In the house where I grew up, the spare bedroom housed a stereo with enormous speakers that pounded base notes into the maple floor. Green lace curtains blocked out most of the sun, but allowed enough through to give the room an eerie feeling. Once in a while, I’d dig out the two albums of Jesus Christ Superstar and play them end to end. The rock opera of all rock operas, the story of Jesus’ life and death, and maybe the greatest influence on my adult view of the whole Jesus thing. The composer, Andrew Lloyd Webber, wrote more than just a story, he wrote about a passionate life. By the end of the music the room was dark and I was in tears.

Although compact disks have replaced my albums, Jesus Christ Superstar still holds a special place, even if its joy and grief is too intense to be played often. Still, it must have predisposed me to a lifetime of music in a minor key. Sometimes in the evenings I stand on the back stoop and sing along with Billie Holiday or maybe Etta James. Their sad, dusky voices ripple outward to the moon and my voice becomes a radiant fire. In the darkness of my livingroom, it is 1940, and I am in a blues club on the poor side of town. Smoke rises in curls from a crowd shadowed by the spotlight. The stage is small, with wooden boards dark from neglect. I am wearing a red velvet dress, the straps falling off my shoulders. My fingers wave through the smoke, encased in long red evening gloves. My voice, now a resonant contralto, is soft, so soft... “at last, my lonely days are over...”

It is the dark things of life that attract me, the melancholic monotones of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings and the sweet, bitter taste of Graham Greene’s novels. My friends are perplexed by this, they know only my cheerful exterior. Yet underneath my drive and tenacious faith is the essence of the blues. A long slow song that reflects the muted colors of my soul. A sadness for friends lost and hopes abandoned. But there is more than darkness alone in the blues. There is fierce hope that things will get better. Faith that God’s hand holds ours even when it seems we are alone. Determination to make our way despite uncertainty and fear. There, steeped in the blues, is the “joyful noise” that lifts us up, whether or not we are on key. In spirit, every voice is in harmony, and for those few minutes God is near.

Copyright January, 1999

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