By Kirk Abner |
By Kirk Abner |
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There’s something that has long fascinated me about gospel music, but I think I know why. I come from a very short line of gospel singers. My grandfather on my dad’s side used to teach singing schools a long, long time ago all over Dixie. He was a great guy, one of the founding members of the Sewanee River Boys. If you’re not into Southern Gospel quartets that wouldn’t mean much to you. But lets just say, Steve Chapman wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for these guys; well maybe not. Ok, maybe he would be, but let’s get back to the music. Now I do know the difference between an F sharp and a B flat, but unfortunately for me, and those around me, the singing voice died with my granddad. Though there’s nothing like a four part harmony, no matter what brand of music; and to hear it accappelo, that means without instruments for you that can’t read Italian. No wacky doo-wop mixers or records scratching backwards or electronic moog synthesizers. Just four folks singing, with nothing, all by themselves. Why that is probably as heavenly as some music can get. I appreciate the people who go to these gospel singings too. The singings usually advertise they go on all night long. And the folks who attend always seem like upstanding American men and women- a flashback to the good-ole days; Norman Rockwell kind of folk. The men usually look like they drove their tractors to the place. They’ve got strong hands, calloused most likely. The women, they look like they could bake an apple pie with their eyes shut. Yep, good people. No terrorist profiles within miles of these places. That’s part of the reason I’m so surprised that they can stay up for an all nighter. I’ll bet most wouldn’t recognize Jay Leno if he walked in the room.
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But one thing about the music, it is hard to just sit there and not clap a hand or tap a toe or jiggle just a little bit. I think it’s all on account of that strong bass line melody. There’s just something about a man who can sound like a diesel engine firing mixed with a high pitched fellow who can shatter glass that will do the heart good. Now I’ll have to say that sometimes the lyrics can be a bit far fetched; but like most music, whatever it takes to rhyme. And there’s nothing like a few hallelujahs that’ll get the crowd to open up their billfold. Heck fire, lay a couple of encores on ‘em and you can really make some dough. How sweet it is. And another thing I’ve observed; the songs always seem to be taking you somewhere. Close you’re eyes and before you know it you’re on the other side of the river, sitting on the sandy shore, standing at the pearly gates, flying through the starry nights, knocking on the heavenly door, cruising down those streets of gold, marching past the flowing stream, firing up in the sky, or just hanging out in good ole old heaven. I love the music but sometimes I feel like popping a few Zantacs before I go in just so I don’t get motion sickness. You know the cool thing about these gospel singers is their buses. If there’s been any part of modern day society that has held tight to the good ole ways of the good ole days, it’s these road warriors and their mode of transportation. I don’t believe you‘ll find a troupe anywhere that’s sporting anything newer than a 63 model. But you can always tell exactly who it is riding those buses. They always have their name posted right there on the front like they’re supposed to. And none of this formerly known as so and so baloney, or any of these jackpots going by just their first name; usually a surname thank you very much. One other thing I’ve noticed is that they’re always very upbeat names. Sort of like a happy meal, except these are happy people. The Happy Goodman, the Happy Four, the Happy Johnsons. Yea, I guess if I got to ride around on a big bus singing on an all cash basis I’d be pretty happy too.
Editors
interested in featuring gailmcfarland@artistmarket.com
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