I am not very PC. In fact my father used to say of me that I only opened my mouth to change feet. He once suggested that I make a card that read “Have Foot in mouth: Will Travel”

I do believe however that the best kind of humor is self deprecating….. in other words when we laugh at ourselves.

Recently I was told this joke by a young Swiss gentleman who wanted to share a laugh with me about his culture.

“Did you know that In Heaven the cooks are French, the policemen are English, the mechanics are German, the lovers are Italian and the bankers are Swiss… But in Hell the cooks are English, the policemen are German, the mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss and the bankers are Italian.”

I found this so refreshing…… and I was delighted to laugh with him…. and at the French, English, German and Italian cultures.

Bono was interviewed in the US several years ago and when asked to describe the Irish psyche on success and ambition he explained “….. well….. an Irishman once climbed the ladder of success and when he was near the top he looked down and then realized just how funny he looked…. and he laughed so hard that he fell off the ladder”

Could you tell that story about yourself….. or your political party… or your religious beliefs?

How about… In Heaven… the convicts are all Australian but in hell the diplomats are all Australian.

I am sure this will be offensive to some… but not to Australians. (Fingers crossed)

Rule number 1 down under ….. be the first to laugh at yourself… before someone else does. Because believe me, if you can’t laugh at yourself in Australia (even if you are visiting) you will suffer badly. If you have a big nose prepare a few Cyrano de Bergerac one liners… if you have red hair get your clown jokes ready.

You think I’m kidding.

In Australia (and most other Commonwealth countries) we tend to take this a little too far. And maybe we tread on a few toes and wound a few souls. But… let’s face it… most of the worlds problems begin when people start taking themselves too seriously.

Everyone needs to lighten up a little.

Maybe spend a few minutes considering your foibles… your posture… your dress code… your mannerisms. Notice anything funny or peculiar?

Need some help?

What about your politics or your religion?

I know these are sacred topics especially here in America and God forbid we make jokes about them.

But if God doesn’t have a sense of humor then we are all in trouble and I for one will surely burn in… well you know where… I just don’t want to say the word… in case some one takes it the wrong way… and thinks I don’t take the subject seriously.

The Apple Don’t Fall

Over the years I have been a sucker for the slick sales pitch. I guess I am habitually  looking for the good in people and often don’t notice the ‘evil’ until it’s too late and… by then I have bought the faulty product or signed the dodgy contract.

My friend Al has been telling me for years. “If a guy says he’s an apple tree make sure there are plenty of apples on the ground beneath him”

Of course I usually remember this piece of wisdom after the fact and it’s then that I discover that there’s no apples but plenty of lemons.

A good test when considering deals, contracts, promises etc is to look over the track record of the one with the amazing offer.

e.g. Has the guy promising to sell one trillion records had any success in distribution?

“Yes it’s true that my last two companies went bankrupt but we had some bad luck, my previous partner was divisive and went and started his own company, the board didn’t get behind my vision, the artists failed to deliver product on time. But now, all that’s behind me… and with my contacts and your music we going to do something special”

Believe it or not I fell for this more than once. Why? Because I really wanted to believe the hype. I am a hopeful person… a dreamer… and though I doubt that I could ever be described as ‘innocent as a dove’… I have been the easy mark for those cunning serpentine sales people.

I know someone who has fallen for the same kind of pitch with marriages. The fact that one suitor had 6 (successful) previous marriages was brushed aside . “He’s been unlucky in love”… or even better…  “I know I can change him”…. that’s my favorite.

And it’s how most of us feel about something… a deal… an opportunity… a person we know. No matter how street smart we are there is a lemon tree posing as an apple tree somewhere in our orchard.

Of course people can change.

But real change doesn’t take place in an instant. And just because we say “I’m changed” doesn’t mean a thing.

Once bitten twice shy we say. I could multiply that out many times over. I guess I am just learning that it’s okay to be shy.

For the last year or so I have been measuring everything up to this principle and… life has become a whole lot  less stressful.

I still want to believe that people are who they say they are… but I’m looking under every tree. You’d be surprised what gets caught under all those dead leaves.

And as much as I want to ‘fall in love again’ and believe in the offer or the mission statement… I’m sorry but I am going to do some due diligence before I go on a second date. (This is a metaphor… I am still happily married)

Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised… there are actually apples under the occasional tree.

Of course the same rules must apply to me… but am I  willing to put myself to this same test?

Am I really who I say I am?

It’s one thing to have an image of yourself or a desire to develop your character or overcome bad habits. But real change is hard work. It’s made easier when you are honest with yourself… and or if you have friends who can call you on your BS. (Initials for the american readers).

Sometimes we need a good friend to tell us who we really are. Maybe we’ve lost confidence in ourselves or perhaps we have endured an upbringing or a season of unbelief… meaning that no one believed in us. I think that’s what happened to the snake oil salesmen.

Al has another great saying (I better be careful or this will go to his head and he’ll start calling himself a philosopher). A young man once said to him “I don’t believe in God”

That’s okay” Al replied “God believes in you and that’s all that matters”

Years ago, when I came to the conclusion that there was a God who believed in me, I started believing in myself. It’s a process that is ever unfolding.

I Want to Be Like Jesus

Linda McCrary introduced me to this song about 15 years ago. She and her family would often sing it, along with many other traditional gospel songs during their Church services, usually held in a storefront building in a tough neighborhood, somewhere deep in the San Fernando Valley.

The first time I heard this song, it became mine. It said what I wanted to say… only better. It is a simple prayer… and it’s enough. If this prayer could be answered in me then I would be a better man… and the world would be a better place.

However… I must confess that I have omitted the first verse that says, “I want to be a Christian in my heart etc”.

This may seem strange to you but I feel uncomfortable singing that line. For some, to be counted as a Christian is a great honor. I am sure the original writer, Unknown but assumed to be black slave living in the south in the 1900’s felt very strongly about this. Back then many ‘white folk’ held the view that the color of your skin precluded you from joining ‘the club’.

If we go way back to the period just after Jesus died, people were described as Christians because of the way they lived out their beliefs. Onlookers were just astounded at what was going on amongst the Jesus followers. The open, loving, generous community was a shock to the ‘modern society’. Thus the term ‘Christian’ was coined… by ‘non-Christians’.

I wish this were the criterion today. It is after all bad manners to proclaim your own worthiness.

One doesn’t go around saying “I am a such good man… a righteous fellow… generous to a fault… always putting my neighbor before myself… I’m beyond reproach!”. (That is unless you are in politics whereby it is expected that you can say one thing and do another.)

If you were any of these things (even some of the time) wouldn’t it be better if someone else noticed and gave you a compliment.

“Wow… your life is so full of love… even to those who persecute you… who think differently from you… you feed the poor… you look after the widows… you befriend the gangs and the hookers… you are not enticed by wealth and power… your door is always open to anyone who needs help… you give and give and give and always seem to have enough. I could go on and on about you… If I could be so bold to say one more thing… you remind me of that man Jesus”.

Wouldn’t that be great?

But instead many have put a claim on the name ‘Christian’ and used it to fight political battles, to market and sell trinkets or to point a finger at people who don’t match up to their standards of morality (which differs in each continent or community).

I could go on and on about this… but you get it.

In this day and age I do not like to call myself a Christian for the word itself has lost its meaning. Or it has to me.

Sorry of this offends you.

I do however want to follow Jesus…  and to the best of my ability… become like him. What a challenge… impossible really… but I would rather fail attempting to live and love like Jesus than sit back comfortably in my pew and say proudly that I am a Christian.

I have shared these thoughts in public arenas from time to time… with mixed response. Some people get angry, feeling that I am denouncing my faith.

What do you think?

Of course I have always been the smart ass at the back of the class room throwing jibes and asking rhetorical questions and it wasn’t long before I landed in various forms of hot water (and or quick sand).

When you chain up a dog….. have you noticed that most of it’s energy is used on trying to escape?

I guess I was that dog!

And, I was none too silent about it…… (…. oh how often I’d hear wisdom calling out…. “Chris….. don’t say it?”……”keep your thoughts to yourself”…… “shut the #$%^ up!”……. ……. but me….. listen?)

My bands have always consisted of musicians who ‘get me’…. rather than people who believe what I believe. I would rather have someone working alongside of me that shares an interest in exploring the unknown…. or following the yellow brick road no matter where it leads…. than people who profess the same core beliefs.

And, I like to include people in my life….. you know…. for better or worse…… If this is real….. then you should be able to sense it too.

My friend Brian Davenport says it best (and you have to put on a Texan accent to get it right).

“If they can’t see it, they can’t buy it”.

And so….. though I was the flavor of the month there for a while (in the gospel-worship scene) it was not long before word got out about some of my ‘heathen’ band members….. and soon I was black listed by most of the agents etc…. which in the end was wonderful…. because I could go ‘into all the world’….. bars, clubs etc….. and escape the claustrophobia and exclusivity of the christian music scene (phew!).

If you read the previous blog, I was leaving Robbo’s house and heading back to the conference….. where…. in several hours I was due to perform a concert.

So now Robbo, his 4 year old son and me are driving along in this old truck and I say…. “So are you ready to sing and play a little blues harp tonight Robbo?”

Robbo…. “Well I was thinking it’s getting late and I should be getting this young fella into bed”.

Robbo “… and also I am not really a Church person and it would be weird for everyone if I came in”

Robbo “….. and hey I don’t think God would approve of me singing with you at this ministers conference…. do you?”

“Look Robbo I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do but it would mean a lot to me if you could come and join me…. I mean the band isn’t too good…… and I could really do with some help”

I wasn’t trying to trick him….. he was my friend…. but I had a sneaky suspicion that he really did want to come and check this new ‘priest‘ thing out in my life.

So we are driving along, we are few miles away from the Church when Robbo says…… very sheepishly…. “I’ve been praying to God lately“

“You have? What do you say to him?”

“Well it’s not a very good prayer and so I don’t think he really listens…. But I say it to him all the time“

“Well what do you say?”

“Ah….. it sounds stupid ……but I just say Help me Jesus….. Hep me Jesus….. Help me Jesus”

Smiling, I told Robbo that…… in my opinion…… this was quite possibly God’s favorite kind of prayer.”

Robbo…. “Really?……. are you sure”

“Hey I’m a priest aren’t I”…… and we both laughed.

Now the ministers conference was…… shall we say…… hmmmmm conservative?….. and could easily have passed as a convention for life insurance salesmen.

People had traveled far and wide to attend and though they had assured me it was to be casual dress ……. it looked to me that everyone was in their Sunday best…. All except me of course. Well actually I was in my my Sunday best it’s just that my idea of dressing for Church is…… well…… casual…… and so to make an extra special effort I may don a clean ironed pair of Jeans….. and maybe….. if I am feeling pressured….. a collared shirt.

Fortunately much grace was given me…. I was after all a musician…. But how come all the other musicians were wearing suits? This is surely against the union code of dress for any musician…. Except for weddings and funerals and maybe if you’re playing in a Big band in Vegas.

Anyway I say all this, because if people had a hard time with my appearance, then they had yet to observe Robbo in all his messy, post-hippie, aging rock-star splendor.

So now we drive up to the back of the Church and the three of us walk into the stage area. The leader of the conference comes over and tries not to look awkwardly at Robbo.

He pulls me aside and says ‘….. ahh (with a hint of fear)…. who is that‘…. “Oh this is a friend of mine and he will be playing and singing with me during tonights concert.”

I know what the minister is thinking…. “I don’t just let anyone on my stage……. and look at him…. his jeans have holes in them….. and he smells of smoke…. and….. and…. ”.

The minister then shakes his head and says….. “never mind…….. ahhh…… do what you have to do…. I just don’t want to know about it.“

This sounded like a yes to me!

And what am I about to do?

Well…. I am including someone in my life…… and letting him experience a little of what I hold to be precious.

And….. I am making a decision to love Robbo, and not make a rule that says “only the sanctified, the clean, the well behaved, the non smoker etc can stand on this platform and worship“.

The concert goes okay…. Actually…. it was (bloody) hard work. The musicians, dressed in their nice suits were a mite timid. I gave Robbo a few blues harp solos which he fumbled badly. I could tell he was nervous….. probably hoping that Scotty would beam him up and take him home for a nice cold beer…… or a joint.

I finished the set with one of my gospel songs “Wash my Sins Away“ I led the people in the refrain singing ‘let it wash, let it wash, let it wash my sins away, for just one drop, one precious drop will wash my sins away’.

During this ’sing-along’ the leader of the conference came up on stage, took my microphone and began to build a prayer upon the chorus. He then spoke to the audience about confessing sins and asked for ministers to come forward for prayer….for any minister who wanted to confess sins and be unburdened etc.

He then asked for the band to continue singing the song while he and others prayed for the ministers.

Well…… the minister had taken my microphone…… and the only other microphone on stage at that time was Robbo’s.

Without skipping a beat Robbo, the professional just started singing the song and people started following him. I couldn’t believe it. He was actually leading them in worship….. all the ministers…. Thousands of ministers in fact…. were following his leading and singing the song as a prayer.

Now it was my turn to shake my head….. and smile….. and then laugh.

If the ministers had known who Robbo was they would never have listened…..or followed along….. let alone invite him onto the Church platform.

But ignorance is bliss.

And truth….. no matter who says (or sings it) is still truth.

And Robbo….. well…. he was just doing what came natural to him. He was a singer after all…. and though the platform was a tad foreign to him….. something made him feel comfortable enough to be himself….. and ….. he was doing what he was actually born to do.

I like God’s sense of humor….. I like that “unless you come to the Father as a child you’ll never understand the kingdom of God”.

And I think God may find it refreshing to hear simple honest prayers like “Help me Jesus, Help me Jesus, Help me Jesus”.
Maybe I’ll make another T-Shirt.

[]

Have you ever seen those bracelets WWJD? I hate those things. It’s a bit like having a fish sticker on your car (which seems to give you a license to drive badly and abuse people on the road…. I could be generalizing here.) WWJD, if you didn’t already know ….. stands for What Would Jesus Do.

Poor Jesus he gets blamed for everything.

It’s better not to wear any badges advertising your intent….. it’s much better to prove your beliefs by living them to the full.

One thing Jesus would do (me thinks) it to love people that don’t necessarily love you back.

I don’t know about you but that opportunity arises quite often. Another, is putting myself out for someone in need…. when it is most inconvenient. Sometimes that’s such a drag…… especially for such an important and busy person like myself!

Several years ago an old friend, someone I had long forgotten called me out of the blue asking for help. It was a test for me in many ways. Not only was it inconvenient but the request was one that I initially considered un-doable (on my part).

Robbo and I became friends in the late 70’s and after a few months of jamming we (along with a few others) formed a band called Night Owl. We played together off and on for about 6 years and through all the failed tours, the bad management and agent deals, our ‘contact’ with the local constabulary, the near death experiences….. sometimes our friendship was all we had.

Somewhere in the mid 80‘s the band plays its final encore and we gradually drift out of each others lives. Late 1984 I had a God experience and moved across to the other side of town to attend bible college for the creative arts. A few years after that I am ordained as a minister of music and then….. after a few more years (1993) I move to LA.

Early this century (I love saying that) I was preparing to travel back to Australia to perform and speak at a conference for a Church organization. Unbeknownst to me Robbo had moved to a town near by and had read in the local paper of my up coming visit. So, he calls my parents, has a long time no see conversation, gets my number in LA and calls up. It was great to hear his voice, talk about old times and catch up a little.

Finally Robbo says “hey Chris you’re a Priest now right?”

I have been called worse.

I said kinda…. I knew what he meant. A priest is as good as any other name…… I guess.

“Well I heard you were coming over to speak at a seminar” says Robbo “and I wanted to know if I could see you and maybe you could help me with something.”

He then explained a little of his situation. He had eventually married, hoping to settle down and raise a family. His wife had a few kids from a previous relationship and they had a son together. (I knew that this son…. Robbo’s first child would be a huge part of his life now). Well the marriage had not lasted long, the relationship between ex-husband and ex-wife was far from amicable and they were trying to raise their son together somehow.

Neither Robbo or his ex carried strong religious beliefs however they both thought that their son should be christened.

It’s funny really how people are about these things….. like christenings, church weddings…… Sometimes I think people who don’t think they are religious…. are….well …. quite religious.

“So when you come over can you Christen my son…. You are a Priest…… aren’t you?“

That indeed is a great question and worthy of a blog on it’s own….. but for another time.

Well I fumbled an explanation…. “I am not really a priest…… well I guess I kind of am (loosely speaking)…… and I’m not really of the Christening faith….. but I could give a prayer of dedication over your son…… and over you and his mother….. if that would be of any help?”

“Yeah…. yeah… sure that sounds great…… What do your charge for this kind of thing?

What do I charge? I had never done one before!

Could this be a career move? Could I sell Cd’s?

I explained that I didn’t charge anything but that I would appreciate a favor in return. “Ill come down to your place to pray for your son if you would come with me afterwards to help me in a little concert I am doing at the conference.”

Robbo quickly agreed without considering what he was actually saying yes to. (I will write about the concert another time)

One the big day, awaiting us at his beach house were a handful of his friends ….. and the ex-wife and her family and friends. The battle lines had been drawn.

Though the ex-wife is wanting this religious ceremony for her son I am still Robbo’s friend and so therefore I am from the enemy’s camp….. and I can see that I have a lot of work today.

At that moment I feel most unwelcome. Beam me up Scotty.

So I move around, shake some hands and say lots of hellos…… but I get very little in return. Every one’s so tight lipped….. not even the weather is being discussed.

So I break the ice (so to speak) by becoming the barman and asking “Well who wants a drink?”

Pouring champagne for all the adults and coke for the kids provided me an opportunity to be a giver…… of something everyone wanted…… (me too!!!!!).

The barman is the new priest anyway. You stand behind a bar and people will start talking. I don’t know why but it’s a universal law. Soon I am chatting and laughing with everyone and even Robbo and his ex and sharing a joke.

I remember seeing a lot of pain in the eyes of Robbo’s ex-wife. But she was lovely, and she didn’t know it and I kept thinking…. Robbo, are you crazy….. get back together with her you fool.

I also remember telling her how well groomed, polite and fun her kids were. It was like Christmas for her. Somebody actually saying something nice.

I was only there a few hours but I remember this celebration as one of the greatest times of learning to love people.

People are so responsive to honest encouragement. I had nothing to gain by making them feel good. I had no Church for them to come visit. I just had this un-shakeable love for them. I didn’t want to leave. But two hours was all I had and now I had to get back to the conference.

In dedicating Robbo’s son I asked all the adults to gather around me and to share in this blessing and prayer. I don’t think there was one believer amongst them, but everyone was happy to help me speak over this young one’s life. At the end of the prayer I noticed a lot of teary eyes….. even amongst the men.

As I bade my farewell there were hugs and kisses all round.

I was no longer an enemy.

I’m thinking of making a T-shirt that says “What would Love do?”

What do you think?

“I get no satisfaction when I see a good man fall, one who was so tall.”

This week, in the US we all witnessed a very public fall from grace of another leader…. and though it has been painful to watch…. (even more painful for he and his family…… especially his wife)….. there’s still that feeling we all share…… hiding just under the surface perhaps….. that he deserved it.

You’re awful Muriel?

What is it about the humiliation of another that we enjoy so much?

And it’s not just the demise of celebrities that gets us all excited. Don’t we feel somehow justified (or vindicated) when someone from our past ‘gets shafted’…. you know….. that person who ignored us at a party……. that boss who fired us unjustly…… that bank that denied us the loan ……that teacher who belittled our precious dreams….. hey the list goes on and on.

Do we keep an internal score sheet and tick them off as they tumble?

I don’t know too much about Elliott Spitzer’s doings….. all I know is that by the grace of God go I.

And if had walked in his shoes would I have done any better? Of course I’d like to think so….. but I know myself too well. So though my initial reaction to the ‘breaking news’ was of eager anticipation….. “give me all the dirt”…… deep down I knew that this man, no matter his failings, was about to go down hard….. and that all his friends would scatter.

I wondered… who was going reach out and help him get back on his feet?

Have you heard of the saying “be careful when you dig a pit that you don’t fall in it”?

What goes around does comes around and I have read that NY stock brokers, many of whom felt victimized by the Governor’s probings, reacted with glee over the public defrocking. Spitzer did after all get caught in the type of corruption against which he so vehemently railed.

Hey, but don’t we all?

When Shakespeare said…. and I quote “He protesteth too much”….. he was speaking about all of us.

If you take an honest look at your pet peeves….. you may just find that you are guilty of the very same.

No! Not me he cried!

I know I am guilty of a long list of crimes….. I hate gossip but I am so quick to share it….. I abhor hypocrisy, especially from leaders of politics, religion and morality, but I am a hypocrite for judging them more harshly than I judge myself….. I am repulsed by injustice and though I will fight for causes immediate to my attention I turn a blind eye to the annihilation of peoples in foreign lands….. I say I love my neighbor, but I am very selective…… I forgive but keep reminding people of their wrongdoings….. I give to the poor but keep the best for myself.

I am not a very nice person.

Poor Mr Spitzer….. he’s a lot like me….. he just lives in the spotlight….. and no one can hide under all that pressure….. and all that heat. Put me in his place…. and under the same public scrutiny, civic expectations, media attention and that big bright shiny light of success….. and what ever cracks or faults I have …….well they would just get bigger and bigger……. until everyone could see through them.

We all fall now and then….. when we forget who we really are. The trick is to avoid mantle pieces and pedestals.

Consider the story of Humpty Dumpty. What was an egg doing on top of the wall ….. he was bound to fall……. and not even the King’s men could put him back together again.

We fall because our balance mechanism, which runs on humility….. fails.

However, unlike Humpty, a fall from a high place (that we created perhaps) can actually be good for us.

It hurts. Our pride gets bruised, we carry shame for a season…… but if we are honest with ourselves…. admit to our blind spots and weaknesses….. listen to those who love us…. and learn from our mistakes…… well….. we grow, we heal, we mature…… and we may just develop an ounce or two of wisdom and a drop or two of grace …. that we can then share with others who fall into the same pit.

Elliott may not realize this yet, but actually, he’s in a better place right now than he was before he got caught….. hmmm…. with his pants down (I had to say it). Now….. perhaps the healing process can begin.

I just hope that someone in his world can get off their high horse for a moment and love the man, in the same manner they would want to be loved….. if they were in his shoes.

“When I’m down and out, I hope somebody reaches out, and takes me by the hand and lifts me up and puts me back on my feet.”

* The song above is a Demo. The album version is on Prisoner of Hope.

I wrote and produced this song for the Avon Foundation to help promote the Breast Cancer Walk campaign. To see a higher resolution video, Or to find out more about the Walk for Breast Cancer campaign, visit the Avon Foundation website.Writing the lyrics posed a great challenge to me because I didn’t have any close ties to breast cancer survivors. So I endured a crash course in breast cancer survival, Listening to stories, Reading testimonies, And watching the video over and over (sans music).With the help of Elisa Sauleda and Barbara Rider, the producers of the video/DVD, My mind gradually opened to a world of true champions. And when I say champion, I mean people who deserve to wear that mantle on a day to day basis.Apple Dictionary:championnoun1 a person who has defeated or surpassed all rivals in a competition, esp. in sports : [as adj. ] a champion hurdler.2 a person who fights or argues for a cause or on behalf of someone else : a champion of women’s rights.3 historical a knight who fought in single combat on behalf of the monarch.4 Breast Cancer Survivor!…..Unfortunately, in our culture the word champion is given out all too easily, along with prizes and awards to people who don’t need them. And in a day when many past champions are coming out of the medicine cabinet or the steroidal closet the word is fast losing it’s intended meaning.But to survive a death sentence, Even for a day, Well You deserve to be called champion. And you champions continue to inspire to me.We (Hank Linderman) and I had to produce this song in a matter of days. And it was hard going. The process of matching music to video requires that the video play along (perhaps on a separate screen) as you ‘make music’. But we, The musicians, engineer and singers Susie Stevens (lead) and Sam Sparro (BV) Could not concentrate on our parts while the video was playing.These scenes were too emotional, Too powerful, And to some, Too close to home. Which made it especially difficult to sing. So in the end we turned the video off.Even today before I began to write the piece, I first watched the movie…. And as per usual….. I welled up.If you can watch this movie without shedding tear…. You are a champion….Of sorts!

There is another saying that could be considered an antidote to the money addicted souls.”….for where your treasure is, there your heart will also be”. This old proverb is medicine to me. How often I waste time dreaming of ways to make more money…… and how often I measure work…. whether it be a tour, an album, a writing project…. by it’s monetary value.

Of course I work for a living….. and cannot put food on the table without some return for my labor….. but I find that when I focus on the potential reward….. and the what ifs….. then the work….. and in my case ….’the art’ suffers.

The value in anything work related has to be in the ‘now’…. the present. Have you ever been talking to someone and you realize that there mind is elsewhere? That’s what it’s like when you’re thinking about money instead of the task before you. This has been true in terms of the quality of life….. when I have little work….. and or little income. I find myself thinking of hair-brained schemes …… to make more money. And then I wander away from the path … and get lost in the fear of ‘not having enough’. Thankfully…… either in a moment of quietness or …. from a gentle kick in the behind from a friend… I awake from the nightmare …. and I say to myself ….. “Oh Magoo you’ve done it again”.

This is where that proverb becomes a cure….. “for where your treasure is, there your heart will also be”. And so I ponder…. what Do I want my treasure to be?

That’s a big question….. and the more I think about it…… the less I concern myself with money…… for isn’t it love, family, friends, peace, job satisfaction (I could go and on)….. that I really desire? These things can rule over my life…… but not money.

There is another old proverb which says “Learn to be content whether in need or in plenty”

This is a truth that can be applied to every part of life. How often I find myself with out something I thought I needed, only to discover abundance in the lack.

I know this sounds strange….. but take the Quiet album for instance. I had been planning a big project…. decent budget, tour support etc with a label…… and things…..as they do…. changed….. and I was left with no budget ….. only a generous offer from a friend to spend a few days in his studio. And though at first I felt ‘poor’….. because all I had was ‘me and my guitar’….. I soon discovered the treasure hidden within this lack….. and the whole tone of the album was this quietness…. this simplicity…… and I would not have found these ‘riches’ with the big budget …. and or the label breathing down my neck.

It is also true during the days when I carry stress… either from work or family….. and when I can’t sleep I just get up…. creep out the door and go on a pre-dawn walk through the streets….. and I walk like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders….. more of a trudge than a walk….. but then the orange glow of the sun hits the horizon…. and the sky begins to reflect this glory over the houses and the trees….. and everything around me changes color ….. and soon I am caught up in a new beginning….. and this natural light becomes a spiritual light and out of nowhere I feel hope…… and when I return to my abode….. circumstances have not changed….. but something in me has.

I was not overly talented but I had stamina…. I didn’t give up easily…… maybe this is still true today….. which reminds me of that old proverb…. The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.Ain’t that true.

At the age of 15 some of my friends were drafted into the professional leagues of Soccer. I guess my heart burned a little with envy…. and because I harbored (like most teenagers) the dream of playing professional football (and scoring the winning goal in an FA cup final)….. I registered for a trial run with a second division team. And low and behold I made it into the squad.

Two or three days a week I would catch a bus and then a train to the practice sessions. It was at first a dream come true…. to be playing with the big boys….. ‘any minute now I would be discovered and whisked off to Chelsea for a trial‘. The coach was a fiery little Scotsman by the name of Jock…. and he was a mean SOB. He constantly yelled abuse, especially at us youngsters…. he had no regard for personal space (I needed a raincoat when he shouted at me)….. and his antidote for any mistake in training was to ‘do 10 more laps of the field’. I would come home exhausted and frustrated and only my pride would prevent me from telling my father that it was ‘hard going’.

There were a bunch of guys in my neighborhood, 5 or 6 years my senior…. and I looked up to them. They had just started a new soccer club and were really pushing me to join, which was most flattering to me, a 15 year old kid. I agreed to go to a training run…. just for fun….. and fun it was. The players were a mixture of good amateurs and retired professionals….. and the practice game…. the banter….. the beer(s) afterwards (this was Australia)…. well it was wonderful….. and I was really made to feel part of the team.For a few weeks I continued to train with both squads and then it came crunch time and I had to decide one way or another. And I chose friendship over ‘my dream’….. and told the Scotsman that I was not ready for the professional league and that I would come back the following year.

On one hand…. this was a good move….. I enjoyed a season of quality amateur football …….. and made friendships that have lasted to this day.

However, when I returned the following year to join the ranks of the professionals…. all the players my age had developed…. they were stronger, tougher, faster…. meaner. They had become true professionals in every aspect of their game and demeanor and though I too had been playing against men much older than myself….. I had spent a year playing for fun……. while the young pros had been training to win…. at any cost.

I knew after several training sessions with the Scotsman that I was not making the grade…… I just didn’t have that killer instinct…. I had been left behind.

I was cut from the squad and I went back to playing in the park with my mates.

It was a missed opportunity. One that I regretted for many years….. still do….. and wonder to this day “how far could I have gone?”…… I will never know.However, when given the opportunity of moving to LA 18 years later….. when offered the chance to pursue my dream of writing and recording in the epicenter of the music world….. well…. I did not think twice. I jumped.

Today, sitting at my desk here in Hollywood adjacent….. I wonder. If I had not squandered the earlier opportunity would I have been so reckless…. so determined to pursue the latter?

—————-

One Christmas I went caroling with a few friends to a retirement home. I was 17 or 18….. and there was this girl I liked….. and she was going caroling and …. well so was I. The old folks appreciated our gesture and joined in our little sing-a-long. All expect this one old man. He stayed by himself, refusing to move from ‘his chair’.

I guess I have always been attracted to social misfits (look in the mirror) and so I went over to talk to him. This didn’t work out too well and despite my best Christmas cheer I didn’t get more than a few words out of him….. and they weren’t friendly. Soon the other carolers were signaling to me. It was time to move on….. we had to sing for another group of elderly people…. whether they liked it or not.This old fellow had a sadness to him…. and it was contagious and I could not get him out of my mind.

And so the next day I went back to see him. If he was moved in any way by my return visit he did not show it….. and it took quite a few moments of small talk to learn that his name was Errol and that he had fought in the first world war…. and that was about it. Every few weeks or so I would drop by to say hello…. often just sitting by his bed…. telling him about my day….. and gradually we became friends.

One day I went to the Home and he was gone. He had been moved to another Home some 50 miles south….. and so after much umming and ahhring…… I drove down to visit Errol.

He was quite shocked to see me walk into his room (dorm) and that day he opened up to me a little. I learned that his wife had long since passed away and that he had lost his only son in a car accident….. and apart from a brother with whom he had lost contact…. he was alone. He also told me that he was dying of cancer.

I should have kept going down to see him. He was in my mind often but one thing after another distracted me. There was one week in particular….. everyday I had this sense that I should visit Errol… but each day would pass and then I would promise myself that ‘tomorrow I’ll go’. When I finally made the hour and a bit drive down the coast, I walked into his room and his bed had been stripped and all his belongings were missing. When I asked a nurse about his whereabouts she asked if I was a relative. I said ‘no I was a friend’.

Then she told me that he had died the day before.

The day before………I was stunned…… it was like someone had punched me in the the stomach. I wanted to talk to someone…. but who would understand my anguish…… my guilt. I wanted to take back the last few days and do it all over again. I wish I could have been there to help Errol…. even say goodbye…. if that were at all possible.

I went to his funeral two days later. A very simple affair at his request….. just a burial really. There was the grave digger, the chaplain …… and me. It was painful…. and seemed to last an eternity.

There are consequences for inaction…. for neglect….. for apathy…. for carelessness….. for selfishness….. and for taking life, talent, time, love and people for granted.

This was a tough lesson for me. Writing this opens the wound a little.But now when I am stirred to call or visit someone….. or to give …. or even pray for someone…… I tend to act sooner than later.It’s almost as if Errol’s death gave me new life.

(c) 2007 This Amazing Grace, Chris Falson

Early 2007 a writer/producer with whom I often work called to see whether or not I had my own (vocal) version of Amazing Grace. He was in the final edit of a documentary about a Prison and was at odds with the score for a particular scene…… he had tried placing several songs into the situation including Sufjan Steven’s recording of Amazing Grace and had yet to find ‘the one’. As he described the scene I could imagine the sound of an old, gray headed, blues singer (John Lee Hooker) sitting on a porch, playing a beat up guitar and singing to nobody in particular. But I wasn’t the director of this documentary was I……..

I wouldn’t have been calling me, or Sufjan for that matter (though he’s a great writer/singer)….. If I was the director I would like to think that I was fighting for the rights to some crackly old recording of John Lee, or Muddy Waters or the like…. telling a story…. a story the singer had lived himself…. a story he was able to pass on to me….. a white boy from Sydney….. a story of grace in the midst of pain, suffering, guilt, shame….. and hope.

I think I may have been thinking out loud during this conversation and had given the producer an earful…. still he kept asking me for my version….. which I didn’t have. This producer is a dear friend and I knew that he was really asking if I would make a recording….. in my ‘voice’ …. just for him and his project. On that day I remember being on a tight deadline for another project and a sensible person would have said no. But I am a sucker for distractions. And, until that moment I had never considered recording this song….. too many people had butchered it….. and what a pity for such a glorious piece of poetry set to music. But I was intrigued…………

So, of course I relented and promised to have something to him by the afternoon. I opened Logic, set up a few mics…. testing 1. 2. 3…. closed my eyes…. began strumming and sang the verses that came to mind. I could hear (in my head) the sound of a Dobro and so allowed some space for an overdub. If only I could leave things alone…. for then I wished too that I was wearing my old boots so I could tap along on the wooden floor….. and believe it or not I did that as an overdub too. Yeah I know…. there’s a word for that kind of behavior……!

However, despite my issues with over production I enjoyed the moment….. the several hours of recording and mixing…. where the guitar(s), the song and my soul connected. It didn’t matter if the track ever made it into the documentary….. it was such a moving experience during the recording of it….. that was my reward.

I was in Switzerland several years ago….. sitting on an old chair by the window, staring out on a forest…. and I was teaching myself how to play a baritone mandolin. I stumbled upon a little chord progression and from there began to hum a lovely simple melody. My natural reaction was to find pencil and paper and write it down…… but as I got up from the chair there was a gentle voice (in my head again) asking “will it be any less beautiful if you allow this piece to stay here…. and live only in this moment?”

What a strange concept!

I began to consider flowers and butterflies that live for but a day…. they are indeed beautiful….. even if no one ever sees them. What about a sunrise, or a walk in the forest, or the first kiss…. here for a moment and then gone, but not forgotten….. am I crazy or what!@#$%^&?

I played that piece for about an hour and when I got up I left it there….. in that mandolin…. in that old chair…. by that very old forest. It was a moment….. and though I cannot remember how the piece of music goes….the moment remains a special memory…. and this is probably more crucial to my being than many pieces I have written and still perform.

This little version of Amazing Grace is not quite as special as that moment in Switzerland…. but it is a moment none the less….. probably not the best recording or interpretation… it is a poor thing but mine own.

The producer, on receiving my mp3 (that afternoon as promised) was ecstatic…. full of my praises….. “the best version I have ever heard” etc etc etc….. he is a producer after all and understands the power of flattery….. who needs money after all that blarney?

He passed the track onto the director…. who also appreciated it’s honesty….. but asked if I could do it again and make it a little faster and a little happier.

Hmmmmmm….. I should have known better.

I explained my mind set, my time frame and my sense of this recording…. in that the producer had asked me to record the song….. meaning that he knew me and trusted me to give of myself….. me and the producer go way back…… (imagine two fingers crossed…. we are like that).

But this did not impress the director at all…. “that’s nice Chris, but just do a faster version and send it over”.

If I had been the original composer on this project the director’s request would have been quite the norm. Work for hire is basically that…. you write as part of a team and you rewrite whatever the Dr orders. But this was not the case at all….. and because of the subject matter…. the prison story…. the concept of grace….. and of course the song and what it meant to me…. well….. I said no….. I mean no thank you.

The director’s response was not very nice…… he told me that he had expected better of me. Another bridge burnt I guess.

Of course I wanted to answer back and tell him where he could stick his documentary. But that wouldn’t have been very gracious of me………….

The next morning I tried to recreate that moment in a piece of music. As I sat down to write, I realized that what I wanted to convey was the sense of peace in the midst of trouble. In a strange way the purple moon on clouds made me feel that I wasn’t alone and that everything would be okay.

In Field of Dreams,Terrence Mann says to Ray Kinsella…….

“They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack.”

I am fortunate enough to travel and play in Europe several times a year. Usually, after 4 or 5 months of working in a LA all I can think about is strolling through the forests of Switzerland and France (oh and savoring the wine and cheese of course). It is amazing the effect that genuine quietness has on our minds, our bodies and our souls. It is like drinking cool fresh water from a mountain stream.

Living and working in LA can be a lot of fun but it’s definitely life in the fast lane…… and even formula 1 race cars have to make pit stops occasionally.

I know this reads as self indulgent, but there is a peace that I find (sometimes) in my own music. When it’s all too much….. and I am drowning under all the expectations….mine and others …… I can crawl into my room (metaphorically), pick up an old guitar, sit still and strum gently to myself…… If I hum along…… quite naturally a string of jumbled words form on my tongue and I sing them over my life. I don’t know how many times I have sung a prayer calling out for peace to fall…”like tears from the sky”.

Learning to be still is hard work….. often with the natural chaos of home life I am forced to seek refuge in the garage of all places …… but even amongst the clutter and dust….. surrounded by things waiting to be thrown away or packed again only to be unpacked and discarded into the ‘next’ garage….. yes even in this environment I find an old chair on which to sit and there I sing and make gentle music….. searching for that quietness…. that peace that belies my own understanding.

Ironically the morning I chose to ’sketch’ this music to tape, a building across the road was being demolished. Jack hammers, trucks rumbling down the street, mariachi music blasting its way through tinny transistor radios…. the stage was set for me to record!

Perhaps it is apropos that while buildings were tumbling down around me I could still find a way of expressing some of this peace. It is peace in the storm that we generally need, for it’s in the storm that we spend much of our lives.

Being a writer, whether it’s music or other could seem like a glamorous way to make a living. It’s not really. It’s a job like any other.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing and recording music, and that’s about all I know how to do, but it’s work none the less. Some days I am full of inspiration and time passes quickly and then there are the other days….. well you know what they are like. They are slow and boring. You feel like you are sinking in mud and by dinner time you look at your work and think ” this is a load of $%^&*UI!”
The major difference perhaps in being a writer to most any other profession is that you have to make yourself write, cause no-one else will. And because there is usually no-one looking over your shoulder and rarely an authoritative voice reminding you of your responsibilities you tend to find other things to do, even tidying up your office….. or calling people you don’t even like ….. or reading the latest John Le Carre novel, justifying to yourself that it will sharpen your writing skills etc etc.

There are days, weeks, seasons when I am swamped with too many projects to write for and…. I have those glorious deadlines hanging over my head. Then I have these patches of no work…. not even on the horizon and then I have to make myself write. Sometimes after too much writing, recording or even touring I feel all written out and when I try to come up with ’something new’ it sounds like everything old and I usually walk out of my room in disgust….. often sneaking off to the library again which is just a few blocks away, to borrow a book….. any book into which I can escape.

Early 2006 I was in a season like this. I tried to write everyday and I think because I didn’t have anything I ‘had’ to write about (or for) I just wrote a bunch of very average pieces. Then I read this book by Anne Lamotte about writing called ‘Bird by Bird’….. and this book changed the way I write everything. Without ‘telling all’ (you must read this book if you are interested in any form of writing)…. there was one gem of an idea that leapt off the page into my brain….. and it’s still swimming around and around and around…. and it’s about following the rabbit….. the little idea(s) that interrupt you…. often perceived as silly, or a waste of time.

We serious writers have everything worked out, a purpose, a plan, an audience in mind, a beginning and an end…. and so therefore we must clean our mind of any distractions.

After reading Bird by Bird I threw caution to the wind…. and I started following the rabbit. What I once perceived as the thief of concentration, of discipline, of productivity turned out to be a somewhat playful explorer, an adventurer, a time traveler unconcerned with boundaries, etiquette, political correctness. I discovered that the rabbit lived inside my subconscious and he (could be a she) helped me explore this other world, a world of magic and mystery, of things unexplained…. a place of never ending stories (and all those conspiracy theories)….. it is the world of paths not yet trodden…. virgin snow perhaps.

I know I am rambling, but this song/piece is one of the first I wrote and recorded after following the rabbit. In truth I had no idea where I was going with this, and today as I listen to the track there is something unsaid, something unfinished about the song…. and I like that.

It is said that the best teachers ask questions rather than provide answers. It’s not that I have a lesson to share…. just a lot of questions.

Saint Francis of Assisi is one of my heroes. He didn’t just talk about his convictions…..he lived them.

Though the son of a wealthy merchant and nobleman the young Francis forfeited all of his inheritance…..wealth, estates, prestige….to pursue what he sensed to be his calling.

It is one thing to talk about love and sacrifice….or about laying one’s life down for another…..or to stand on a pulpit and ‘preach’ a gospel that welcomes ‘all men’….it is another thing entirely to risk all….life, friendships, reputation….for the sake of another.

I am tired of hearing ‘messages’, spoken with such conviction, when the jumbled words are still only a theory….yet to be tested by the orator. Whether it be politicians, preachers, entertainers or business people…..don’t tell me what you think…..tell me what you know.

It’s when you know that you know, that you know……then…..maybe…..you have the right to speak about it. That’s why stories or testimonies (true ones) are so powerful. Often it is the people with no desire to ’speak’ that actually have something worth sharing.

I am as guilty as the next person….I think so therefor I am! But what I do or how I live my life is really who I am.

Who are you?

Or….Who ARE you?

Mother Teresa is another I admire. If she could have spoken into my life….I am sure my heart would have broken many times over…..and if I could have walked by her side maybe I could have learned a little about walking in love.

It is the life of love that intrigues me.

Right now I have thoughts…..some I have tested…..I am learning……and though I am a writer I hesitate to write about it.

For love is not a thought or a feeling but a deed, an undertaking, a conduct, an influence, a behavior…. sometimes love is hard work that goes unrewarded.

Saint Francis: “Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.”

Or my paraphrase…..love at all times, use words if you have to.

This is how I interpret the gospel….it is about giving life through love….”so god loved the whole world he gave……..” or “come ALL who are weary and burdened and I will give rest to your weary souls”.

It is a gospel of inclusion. A gospel for All……the last time I looked up the word All it still meant All…..’not just for some, but for everyone’. It’s meant to be for everybody…. not just nice people…. or our kind of people!

Saint Francis said it better “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.”

“Where there is charity and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance”.

“True progress quietly and persistently moves along without notice.”

“Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible”.

“No one is to be called an enemy, all are your benefactors, and no one does you harm. You have no enemy except yourselves.”

“It is no use walking anywhere to preach unless our walking is our preaching.”

“If God can work through me, he can work through anyone.”

“While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart.”

I am of no faith….. no faith in particular that is.

I remember the first day at school (aged 5 or 6). After we gave our names we had to tell the teacher what our father did for a living and then say what faith we belonged to. On both counts I failed the test…. or at least that’s how I felt at the time.

While all the other kids said that their fathers were bankers, or builders, or butchers or firemen…. I announced in a matter of fact voice that mine was a musician. Well the kids went wild….”his dad is a magician, woweee…”…. “no he’s a musician” I yelled out over the din…. “What’s a musician?” I felt like Bart Simpson…. my father had let me down because no one knew what he did….. except the teacher…. she was most impressed.

When it came to religion…. I didn’t know what we were. We weren’t anything…. we didn’t go to Church…. though on my mother’s side there was a connection to the Methodists…. that’s where I had been Christened as a baby. But I desperately wanted to fit in so I became a Methodist, just like that…. and that was good because there were a few other Methodist kids in the class. I was one of the ‘guys’ now…. even though my dad wasn’t a magician.

That’s how most people define faith. It’s a club you join and then you belong….. “yes I am of the Catholic faith”…. “Oh I was raised a southern baptist but now I am of the Hindu faith”…. etc etc

In this regard I have no faith. I don’t want to belong to a collective of beliefs or a club or society that I have to defend when some nutter goes and says something stupid…. which of course could be me….. I am known to say stupid things on occasion…. and I sure don’t want anyone else getting blamed for my narrow minded, ignorant, petty, self aggrandizing out bursts. It’s better this way…. don’t you agree?

The dictionary describes faith as: “complete trust or confidence in someone or something”…. or “belief that is not based on proof”

This kind of faith I do have….. but I can’t really prove it.

A Roman citizen of the first century AD described faith as the “substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen”….huh? How about…. “… being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see”.

In the Indiana Jones movie, The Last Crusade, ‘Indy’ is confronted with a problem that tests his faith.

The Holy Grail is guarded by three ‘booby traps’. After surviving the first two he then must cross over a deep chasm to get to the next door, but the distance is too great for him to jump.

It is a test of faith.

As Indy nervously looks down at the abyss, his situation seems impossible…. but his father is dying and there is only one hope of saving his life…. and that hope lies on the other side…. and so he closes his eyes and takes one very tentative step forward. His foot is heading towards ‘thin air’ when all of a sudden it lands on something solid… ‘the evidence of things not seen’. His discovery of an invisible bridge allows him to cross over. He marks the bridge with a handful of pebbles which then allows others, perhaps with less faith to follow him.

Faith is not a set of beliefs or opinions. That’s dogma. Faith is taking risks, putting your beliefs or dreams to the test.

The Hebrews say that it is impossible to please God without faith but that every one has a measure of faith, to use or not use.

Maybe faith, when it’s not active in pursuing the impossible….. or hoping for something better….. well maybe it starts to die and it becomes ‘a faith’.

I also think real faith is contagious. When I hang around someone who’s attempting the impossible, someone who’s living out their dream…. his/her faith rubs off on me.

Sometimes we have to show some faith in each other…. a fews words of encouragement can stir up those dying embers and all of a sudden our faith is alive again.

Other times I have to stir up my own faith…. put it to the test one more time.

I wrote this song when I was moving from Sydney to LA. I knew why I was moving here but it was impossible to explain…. still is.

During the fall of 2003 I was writing one piece of music after another (songs, themes, stings etc) for a music publisher who had a deal with the networks. I was churning them out, often writing one or two a day…. I am not saying they were all ‘good’….. but occasionally one would stand out and it would be a ‘keeper’….. however, believe it or not, most of the pieces I wrote would end up in either a Network or Cable show. Often the most difficult part of the ‘pulp’ writing was coming up with the title. []

I had a wonderful studio space at the the time in LA, Burbank adjacent. It had been built originally by Pink Floyd in the 80’s as a rehearsal/demo room. Behind my studio room was a 4,500 square foot space that we (me and a bunch of friends)…. turned into a club (and that’s for another blog). It was a fun few years rubbing shoulders and sharing coffee and ideas with authors, painters, poets, actors, directors etc who either lived or worked in the building.

I wrote and or produced about 20 songs for one show called “Meet my Folks”…. and then the various spin offs “Meet my Mom”…. “Meet my Kids” or whatever. Though the premise for each show was dating….. in the the hope of finding a new Dad or Mom etc, there was always that inevitable goodbye scene…. you know, when the ‘loser’ would be shown the door…. maybe the most keenly anticipated moment in every realty show. Go Sunjaya!

In song placement the music supervisor has to find a song or piece of music that ‘underscores’ the moment or scene. Sometimes it is describing the drama, other times it helps to create the mood. The music supervisor for this show could not find enough “good bye songs” and so the request was made and we got to work. When I say we, I actually had a team of writers working underneath me….. all working towards the common goal of the perfect sayonara song.

For the writer though this is called spec work…. and it’s a bit like a standing in crowd of illegal day workers waiting on that specified corner hoping someone you will single you out for a few hours work. Song placement is often luck of the draw…. having the right sound, or phrase at the right moment…. or it can be based upon the mood or whim of a producer. But writing everyday just improves your writing skills, so if a song doesn’t get ‘picked’ today…. maybe it will tomorrow.

Though I wrote Season for Goodbye for Meet my Folks it was passed over for another ‘day worker’….. however it was later featured in an episode of Las Vegas…. which was a much better placement (though I would have taken both).

This version of the song was hastily recorded and mixed. It was rushed off for the Meet My Folks deadline and when it was ‘dumped’ I moved onto other songs. I was machine back then…. often a one man assembly line. I have since learnt to be more circumspect in regards sending out unfinished material….. that is…. when I can afford this privilege.

Writing for TV is very demanding. Everything has to be completed yesterday. It’s not unusual to get a call at say 10 am with a request (demand) to write and produce a piece of music (from scratch) that has to be sent over to the network by 2pm. So inevitably short cuts are made. I cringe sometimes when I watch an episode with one of my ‘rushed’ tracks playing in the background…. but hey I’m working ain’t I?.

Despite the urgency to complete the song, I really enjoyed writing Season for Goodbye…. the lyrics are closer to poetry than I would normally write and, once I had the concept of seasons and change I just followed the bread crumbs through the woods. And the track…. well it is unashamedly Floyd…. I guess I was enveloped by the ever lingering studio presence of Gilmour and Waters.

Here’s the demo…. it has a kind of beauty to it and one day I will get around to finishing the ‘mix’.

There is an old saying that goes something like this….. “Consider it a gift when tests and challenges come at you from all sides because under this kind of pressure the real you is forced out into the open…. and your faith, your real faith, (not what you say you believe) will be revealed in it’s true colors …… whether you like it or not”.

It seems a strange notion to be thankful for bad times. And even stranger still to rejoice when your nakedness is made public. Imagine throwing a party every time you were surrounded by difficulties.

What would people say? “Boy he throws lots of parties…. he’s a party animal!”

I read that little snippet of wisdom again this morning…… I needed to. Actually I read it yesterday too but it didn’t sink in until today. Sitting out on the patio, sipping coffee, looking at the trees and the sky (dark clouds actually…. but I’m a melancholic and dark clouds cheer me up….. perhaps because I know others will be miserable)….. anyway sitting there in the quiet I pondered these words. Then, in a mocking tone, (reminds me of a song) I said out loud how joyful I was for my current circumstances ….. I began naming each one e.g. “….. and yes I want to proclaim my joy over my empty bank account, how wonderful it is to have yet another opportunity to build up my credit rating….” etc etc.

The weird thing though, was that after a while I could see a pattern in my life, not so much of my failings but more along the lines of the journey I had made both as an artist (writer/musician etc) and as a person (father, husband, friend).

My mocking tone soon quieted as I recalled some of my past challenges, hurdles, trying moments, rights of passage…. all of which I had somehow survived (be it with a limp). Though there were seasons of great pain…. embarrassing failures….. during which I couldn’t hide my nakedness or shame…. feeling utterly helpless with no-one to talk to…. wishing that I could just crawl into a whole and die…….but, hey I made it through.

Surviving a trial is not without it’s cost….. but where I might have once looked down at others flailing in the mud (” just get over it and move on”…. the magic formula for everything)…. by trading in a little pride for a small amount of grace I learnt how to live amongst people who had once been ‘untouchables’ to me.

I had a dream in which I saw myself climbing a mountain. My journey had been long and hard and my stamina was nearing it’s end…. but I could see the mountain peek and this revived my spirit and so I pushed on, to finish ‘my race’. I assumed that, on reaching the crest I would look down at a beautiful valley…. one of milk and honey, lush and green with grapes the size of pomegranates. But instead I discovered that I had merely clambered up the first peak in what was the first of an entire mountain range….. with snow capped alps that went on and on into the distance.

And all that time I had surmised that I was climbing A mountain…. and when I was nearing the end I felt a huge sense of relief…. an expectation of reward, of completion, my duty will soon be done….. “chill the champagne”….. but it wasn’t the end ….. no…. no…. I’d been duped…… It was more of a long beginning (a very long intro).

And now, faced with another challenge what was I to do? I had made it this far…. so….. grumble, grumble, %^&*!, grumble…… Oh well I might as well start climbing the next mountain. At least the initial phase will be down hill into a valley of sorts….. Oh no, not another valley experience…. was it to be the valley of the shadow of death (where are those diminished chords?).

Challenges are funny things (hmmm). If the 20 year old version of me could have seen the circumstances I am facing today he would die of heart failure. But he didn’t, he just had to survive his own…. and from where I am standing today I can understand that they were quite difficult for him…. but he made it through to fight another day (and I am glad he did)…..

So if life is climbing a mountain….. you make one step at a time…. each step makes you stronger, each stumble or fall teaches you a lesson….. you bloody your knee and you curse but you are more careful where next you place your foot…. and as the incline gets steeper you start unloading unwanted baggage…. and this makes the climb a little less stressful.

I could go on and on but I have a party to get back to.

[]

It is said that “love covers a multitude of sins”… or wrongs….. or mistakes….. or errors in judgment….. or words ill spoken (my favorite)….. the list goes on. I recognize this kind of love in others but rarely in myself. I am too quick to judge, or ‘right people off’….. perhaps this is the meaning of the phrase ‘ he doesn’t suffer fools gladly’….. and yet I am the real fool for behaving in this manner.

I wrote Unconditional Love as a result of a ‘run in’ with a friend. He was our manager for a season and during one disastrous east coast festival our friendship was tested to it’s limit.

To enable ‘the artist’ to concentrate on his/her art form one engages the services of an agent and or manger. The manager takes care of all the business needs and in a happy marriage the two work together to become as one. This was not a happy marriage and unfortunately it ended in divorce….. “but we are still friends!”

It was just one thing after another….. poor accommodation…. badly coordinated transport….. we were promised to play main stage but were on a tiny side stage…. no sound check…… and of course the money….. what money? It was only when I complained to the festival organizers that I discovered our manager’s folly. Some of his mistakes were genuine…. due to poor planning (isn’t that bad management?)….. however he had greatly exaggerated our billing, the fee schedule and all the usual scrumptious festival trimmings that would normally accompany ‘an artist’.

I guess he believed the opportunity of being at the festival ‘too good to miss’ and that it would lead to bigger and brighter things etc etc. He also rightly assumed that had I known ‘the facts’ I would have stayed at home. His silver tongue had convinced me to postpone my anniversary celebrations (a big one) in lieu of a main stage appearance. I had a truck load of reasons to be angry and unforgiving….. don’t we always!

One evening I called my wife and after the lovey-dovey pleasantries I started ranting and raving about our manager . I went on and on…. saying how aggrieved we all felt by his ‘lies’. She was silent the whole time…. no empathetic ahas…… and though I kept talking I could sense I was in trouble. When I had finished my diatribe she said “yeah…. but you do that”…. “I do what?” I replied….. “you exaggerate the facts sometimes too”.

Ouch! I hate it when she’s right….

As one of my friends says about me “Chris never lets the truth get in the way of a good story”.

The more I thought about my wife’s words the more guilty I felt.

I am always so quick to judge someone without first looking in the mirror at my own foolishness.

“You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye”.

I wrote this song that night in the hotel room…..as a kind of a prayer…. and whenever I sing it I am reminded of my own selfishness.

Without love I am nothing.

A Brief History
I was born and bred in Sydney, Australia and after an unsuccessful tertiary education I was ‘apprenticed’ by my father into the music business. This was 1977. Over the next 14 years, playing guitar, bass (and some trumpet and keys) in clubs, theaters, orchestras pits, recording and TV studios, schools, concert and church halls, the occasional tour of NZ, Asia and Europe etc I learnt my trade. My songwriting skills were a little slower to develop but if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Eventually I had my first song published, and then another, and another and so on. And then one day I had a song on a hit record ‘in the States’…. and this changed my life…. because instead of me sending unsolicited material to labels and publishers around the world they started calling me hoping to sign me as a writer and recording artist.

And so I moved into the next phase of my career.

I arrived here in LA in 1993 with a recording contract and a publishing deal. The album entitled “Chris Falson” was released the previous year and though only moderately successful in terms of CD sales, it became my calling card and subsequently doors opened for me to write, produce and tour all over the world.

I don’t know how to describe my music. I cross over many genres, from gospel to rock, from folk to new age, from singer/songwriter to composer. Some of my songs are sung in Churches around the world while others are featured in network TV shows and feature films. I like to write for different audiences and mediums….. each provide a challenge and that makes writing music interesting to me. It can also make it difficult for audiences…. some are fans of one style and quite bemused by another.

Hey as Bing Crosby said “Don’t fence me in!”.

My 6th grade teacher described me as follows “…. if there is a difficult way of doing it, Chris will find it”. I loved to go fishing back then too…. my nick name was “tangles”. That about says it all.

I grew up in a very musical and creative environment. My father Ron Falson, in his younger days played trumpet with the likes of Stan Kenton, Sammy Davis Jr, Frank Sinatra and Shirley Bassey. He was a noted jazz player in Sydney and worked most everyday day in his home office writing and arranging music. My mother Gill Falson, worked as a night club singer, choreographer, dancer, actress and theater director….. and as the chief copier of my father’s manuscripts. Musicians and singers never really retire….. and so they are still both “entertaining the troops” now and then in Australia.

Here’s a track from my father’s most recent album with the Ozcats.[]

My Grandparents Jack and Elvie Daniels were also both musicians. When they were younger they were quite the entrepreneurs hosting radio shows and performing with their own dance bands. They were also educators fostering within each of their students an openness and appreciation for all kinds of music. There philosophy…… There’s beauty in everything if you are willing to look (or listen) for it.

My grandfather was also the one who a put a guitar and my hands and taught me how to play it. The first song I ever learnt was “Dream a Little Dream with Me”. Then I discovered Django and the rest is history!

It’s his old guitar, that Jack built in 1938 that’s featured on my recent album covers. Time has not been kind to this rustic creature of wood and steel and it is now unplayable however it’s a beautiful piece of art and it represents my past and the rich legacy passed onto to me.

Jack’s mother Ruby Daniels, was also a professional musician playing piano for the silent movies in Kempsey. It’s really all her fault….. And even now, 4 generations later her great, great grand children….. my sons Sam and James have joined the family business! They too are both writing and performing their own music in LA.

‘An overworked mother and her daughter do not get along. When they switch bodies, each is forced to adapt to the others life for one freaky Friday.’

The producers wanted a song along the lines of…. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m not quite myself today’ …… but it had to sound like John Mayer.

I don’t think I sound like him at all, however, the fact that some people do has provided quite a bit of work for me, especially in TV song placements. So yeah, sometimes when asked what my music is like…. I say ‘well some people say I sound a bit like John Mayer’. It is an honest answer.

On the other hand if someone were to ask me how I would describe my music and I said ‘well, I am quite unique actually, I have my own sound…… hmmmm it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard before’. ….. This would be far from true.

When it was suggested to John Lennon that neither his songwriting or the Beatles sound were very original he replied graciously ‘…. well of course, we’re all products of what we’ve seen and what we’ve heard and of what’s gone before us….’

Back to the Freakey Friday…..

I didn’t have song like this in my catalog and as I had nothing better to do that day I went to work. I soon realized that this could well be about my life. How often I walk about with this puzzled expression…. ‘is this really me in this body’…. or when time and space move too quickly and I look around and think…. ‘how on earth did I get here’. On a good day perhaps, under sunny skies with a full gust of wind behind me I am sailing towards my destination. That’s on a good day. Most days however I am drifting in the mist, lost at sea, bumping into other floating objects, …… and sometimes I have that awful sinking feeling.

The song didn’t make it into the film. Any rejection is painful, but writing, and in particular writing songs is what I do. So the song has value whether it gets placed in a film or stays in my iTunes folder. It’s a strange subject matter and I probably would never have considered writing it without ‘the call’. And listening to this track today makes me feel happy. Weird huh!

Not Myself
Copyright 2005 Chris Falson

[] This is a photo of my friend Andre….. I don’t think he is feeling quite himself…. do you?

Chris Falson is an Australian born singer-songwriter living and working in LA. He is, in his own words “a jack of many trades, master of none”…..making a living as a songwriter, studio musician, touring artist, published author and teacher, father of two and husband of one. These past few years he has been making a name for himself as a composer, writing songs and music for such TV shows as Star Trek, Extra, Meet My Folks, Without a Trace, Roswell, One Tree Hill, Jake 2.0 and Queer Eye. With 7 solo albums to his name Chris still finds time between writing and producing to do the odd (very) tour of pubs, clubs and Churches here and there (mostly US and Europe). His recent album “Flesh and Bone” was released in 2008.