A student said on Sunday that Christmas day is the worst, because once Christmas day arrives there’s nothing left to look forward to. From morning to night, December 25th is only a creeping letdown that advances by the minute, filling him with dread.
I get that. I live in a mental model that focuses on getting to and through the next thing for the sake of an imagined reward of leisure once its done. Christmas is the ultimate, then, especially for those of us who work in ministry, because it’s a ton of work and anxiety for the sake of a day, or even a few days, of rest and festivity.
But Sunday is still coming.
And then the ski retreat.
And then Sunday again.
And then, and then, and then.
It is obvious to me that the more mature, more fulfilling mental model is one that looks forward to Sunday, to all ministry work, as Christmas and not merely Christmas Eve.
Today I give you five albums from 2018 that appealed to my country receptors. I don’t know what brought it on, but I endured a major country music phase in high school, and those years left behind a serious sensitivity for twang, particularly twang tinged with indignation. I haven’t stomached commercial country music since the mid 90’s, but every year I go loopy for a few steel guitar, rockabilly, whiskey-soaked crooner acts.
This year that soft spot found albums by four acts I’d heard before and one I hadn’t. Three of them have the same distribution agency.
The Black Lillies are a band I knew from their 2013 album Runaway Freeway Blues, a Grand Ol’ Opry style country collection that I liked a lot in certain moods. I couldn’t really find the mood for their followup to it, but I heard rumors about a sort of Black Lillies reboot in 2018, so I jumped on Stranger to Me (Attack Monkey Productions/Thirty Tigers) the day it came out.
The reboot essentially trades swoon for muscle. Trish Gene Brady and her sultry vocals are gone, and the songs on Stranger to Me are driven by electric, not steel, guitars. They’re louder and edgier, although there’s still space, as on “Ten Years,” for an organ, and Cruz Contreras’s voice is all country. You mostly feel the reboot on songs like “Weighting,” when Sam Quinn is singing.
It’s a solid collection. I like the reboot, both what it kept and what it added.
Neko Case made an album in 2018 too. That’s always a good sign. She hasn’t done that since 2013. This one she produced herself.
Neko Case is one of the busiest musicians working today, what with her recording and touring with collaborations like The New Pornographers and 2017’s case/lang/viers, so a self-produced solo album creates a ton of expectations. Hell-On(Anti-Records) does not disappoint.
She’s just such a terrific songwriter. “Last Lion of Albion” is like nothing you’ve ever heard (she did a Song Exploder for it that’s great listening), and the title track contains the lyric, “God is a lusty tire fire.” The songs on the album are vocally delicate, too, like “Halls of Sarah” and “Sleep All Summer,” a lovely collaboration with Eric Bachman).
More than any other album released in 2018, Hell-On rewards repeated listening. There are layers here, guys.
The second album on this list distributed by Thirty Tigers is Parker Milsap’s Other Arrangements (Oklahoma Records/Thirty Tigers), the countriest of country albums you’ll find here.
I fell hard for this guy in 2014. “Truck Stop Gospel” was one of my favorite songs of the year. He was back in 2016, but The Very Last Day didn’t do a ton for me. Other Arrangements, though, did a lot.
These songs are driven by Milsap’s scratchy vocals and lead guitar (the album art tells the story, really). Strings are employed sparingly and effectively. “Your Water” and “Gotta Get to You” are my favorites.
From the most country to the least, then. Pinegrove are an five man band from Montclair, New Jersey whose songs refer to ampersands and amulets with vocals you shouldn’t like but can’t resist. Their debut LP, Cardinal, was one of my favorite albums of in 2016, so I was ready for a follow up. Skylight (self released) was what I was waiting for.
There’s a story here, too, having to do with the band’s lead singer and songwriter being accused of sexual misconduct, disappearing for awhile, and then facing the music. Quinn Moreland at Paste explained it all helpfully in his review of Skylight. It’s why the album was self-released and why the proceeds from all the sales are going to charity.
The songs on Skylight are shorter than you want them to be (11 songs in 30 minutes?), and they hit a certain emo/pop nerve, even while being awash in a twangy soundscape. “Lush” is the word I’m looking for. “Rings” and “Angelina” are my favorites.
To Will Hoge, Skylight is long by about a minute. His quick-and-dirty 2018 album My American Dream(EDLO Records/Thirty Tigers) is the last one on this collection and is only 29 minutes long.
This guy has been recording albums since 2001, but I hadn’t heard any of them until now. I read a review on American Songwriter and added it to my Spotify library but didn’t get around to playing it until “Nikki’s A Republican Now” came up during a shuffle of my entire song library. I was like, “Who is that?” and I played the whole album that minute.
28 minutes later I canonized it in the 2018 albums list. I mean, if you’re looking for a collection of angry foot-stomping protest songs, you can hardly do better. “Thoughts And Prayers” is the center of gravity, and the song that birthed the project. Hoge wrote it in response to that phrase’s gross usage by political leaders after yet another school shooting (Parkland). Then he let loose on income disparity, racism, and xenophobia, to name but a few social ills.
A great deal of ministry work is administration. There was a class for it in seminary, but it was an elective and I skipped it. That decision, like my decision to skip all the youth ministry courses and to devote hours each week to practicing intramural flag football, is all the evidence you need of my shortsightedness as a seminarian.
The instincts you need to cultivate and the habits you need to nurture to be an effective church administrator seem to me as artistic as they are technical. Good administration is an art. It resists rigid schemes of automation in favor of systems and processes that accentuate the human, both in the administrator and the things he is administering.
For instance, I have employed the checklist as a tool for administering the kinds of major events I have to lead like mission trips and retreats. Heck, in my context most Sundays are major events, so I have a checklist for that too. There are categories in these checklists: leadership (have I recruited the volunteer leaders I need? Have we background checked them?); communication (Have I publicized the details of the event, with a clear deadline and easy-to-follow instructions for signing up?); travel (have I booked the van(s) or the bus or the plane that will get us there?).
What’s dawning on me is that mechanically implementing these checklists doesn’t make for vibrant ministry or flourishing leaders. They’re best viewed as tools to be creatively employed by leaders who bring their full humanity and vision to ministry.
Church administration is an art. I need to level up my art.
The Year in Music rolls on with the first full-length albums I’m keeping from 2018. They’re both from pop-friendly punk acts that have never really tracked with me before.
My friend Jeff sent me a Smoking Popes song in mid-October with a note that they’re a punk band he’d sort of lost track of. I’m sure I’d heard the name and been turned off. But I played it, because I turn away no music recommendations. It was catchy and edgy and had a conscience. I was hooked.
Into The Agony came out on October 12th on Asian Man Records. The first time I played it, I kept expecting the next song to be the one that put me off it. It never happened. “Simmer Down” is aggressive but relatable. “When You Want Something” is nearly beautiful. “Get Happy” is a Judy Garland song, for Pete’s sake. “No Tomorrow Tonight” is a bit schlocky. But then “Little Lump of Coal” and “Melting America” are the punk-infused protest songs the day calls for. Count me a fan.
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There are two songs from Bayside’s 2016 album, Vacancy on my song list from that year. Beyond that, the band hadn’t really registered with me in the 14 years they’ve been putting out albums (and it turns out that Vacancy was itself a repackaging of one of their earlier albums). They’re as far out on a punk limb as I go, and that’s not very far.
Acoustic, Volume 2 came out in late September on Hopeless Records. “It Don’t Exist” was actually released as a single first, and I played it a bunch of times. I took the artist to be some new-on-the-scene folk/Americana act. It wasn’t until “Sick, Sick, Sick” that I figured out who I was actually hearing: an album of acoustic versions of old Bayside songs I’d never caught the first time around. I was kind of blown away by the revelation and sent “Sick, Sick, Sick” to Landon alongside its 2011 original with the question, “How can these be by the same band?”
I read a quote from singer Anthony Raneri about Acoustic . . .: “This album is strictly for the fans.” I hate to tell Raneri he’s wrong though, at least in my case. I became strangely devoted to this album on its own terms and not as an outpouring of years-long loyalty; I’ve still not heard the original versions of some of these songs. It’s just great. It’s how to do a reinterpretation of your own work: your fans will love it, and you’ll make some new ones at the same time.
I should know by now that I’m not going to have the focus or the energy by the middle of December to work on substantive projects. Advent and Christmas Eve don’t put the kind of strain on me as they do my colleagues who are heads of staff and solo pastors, so it’s not that I’m swamped by liturgical responsibilities. Rather, my attention is short.
September thru November is something of a sprint. So is January thru April. December is this weird space between them when I feel uniquely incapable of doing anything well.
I’m leaning toward the conclusion that this mid-winter malaise can’t be conquered, but that it can be managed. I can plan better, so that the things breathing down my neck in the new year are either pushed back a bit or taken care of earlier.
Maybe time management is seasonal as well as daily.
It’s the next installment of the year in music, this blog’s annual exercise in working out its author’s need to categorize and share the songs and albums from the previous 12 months the he liked. It’s not for everyone. But you might find something useful.
Today, EPs. EP stands for “Extended Play,” and it refers to a release that isn’t long enough to be considered an album, or “Long Play” (LP). They’re cheaper to produce, and many release LPs before an album. Increasingly, it seems like established acts are releasing EPs though, often in the same year that they release an LP. Both The Decemberists and Lake Street Dive did that this year, presumably in order to publish music they recorded for, but did not ultimately include on, their albums.
There were four EPs that I spent a lot of time with this year. One I’m sure you’ve heard. One I’ve already mentioned. Let’s start with that one.
Freak Yourself Out was released by Lake Street Dive in late November. Because I saw the band about a month earlier, I had heard most of it already. Frankly, if I hadn’t I don’t think it would have registered with me. Still, “Daryl” and “Angioplast” showcase the band’s delightful versatility.
Brett Dennen released two EPs in 2018, and I considered listing them together as an LP. Taken together they’re a solid collection of the folk singer/songwriter’s uptempo turn, but by themselves they kind of make individual statements. They are Dennen’s first recordings for Downtown Records, home to Cold War Kids and David Gray. I’ve known of Dennen for about a decade, but I haven’t loved anything he’s done until these. In particular “Already Gone,” and “Live in The Moment” are total earworms. “Jenny and Jill” has just the loveliest, loveliest harmonic chorus.
Finally, the one I’m sure you’ve heard. In late October, Matador Records released boygenius, a self-titled six-track collection from a female indie rocker supergroup nobody saw coming. Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker who have both recorded for Matador, teamed up with Phoebe Bridgers, whose debut album last year on Dead Oceans was one of my yearly favorites. The result is just stunning, vocally, rhythmically, and lyrically. No doubt, boygenius is one of the best things to happen in 2018 music. There are only six songs, so they’re all standouts. But “Me & My Dog” and “Stay Down” will stay with you.
I learned early on in my ministry to warn congregants that if they told me something on Sunday morning I would likely forget it. There is too much happening and too many personal interactions for most pastors to retain much more than half of it. The church I did my first seminary internship at had a good system for this: an elder would stand next to the pastor at the back of the sanctuary following the service and note down anything a worshiper shared that needed follow up.
I think I need to start telling congregants that if they give me something on Sunday morning I might forget it too. Given the season, some very thoughtful youth and parents give gifts to pastors and youth leaders. Yesterday a student came up to me at the beginning of Confirmation and handed me a small pumpkin loaf. “My mom said to give this to you,” was all he said. I thanked him and set it aside to begin our session.
By the time I got it home I had completely forgotten which student gave it to me. I don’t like not saying thank you, so I think I’m going to have to review Sunday’s attendance and make an educated guess.
Tension is uncomfortable. Our tolerance for it has a real effect on possibility. If we are unable to stomach tension, we will probably not be able to do anything more than protect the status quo.
Where is there tension in the work we’re doing? How is it distributed? God help us if we run around extinguishing it at first sight, but God help us too if we don’t see it. Tension deserves to be noticed and accounted for, so that we can exercise some measure of intention over where and how it is operating– applying it here, giving it space there, taking this bit on ourselves–and so that our leadership with the people who are experiencing its effects is empathetic and informed. And also self-informed: the worst place to ignore tension is in ourselves.
Maybe tension needs to live in our work as a controlled burn in a forest, preventing the excessive and dangerous buildup of debris that is no longer promoting growth. Not all fires need put out, at least not right away.
It’s great that Spotify automatically generates a list of the 100 songs I listened to most during the year. I’m also happy with the big list of songs I compiled myself, the one that has practically every 2018 release I heard and liked. But, as with all of life, hard choices are ultimately required, and they cannot be avoided.
Here, then, is my hard call on the ten songs I’m taking with me into 2019, listed, not ranked. Each inclusion represents a decision. There are lots of songs denied a spot on this list that I listened to more, but that I decided were not as good, not as important to me, as the 10 left.
Listening to music is rewarding. Reading about music is less so. Here you go then.
A word to my tribe, those workers and leaders who minimize our own contribution and employ self-denigration as constant cover: we gotta stop.
Putting ourselves and our work down is not doing for us what it feels like it’s doing. It feels like it’s presenting humility to our friends and colleagues, but it’s really doing something much worse. It’s beaming a constant signal that we don’t really want to be held responsible for our impact, good or ill.
It’s cover. Even if its real, it’s cover. It doesn’t help anyone.
YoRocko! 