Fourteen years ago I recognized something happening in my life. I recognized the true calling of my soul was to minister to people through music. I had really felt it building for some time, then one day, while listening to a favorite band of mine, it struck me this is what I need to do with my life.
Of course I was young, I was idealistic, I dreamt, I tried to force things. I started off to college and majored in music. I was the music director at an upstart church, one of the music directors at another church, and even worked with youth at another church. I figured, "Hey, if I'm supposed to live out a call as a minister, this is what I do."
I was wrong. I was very wrong.
I busted my butt in school and work, but halfway through my junior year I loathed working at churches and found the rigours of music school left me burnt out on being a musician. I walked away from my church job, changed majors, and started back visiting at my home church.
Management Science is a long way from music. I had no idea how this was supposed to work out, but I knew I was in the right place. I was in the right place even though I didn't feel like my calling had changed.
A few months later, after Shelly had moved to Tallahassee (yes, we had been together this whole time), we started visiting a church there. We felt at home there and thought it would be a good way to start out our new life once we got married. We joined up there, and guess what? They recruited me to play bass there. I wasn't a bass player, I was a rhythm guitarist. I was a song writer, I was an arranger; but they didn't need that so I helped out where I could.
I played bass there just about every Sunday for four-and-a-half years. I got to the point where anytime there were special events in town where other churches or groups needed a bass player I got the call.
Two weeks after Grayson was born I moved to Nashville. I moved to Nashville, not for music, but as an auditor. I worked as an auditor with HCA for three years before moving into operations management with HCA in 2007.
As an operations guy I met up with a fellow musician who had similar tastes. We both enjoyed all types of music, but particularly older country and folk. Very acoustic stuff. He was in a group at the time, but we jammed from time to time nonetheless.
Back in the spring of last year my friend's group was going through some changes. They were moving away from a classic country group to a more acoustic style. Their lineup changed and they needed a bass player. Well, I knew a thing or two about bass playing. They recruited me and now I'm in.
So we are still paying our dues as a group. We go through periods where we play a lot, periods where we can't get a gig. We pretty much never get paid, I think the only radio station that was going to put us on the air might go under because of the recent flood.
This is no career yet, but something cool is about to happen. Monday night we're playing on Music Row. It's another voluntary deal, for an industry group. It's not a big group, it's not going to lead to some big label deal, but it's Music Row.
Fourteen years. It's taken fourteen years of not having a clue how all of these odd-ball pieces fit together. How could giving up music and church work for geeky computer stuff lead me to be the musician I was called to be? Fourteen years after saying I'd do it, Monday night on Music Row I guess I'll find out.
Andy
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Writer's Block
This is a little odd to write, but I have a terrible case of writer's block. I told you it was weird. It doesn't pertain to writing in general, which is why it isn't as odd once you get below the surface. Today it is about music.
Today also isn't accurate. It's something I have been battling for weeks. It started with not being happy with the words I was writing. It then progressed to only being able to pluck out root chords and finally, purely from frustration, not playing any music. It is all starting to gnaw at my soul.
I'm not completely sure where it comes from, but I have some ideas. I have really been learning a lot about the craft of songwriting and, concurrently, have been trying to be very intentional about writing material for my band to perform. It seems as though the pressure I have placed on myself to write a particular type of song while also trying to implement the methods 'the pros' use may have clogged my brain.
This isn't the first time I have dealt with writer's block. It certainly won't be the last time I deal with writer's block. What is a little unique this time is that I feel completely uncreative. It's almost like everytime I sit down to write I look back at stuff I've previously written and tear it down as terrible while I pity the fact I'll never be able to write anything any good. It spills across into other areas, anything where I need to think out a solution, and I feel like my brain is full of mud.
Even now I am struggling with where to go next with this. The thought I wanted to express is out there, but there isn't a logical conclusion to it. Without any sort of logical conclusion to my problem I can't bring my expression to a logical conclusion. With that, it would seem I have nothing more to say.
Andy
Today also isn't accurate. It's something I have been battling for weeks. It started with not being happy with the words I was writing. It then progressed to only being able to pluck out root chords and finally, purely from frustration, not playing any music. It is all starting to gnaw at my soul.
I'm not completely sure where it comes from, but I have some ideas. I have really been learning a lot about the craft of songwriting and, concurrently, have been trying to be very intentional about writing material for my band to perform. It seems as though the pressure I have placed on myself to write a particular type of song while also trying to implement the methods 'the pros' use may have clogged my brain.
This isn't the first time I have dealt with writer's block. It certainly won't be the last time I deal with writer's block. What is a little unique this time is that I feel completely uncreative. It's almost like everytime I sit down to write I look back at stuff I've previously written and tear it down as terrible while I pity the fact I'll never be able to write anything any good. It spills across into other areas, anything where I need to think out a solution, and I feel like my brain is full of mud.
Even now I am struggling with where to go next with this. The thought I wanted to express is out there, but there isn't a logical conclusion to it. Without any sort of logical conclusion to my problem I can't bring my expression to a logical conclusion. With that, it would seem I have nothing more to say.
Andy
Sunday, May 02, 2010
A Broken Place
This past week has been eye-opening. It is not as if I have ever thought myself immune from being exposed to the ugly side of life, in fact there have been times when I have placed myself firmly in them, but it is when you feel safest that it is so startling.
We left northern Florida nearly six years ago to make a new, independent start to our lives. I think we both felt hampered in Tallahassee. It is a great town, nice people, and a safe place, but it was a town where people trying to build a career can struggle. We both wanted more opportunity, so we set a goal for where we wanted to be and went there.
I took a job in Nashville and we settled in Franklin, TN. It's a great place. We have a great church, schools are great, access to all a major city has to offer, but the security of a small town where you know everyone. It is a place where we have community, a place where friends take care of each other, and a place where strangers will stop and help you change a tire. A place where professionals and music stars co-mingle and raise their families.
All that Franklin offers is what attracted us. It is ideal, even idealistic, particularly for us. Great schools for the kids, great community for our family, and professional opportunities. Being a professional and musician, I find that I get great connections to other young professionals and get exposed to some great pro musicians. We are truly blessed to be here.
It is all of this that makes days like this particulary tough. Sure, it isn't perfect here, but it's not a place where you find yourself exposed to a lot of the ugliness of the world. Yet, here we are, looking back at an ugly week where two people we have associations with have died. Seemingly senseless things; things that just don't happen in our ideal little world.
To bring it even closer, these weren't just people in our town, but people in our church. People in direct community with us. A person I have played bass alongside, husband of Shelly's friend; a girl who is a friend of a friend's daughter, who the kids have played with in the nursery. Not my best friends, not even people I consider friends; nonetheless difficult to deal with.
Things like this do not happen here. Things like this are not what I signed up for. Things like this are what I came to protect my kids from... or are they?
This world, no matter how much we insulate ourselves, is a place where things happen. Good things, bad things, just things. No matter what I do I can't avoid it. No matter how much I try to make it better, the reality is we'll never make it better on our own.
I guess the reality of this brings home the point... Maybe I have tried too hard to insulate myself. These are the things we have to know happen in the real world. These are the things that make us so aware of our condition. That is right, our condition. It is not something we can run from, but it is part of the human condition.
This is a wake-up call from the rest of the world. A wake-up call that says we can't insulate ourselves from the world because the world still creeps in. A wake-up call that says we can't make the world be like us because the world, even our little microcosm, is irrepairably broken. A wake-up call that says start in the community and work outward to spread Good News, through good works, through good words, through good counsel, through love for one another. It is a wake-up call that says bad things happen everywhere, wrap-up the needing and hurting with love.
It is a time to remember, even though I cannot change what was, I can be there for what is. It is a time to remember this is still the world, and I still have to show that there is a greater love than simply what this world offers, everyday.
Andy
We left northern Florida nearly six years ago to make a new, independent start to our lives. I think we both felt hampered in Tallahassee. It is a great town, nice people, and a safe place, but it was a town where people trying to build a career can struggle. We both wanted more opportunity, so we set a goal for where we wanted to be and went there.
I took a job in Nashville and we settled in Franklin, TN. It's a great place. We have a great church, schools are great, access to all a major city has to offer, but the security of a small town where you know everyone. It is a place where we have community, a place where friends take care of each other, and a place where strangers will stop and help you change a tire. A place where professionals and music stars co-mingle and raise their families.
All that Franklin offers is what attracted us. It is ideal, even idealistic, particularly for us. Great schools for the kids, great community for our family, and professional opportunities. Being a professional and musician, I find that I get great connections to other young professionals and get exposed to some great pro musicians. We are truly blessed to be here.
It is all of this that makes days like this particulary tough. Sure, it isn't perfect here, but it's not a place where you find yourself exposed to a lot of the ugliness of the world. Yet, here we are, looking back at an ugly week where two people we have associations with have died. Seemingly senseless things; things that just don't happen in our ideal little world.
To bring it even closer, these weren't just people in our town, but people in our church. People in direct community with us. A person I have played bass alongside, husband of Shelly's friend; a girl who is a friend of a friend's daughter, who the kids have played with in the nursery. Not my best friends, not even people I consider friends; nonetheless difficult to deal with.
Things like this do not happen here. Things like this are not what I signed up for. Things like this are what I came to protect my kids from... or are they?
This world, no matter how much we insulate ourselves, is a place where things happen. Good things, bad things, just things. No matter what I do I can't avoid it. No matter how much I try to make it better, the reality is we'll never make it better on our own.
I guess the reality of this brings home the point... Maybe I have tried too hard to insulate myself. These are the things we have to know happen in the real world. These are the things that make us so aware of our condition. That is right, our condition. It is not something we can run from, but it is part of the human condition.
This is a wake-up call from the rest of the world. A wake-up call that says we can't insulate ourselves from the world because the world still creeps in. A wake-up call that says we can't make the world be like us because the world, even our little microcosm, is irrepairably broken. A wake-up call that says start in the community and work outward to spread Good News, through good works, through good words, through good counsel, through love for one another. It is a wake-up call that says bad things happen everywhere, wrap-up the needing and hurting with love.
It is a time to remember, even though I cannot change what was, I can be there for what is. It is a time to remember this is still the world, and I still have to show that there is a greater love than simply what this world offers, everyday.
Andy
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