Throughout this disc, Marco Di Maggio shows the versatility of a guitarist with an uncanny mastery of 1950s and ’60s surf, rockabilly, and country styles. On the lovely and gentle “Polka Dots & Moonbeams,” you’ll hear shadings of Wes Montgomery’s octave guitar riffing, along with the shifting jazz-pop chords of Chet Atkins.
The Sportsman Channel touts its newest series, Amazing America with Sarah Palin, in a three-minute video making the rounds on social media. The video, a recording by “the most patriotic band in America,” Madison Rising, contains rousing lyrics, while a variety of activities flash by in rapid succession: men fighting fires, men shooting guns, women shooting guns, men running with bulls, men riding down zip lines, cars racing, and Sarah Palin on a dogsled pulled by pink-booted sled dogs.
So, I write church music. (I've probably mentioned this before.) I've made lead sheets and full-band recordings for just one set of songs, my settings of the three Luke canticles. (One of them—Simeon's—is also on this Cardiphonia compliation.) At this point, mostly what I've done is create home demo recordings, playing and singing all the parts myself, some of them better than others.
Here's one I just posted, not a biblical canticle but a song with original lyrics.
Via CCblogger Scott Gunn, here's a fun new video from Lutheran Satire. I appreciate the main points here: that the faith formation of young people begins in the home (see this Century interview with another Lutheran) and that the main thing that draws anyone to the church is not pop-culture sensibilities but the proclamation of good news (an even Lutheraner notion). But I'm not sure what this has to do with the U2charist and the other single-secular-artist-themed worship services it's spawned.
When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe. —Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”
We know these columns, this pediment, angels and sages serene as stone stand at attention, embodiment of past grandeur, for this we’ve come, to see the marble men and maids, the attic shape, the heifer’s march, the ancient truth that met Keats’ gaze and fired his poems that light the dark
knowledge of our mortal being, sing the song of fleeting time, the static creatures we are seeing live and breathe in his sweet lines. The poem endures, though Keats is dust. All remains unchanged but us.