I think that I have outdone myself with perhaps the longest entries that I’ve ever entered into my blog — but when you’re reflecting on over thirty years of personal music history, you ought not expect a short essay. But I promise that this will be the last part of this three-part series.

It was such a simple thing that really sparked this whole reflection, seeing my music out on last.fm and wondering why it is that I just cannot seem to pick up my guitar these days or pour myself into creating new music in GarageBand. The reality is, I’ve been thinking about this for the past few months and just have not nearly the same enthusiasm or drive to create new music like I have over a year ago.

I left off sharing about the new-found inspiration and drive to resume writing songs again. Jamison had asked me to help him do special music at the church he was attending, performing an offertory and something at the close of the service. Though reluctant at first about playing in front of a congregation again, I accepted. Of course that meant dusting off my guitar, practicing a little, and getting my voice back into usable condition.

At that same time, I was desperately trying to do any semblance of songwriting — jotting down one or two lines of lyrics here and there, and struggling to complete anything at all. About the only set of completed lyrics I had in months — even years — was a “song” I wrote on a sunny day on 7th Place in downtown Saint Paul, when I saw a familiar figure walking along the courtyard of the Traveler’s building. It was a woman in her late 50’s, maybe early 60’s, wearing her tattered-looking ball gown, complete with beauty queen sash, and tiara. I had seen her a few times before, driving on my way to work — and seeing her again brought about a hurried sense of inspiration to write down some lyrics about this unique individual.

I had brought these lyrics to my first rehearsal session with Jamison, saying that I wasn’t sure quite what to do with it — and before long, the collaborative process and the energy of co-creating kicked in and “Beauty Queen” [m3u file] was born. Complete with lyrics, a chord progression, and even a general sense of melody and arrangement, the fire started up within me again, renewing the passion for music that I once had.

Before long I was writing more songs on my lunch breaks and writing down social justice related songs, including “Do You Know” [m3u file] and “Bomb” [m3u file]. And at the same time, the rehearsal for this one-time church performance expanded and included a third member, Paul Wichterman, so we could have a drummer. The only trouble was that we didn’t have a drumset, other than the hodge-podge kit that the church owned, something you might have seen sold at a garage sale for $10.

When we started playing, learning the two songs we were going to perform, and then even exploring another song or two of mine, something felt right about this. So after talking about it for awhile amongst ourselves, we decided to take a step towards starting up the band and decided that whatever we do with this thing, it had to be different. We wanted to be more than just a band, we wanted to be an agent of change — particularly with social justice issues and ensuring the equal rights of humanity. Some of this was influenced by a book Paul recommended to me, called “The Barbarian Way”, which eventually became the source of inspiration behind our new name: Crash Effect.

We started practicing in the end of August of 2006, learning song after song in my basement — recalling that it was a particularly hot summer and we roasted down there as we rehearsed songs like Kansas, Bomb, and Roots. Sensing that we needed that certain something more in the band, we sought out a lead guitarist by way of one of Paul’s connections and soon invited his friend James Zirbes to join us with the understanding of what Crash Effect was all about and that we were in this for the long-haul. We were more than just a band that created music — the social justice aspect of Crash Effect was to be huge. We had committed to give 10% of all our earnings as a band to various humanitarian charities and to be agents of change in the world. You could also say that we were quite inspired by the work that Bono has done over the years.

October of 2006 brought about more change for the band, as we were just starting to prepare for our first show in November and begin production of our first recording. Sensing that something wasn’t right in the mix, I had a feeling that Jamison’s heart wasn’t as much into what we were doing as I had hoped. And those suspicions were confirmed when he would step down from the band, telling us that he just didn’t feel like this was his calling, and that he felt he would be holding us back from the rhino-like pace and drive that we were moving at. That decision was a tough one for both Jamison and me — we’ve had such a long history together, and because he was a significant influence for me to return to writing music, I had hoped he would be a part of this journey together. Looking back, I wish we would have just slowed down the pace — maybe things would have been different.

But instead, we chose to move on and seek out a bass player at James’ recommendation, and with lightning like speed, we brought on Kris Norberg as our bass player with little musical audition (he honestly didn’t need it) and some general discussion about our expectations about the band and what we are all about. It was important for us to all be on board with this aspect of being a humanitarian force, not just a band that creates great music. And after our crazed meeting at Caribou in West Saint Paul, it was official that Kris was our new bass player and we would resume our rhino-like pace learning song after song after song.

By mid-November, we already had nearly 11 or 12 songs in our repertoire and were working towards recording our first EP. Our first show at Doc’s Landing in White Bear Lake was packed out with friends, family, and patrons and went quite well despite performing the songs at break-neck speed. But I would also be remiss to say that everything was going well within the band and that life was perfect for Crash Effect.

Without going into details and defaming anyone’s good name, there was an undercurrent of conflict and hurt that was left unaddressed, uncommunicated, and therefore unresolved. We continued playing a few more shows, recording more material, rehearsing new songs, and had picked up the kind of momentum I have never seen before in a band. We had just finished producing our first EP, we were getting attention from entertainment press in the UK, started playing shows at bigger venues like O’Gara’s Garage, and even started to see some of that buzz spread through social networks. But then just weeks before we received the EP’s, the crap hit the fan and Kris, James and I had a knock-down, all-cards-on-the-table, Come to Jesus meeting over wings and beer.

The summary of their needs: more input musically; the summary of mine: because they’re my songs, it’s hard to be open to drastic changes — but even more importantly for me, was that Crash Effect was more than just about music, we were to be a band of social change; humanitarians. It was obvious we didn’t see eye-to-eye, but in my mind it wasn’t something impossible to overcome and that we could work on this together. I would do my best to relinquish my stranglehold on my songs and try to give them more input into the arrangements, and they could try to be a bit more understanding or empathetic when wanting to change some of my material. By compromising together, we could have resolved this conflict.

That wouldn’t happen, and literally the day the EP’s were delivered and we were to meet up at rehearsal, James and Kris brought their own delivery — dropping a bomb on us and saying they were through with the band and thought it was best that way, to find a bass player and guitarist that was more in tune with the humanitarian aspect of the music.

Feeling like we were just sucker punched and kicked in the nards, Paul and I eventually left with about a thousand EP’s in hand and went to a nearby Caribou to sort through this development and figure out the answer to the question, “where do we go from here?” Do we proceed as a two-man act? Do we find a bass player; another guitarist?

For us, giving up was not an option — we made a commitment to this and were resolved in seeing this thing through no matter what shape it took. I don’t think we really realized just how difficult that would be after the tragedy that was the splitting of four into two.

Paul had a child on the way, a job change in the works, and enough side jobs to keep him preoccupied for some time. Me, I was frustrated with the falling out, broken because I felt we failed, jaded because it was technically the sixth band to fall apart on me [Captive Free, Allegory, China Shop, Miles to Go (I know I didn't blog about this), Two Mile Stretch, and Crash Effect], and I was also fostering a growing interest in photography as a career change. We had a lot on our plates, whether it was life or internal issues we were wrestling with.

Over the course of the summer of 2007, we made attempts here and there to try and pick things up with an upright bass player we met along the way, but it really didn’t manifest into anything of consequence. Despite a few good rehearsals and an interesting change in the arrangement of some of our tunes, we couldn’t muster the momentum to keep the train rolling. And by the time October or November rolled around, Crash Effect was as good as dead — even though we both were not willing to say it outright or admit it to each other. Instead I think we both held to some inner idealism, that some day the planets will align themselves in just the right fashion, the connections will fall into place, and God would grant us the green light to proceed without hindrance. I think all that remained were empty hopes of something we both truly wanted to happen — not just because we wanted to be in a great rock band, but because we both wanted to change the world and this was the way we both knew how. If the music wouldn’t change lives, the money we made from it would.

To date we have not sold much by way of EP’s and about eight boxes sit in my basement collecting dust.

I’m not sure I can fully convey the deeply suppressed disappointment, heartache, and let down that has resulted from the cumulative effect of the number of failed attempts at running a band — a band that would last through conflict, the change of seasons, and live on to be a legacy of change. For me it was more than just the idea of being in a band, it was the idea of creating music that would move the soul, touch the heart of people, and Lord willing even have life-changing effects — or in the very least, be a vessel for that life-changing power. From starting out with raw talent and an unshakable drive to write, play, record and perform — you couldn’t separate me from my guitar and I brought it everywhere with me — and have come to this terrible place of apathy and lethargy where now I only see disappointment and no reason to pick up said guitar.

You could call it the perfect storm of circumstances that have led to this place — multiple failed attempts at running a band, a decidedly small audience of people mildly interested in my solo efforts, recovering from things former pastors have said to me regarding music, a dramatic change in my spiritual beliefs, a series of changes in life events, the uncertainty of how being a musician/songwriter fits into an Orthodox life, and to some extent age itself. All of these factors have mushed together and created a colossal force that has extracted the waning desire to continue to write songs, record music, and share it with others whether in CD format or in live performance.

I was deeply depressed about this for awhile, but now I think I’ve moved to a place of apathy, where it doesn’t seem to matter as much anymore — and that grieves me. I can remind myself of all of the great people who have failed so many times, only to keep trying and eventually succeeding, but remembering that it took Walt Disney fourteen attempts at starting his colossal theme park just doesn’t muster up the inspiration it would take to resume my song writing, let alone pick up my guitar.

This is where Orthodoxy enters the equation, too. If you’ve been to an Orthodox service, the music is generally a cappella and variations on chanting a certain phrase or liturgy — there is really no room for creative song writing or musical composition; even in the Catholic Church to some extent. In years past, it was relatively easy to assimilate my musical endeavors into the Church, because there was usually room for it in one way or another. But I’m really not so certain about what role music can play in the Orthodox Church aside from their established liturgical services.

When I consider my roots in music, from where I’ve come, I see how integral God was in the growth and fostering of my gift — at the close of high school, I was picking up the guitar faster than anyone I’d known around me and writing more songs than I might have ever expected. And God was often at the center of it. Sure, there was plenty of my own humanity and self-gratifying or expressiveness in the mix, too; but God was never that far out of the picture. In fact, music was always my primary means of connecting to God, communicating with him, expressing myself about him, and sometimes even a way of listening, too.

These days it’s not so cut and dry anymore, and it leaves me with a lot of unanswered questions and little hope or reason to continue to write, create, record, share, sing, play. Even despite the moments I’ve had with God and music and my expressed desire to play for him alone, I cannot help but to wonder why it would be worth picking up the guitar, sitting down with the keyboard, and writing or recording a song or two to share with even but a few people. For I know once I sit down and begin to play, it becomes a battle in my heart and in my mind to even just keep playing — fighting off feelings of boredom, the inner critic, and some level of belittling my playing ability or my struggle to create anything truly remarkable… in my eyes.

It’s by no means an easy issue for me — I’m complex, have multiple layers of baggage to work my way through, and just don’t have the simplicity of heart, mind and spirit to let myself go in even of the most basic of chord progressions. In fact, I remember times in my life, that even a simple three- or four-chord progression could sweep me off into a world of contemplation, prayer, and wonderment of my life, what God might have planned, and waiting for the next moment in my life that God would touch me or speak to me in one way or another. These days I don’t have the frame of mind or heart to lose myself in such simplicity.

Which brings me to a fundamental question, what am I to do with this music thing? Once in a while I have momentary, fleeting aspirations to begin working on another CD or might have a great idea for a song; but predominantly there is no reason or driving force that beckons me to come and write or to come and play. Without spiritualizing the issue, you could say that King Solomon and I are in similar places, realizing similar things — everything in the earth, though good and created by God, is meaningless. The hopeful side of me searches and clings to a tiny sliver of hope, that there would be an addendum to that phrase, “everything is meaningless” — that perhaps for another, it actually would be meaningful to them, or life-changing, or something that would enrich their heart, soul, and quality of life both now and in ages to come.

After years of playing to nearly empty cafes, selling a handful of CDs or mp3s, and little or no buzz about when I’m going to create more music (”Michael, when are you going to play out again?” “When’s your next CD coming?” “I really want to hear more new music.” or “Man, that one song ____ really made a huge difference for me; my life’s not been the same since.”) or active feedback that gives me fuel for my fire and reason to keep creating. For since I don’t actively hear from God on my own anymore and my interaction with people is quite finite, there really isn’t much by way of input — no quarters being put into the machine, to use a metaphor.

Of course there are a few exceptions here and there to the tale that has been painted so woefully — and I really don’t mean to make it sound like a pity party [woe is me, no one listens to my music, no one buys my CD's, no one comes to the shows], it’s not at all like that. It’s so much more foundational and anything but a shallow feeling of self-pity. But one exception has been one of the mainstays throughout my history of creating music — and that has been my good friend Jamison, for the numerous musical things we’ve participated in together, for the late nights he and I have stayed up recording music together, and even more recently for his generous feedback and solicitations about my relaxing instrumental CD, Tranquility. Whenever we’d come over for small group, or hanging out over pie and coffee, he’d have Tranquility on and would zealously rave about how much he enjoyed the CD. He even used one of the songs — the first track I believe — as background music for an audio sermon he had to do for a class [I'll collect the royalties for that later] in seminary. It goes without saying that he’s been probably my biggest supporter next to my wife, who’s tirelessly put up with my pursuits and tolerated my endeavors.

But I honestly don’t know where to go from here. This would be a good time for those lurking Orthodox readers to start piping in right about now. Music is obviously ever prevalent throughout the scriptures, and while it’s generally all chanting, is also present in the Orthodox liturgy as well. But as a despairing singer, songwriter, musician and performer, I feel I have come to the end of my ambitions and my aspirations; and feel I have no clue where to go from here. There’s a mustard seed-sized flame inside that tries its best to shout, “Don’t quit! Don’t quit!” But the experiences of life over the past decade make it difficult to hear and obey those pleas.

I’ve shared quite enough. Now is the time that I’d like to hear from you — lurkers, friends, strangers, all. What is your assessment? What are your opinions or thoughts on the matter? Where should or could I go from here, and for what reason? (Perhaps I should sell that on eBay… one guy sold his “soul” on eBay, offering to try a variety of religions at the highest bidder’s request; perhaps I could offer up my musical future on eBay. Of course, I’m only kidding. I’m not that cheap and self-disrespecting.)

January 25, 2008, 2:28 pm

Filed under: General, Music, Orthodoxy, Performance, Recording, Spirituality

1 Comment »

1. Jamison said,

   January 25, 2008 @ 3:09 pm

   Well, as a guy who got mentioned WAY more than I needed to be in this three part tome, I figure I should pipe up a bit.

   First I need to acknowledge and say thank you for all the kind words you said. It really, really touches me to hear that I made a difference in your life. The path goes both ways though. I would probably have never even had a single ‘rock band’ experience in my life if you hadn’t given me a chance. That’s meant more to me than you can imagine. You’ve always been very encouraging and for that I’m very grateful.

   Second, in terms of where you go musically… I’m sure I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. I think you’ve always been at your best when you’ve been writing music for the sake of writing, and not to fulfill some form of deadline, goal or self-imposed discipline.

   The reason that I always rave about your album Tranquility is because it feels as if it was born out of that simple truth. Music for the sake of music. It wasn’t put together to be a commercial success, you didn’t spend hours writing and agonizing over lyrics and melodies. You just did some music for the fun of it. And I think that comes through in the album. There’s moments of imperfections, and un-polished bits. But at the core, it’s just plain nice music to listen to. We still play that album at least once every couple weeks or so around our house, and I don’t think that will change. I think you need to be proud of what you accomplished with that album (and all your other ones too), and don’t see them as “that which might have been”, or unmet potential, but as simply what they were. An expression of your talent and abilities, and just darn good music.

   Now, does that mean that music will continue to be a driving force in your life? I don’t know. I have similar feelings myself about my musical history (which we talked about at lunch) as well. Should you keep trying to make sequels to Tranquility? Maybe, maybe not. I think you just need to be willing to maybe some day pick up the guitar or keyboard (don’t literally pick up the keyboard) and if something cool comes out, then so be it. If it sounds like Tranquility 2, then it is, if nothing comes of it, then hey, move on to the next thing in life. Music doesn’t have to be the center of your existence, but that doesn’t mean it can’t exist at the center of you.

   Now, as for music and Orthodoxy… That’s a tough one, but perhaps being in a pre-Protestant church where there aren’t very many musical opportunities will be good for you. Help you to separate God and music a bit so that you don’t feel like your relationship with God is determined by your musical commitment to Him. Maybe there’ll be something in the future that will open up for you to do music in a religious setting again, but if it doesn’t don’t sweat it. (However, I do personally think there’s more opportunity in the Catholic world than the Eastern Orthodox world for modern musical expression. Just my opinion though.)

   Anyway, thanks for sharing all of this, and thanks again for all the music we’ve played together, and who knows, might continue to play in the future.

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