Most of my weekend is consumed by music. I pick out music. Rehearse. Play at two church services. I don't mind, though. During the week, there's not much room for music in my life. So, I have to get my fill on Saturday and Sunday.
I am not the greatest keyboard player in the world. I get by. Having been a church organist for over 30 years, I've learned a few tricks. I always work with people who have more musical talent than I do. That makes me a better musician.
Of course, my taste in music isn't limited to simply worship. I love jazz and blues and classical and ragtime and pop and rock. Billy Joel and Cheap Trick. The Doobie Brothers and Lawrence Welk.
Saint Marty even likes banjo music.
The Grain of Sound
by: Robert Morgan
A banjo maker in the mountains,
when looking out for wood to carve
an instrument, will walk among
the trees and knock on trunks. He'll hit
the bark and listen for a note.
A hickory makes the brightest sound;
the poplar has a mellow ease.
But only straightest grain will keep
the purity of tone, the sought-
for depth that makes the licks sparkle.
A banjo has a shining shiver.
Its twangs will glitter like the light
on splashing water, even though
its face is just a drum of hide
of cow, or cat, or even skunk.
The hide will magnify the note,
the sad of honest pain, the chill
blood-song, lament, confession, haunt,
as tree will sing again from root
and vein and sap and twig in wind
and cat will moan as hand plucks nerve,
picks bone and skin and gut and pricks
the heart as blood will answer blood
and love begins to knock along the grain.