the CD as a whole models the meticulous use of an Alesis HR-16 drum machine to emulate a real drummer. Others may make similar claims for their elaborate use of the same instrument, but I decided early on that I did not want the "drum box" sound of the 1980s. Believe me, there is not a hit out of place here, but neither would it be impossible for a real drummer (someone with only two hands and two feet) to strike every beat, riff, roll, crash, thud, ... you get the idea.
Well, the harvest time has come. I can keep you no longer. Now, fly away, little Soundtrack! May you finally make your mark in the world, and pierce the hearts of many a called one!
Technically, this is the more professional and polished of the two CDs just re-released on CreateSpace, it having benefited from the talents of a proper engineer at the desk. The first musical track, ... And They Were Given Seven Trumpets, was the first track recorded on December 5, 1990. Say what you will, it still rocks!
The rest was done in a couple of long sessions which consisted of simply transferring the keyboards onto tape, usually with a single pass, and then adding the guitar or lead synth tracks in the studio. The Spirit is Like the Wind and He Got the Devil on the Run is, to my mind, the most satisfying track, since as far as the composition goes every note just seemed to just fall into place.
Lament has seen some use in traditional worship, in the hands of Barry Davies, former organist at Columbia Seminary, and the late Vanessa Gail Knight (flute), who breathed real life and spirit into it on at least three occasions. [Barry kindly transcribed it for me, but I can't seem to find the score. I know I've got it around the house somewhere ...]
Applecross takes its name from a village in Scotland. While I know the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was probably not an apple (!), it has been depicted as such so many times, it serves as a symbolic shorthand for the fallen state of the world, while the cross is, of course, God's triumphant answer to sin. Thus the piece unfolds in two distinct parts. If the first part sounds like the machinations of fear, that's what is intended, while the closing section is unapologetically triumphalistic and decisively outbids the former.
Oran Mor (lit. "Great Song") is so named for the simple fact that these chords seem to me inexhaustibly uplifting and inspiring — thus the reprise in Oran Beag (lit. "Little Song")— the peregrinations (and chord progressions) of a soul set free.
The Call is an old piece that evolved over the long process of my discernment of the same. It's the one solo guitar track on this record, and my earliest composition. Engineer Jack Black (no relation to that other guy, as far as I know) did a fine job of miking my Ovation guitar so as to sound both deep and bright, but not plastic as they often do.
Aqua Vitae is probably the second oldest composition, at least in terms of achieving a near final form. My friend Steve Mann chides me for having the trumpets way too loud in the mix, and he is probably right, but the trumpets and bells are meant to connote the brightness of the Water of Life, and I can only think such brightness should — at least at first — make one wince.
Imago Dei, written and recorded in 1993 in Glasgow, Scotland, was added as a bonus track, and is to my mind the coolest of the lot. For this I was borrowing time in Andy Thornton's Jump Studio, as well as his keyboards, so it was inspiring to have a whole fresh bank of sounds to work with. It was written as a track for the Late Late Service as we were heading to the Greenbelt Festival (1993). Andy added the vocal effects, which really completes the track, and makes it "say something." Imago Dei, juxtaposed with the traditional spoken (word-only) testimony with which the record opens, completes the framework, and leaves us with the realization that, now it falls to us as people of faith to "find the words," and to do so in a way that reflects "in whose image" we were created and "in conformity to whose image" we have been restored: "when he is revealed, we shall be like him!"
My attempts to shop around this album of "instrumental contemporary Christian music" — in the early 1990s, when Phil Keaggy was about the only guy who could get away with such a thing (and that's not much of an exaggeration) — met with no response from record companies, whether secular or Christian, and I soon had other things on my plate. Meanwhile, it still sounds good to me, twenty years on, this despite the commercial "tune out" at the beginning: a recitation of The Apostles' Creed. Dave Stewart (of Hatfield and the North/National Health/Stewart & Gaskin, not the Eurythmics) — I still have his postcard somewhere) was gracious to listen to the whole thing (i.e., the 1991 version) and comment on it; he cautioned me regarding the cost of its overtly religious references, and he was right. Nevertheless, the statement of faith was, and still is to my mind, the only credible jumping off point for such a project. If debut albums are generally self-titled, my aim here was to set that aside, and place the profession of the faith of the church down through the ages squarely up front.
Meanwhile, Dave's other advice proved itself as well. He basically said, "Get more gear." The idea was to have greater variety in one's sonic pallet, which in turn inspires more compositional and conceptual ideas. In the case of Imago Dei, that is precisely what happened: all new (albeit borrowed) gear, a whole new major idea. Of course, if I ignored his advice in the one instance (as a matter of faith, by which I would also attribute such inspiration to the Spirit more than to musical gear per se), in this case I ignored it for having to make do on a student income.
For all its production flaws and technological limitations, the CD as a whole models the meticulous use of an Alesis HR-16 drum machine to emulate a real drummer. Others may make similar claims for their elaborate use of the same instrument, but I decided early on that I did not want the "drum box" sound of the 1980s. Believe me, there is not a hit out of place here, but neither would it be impossible for a real drummer (someone with only two hands and two feet) to strike every beat, riff, roll, crash, thud, ... you get the idea.
Well, the harvest time has come. I can keep you no longer. Now, fly away, little Soundtrack! May you finally make your mark in the world, and pierce the hearts of many a called one!
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