The David Crowder Band

a collision song by song:

i am without end amazed by the mechanism of the human mind. the way one simple thought can lead to another...to another...to another...and on and on. i have a very vivid childhood recollection of me sitting between my parents on our tan vinyl sofa one sunday evening, surveying an episode of the then current hit television show "that's incredible". the show opened with a story of a young boy who appeared to be near my age at the time. he had erected thousands of multicolored dominos in a gymnasium with the express purpose of toppling them over. his plan was to gently tip one of the oblong blocks, instigating a series of events to climax in a world record for the largest chain of dominos ever constructed. they were right. it was indeed incredible. the first domino collided into the next one, into the next one, into the next one and on and on until the gym floor was alive as the colors sped out, around, and back, over and under bridges, circling, spiraling, spreading apart, then coming together. it was a gym full of momentum and consequence.

here is a snapshot of a small number of things that toppled into one another, resulting in our latest cd ­ a collision:

a book from the early 60's, neils bohr's model of the atom, the arabic numeral 3, the arabic numeral 4, a television show on the rural farm delivery network, cancer, a tsunami in east asia, the eschatology of bluegrass, an episode of columbo, country music legend/historian marty stuart, a jacket, a bomb, the barn behind my house, a conversation with a very intelligent acquaintance of mine who is currently finishing up phd work in super string theory, and who happened to mention, in very whimsical tone, one sunny texas afternoon, that we were, and i quote, "walking around in the sky." he said, while pointing to nothing in particular, "you see, there is the ground and there is the sky and we are somewhere in between. we're walking around in it. our feet are on the ground but..."

themes: an eschatological statement regarding death, mortality, good and evil, the second coming, the raising of the dead, oppression, deliverance, hope, bluegrass music, hiroshima, springtime, the quiet waiting that comes just before the loudest sound ever.


everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die (a walk downstairs):

last summer we were on the bus leisurely browsing through television channels when we halted on an episode of the wilburn brothers variety show, on the rural farm delivery network, as they announced, “and now, miss loretta lynn!” it cut from the brothers to a young loretta holding a guitar. she opened her mouth and, accapella, the coal miners daughter sang, “everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die!” her voice was in my head a month later when a close friend was diagnosed with cancer and told it was terminal. i decided this phrase would open a collision. i didn’t speak of loretta’s song to my friend. well after we had finished recording, i saw her backstage in atlanta georgia and she said to me, in unknowing confirmation, “it’s not that i’m afraid to die. i mean i want to go to heaven. i just don’t want to die.” i knew exactly what she meant.

come and listen:

this song of derivate invitation comes from psalm 66. it is an invitation into the great story of hope and rescue. the great story of liberation that has been unfolding for a great amount of time. the story of a rescue that has found us and continues to find us. and the story of a greater rescue that is coming. singularity. everything that is wrong is to be set right. i believe the corporate worship experience is founded in response; responding to who god is, what he has done, what he will do. the music that follows this invitation is founded in response to this great singular story of god.

here is our king:

"What you are looking for is what is looking."
- St. Francis of Assis

i wrote this song after watching television for two days straight. the day after christmas, december 26th 2004, my eyes were fixed to this thing blinking at me from the dark wooden armoire in our living room. i, along with the rest of the world, watched as the most powerful earthquake in 40 years erupted under the indian ocean near sumatra, causing giant, deadly waves to crash ashore in nearly a dozen countries, killing tens of thousands. the death toll would eventually settle somewhere near 200,000. this is tremendously hard to take in. close to 200,000 people, walking around, going about their business, stepping into eternity all together in a matter of hours. we watched story after story unfold knowing that each would end in either rescue or demise and our hearts broke. our hearts broke and it is still tremendously hard to take in. it is a difficult thing to observe so vivid and complete, the depth of our fall. i mean we know things aren’t right, we know that things aren’t as they were intended. but here is this thing that comes from the middle of the sea to bring upon us devastation and to take from us our fathers and our mothers and to pull from our hands our children and our friends and our minds cannot fit this in. it is the depth of our fall upon us. even the ground under our feet is not right. the air we breathe is not right. here though, the hope i have found in christ miraculously expands. i believe that we are part of a bigger story unfolding. i believe that the rescue of creation has been coming toward us for a long time. i believe that sure, there was a moment that i was found by this rescue and that i am rescued continually, but the even greater thing, the thing that expands in my chest in this moment is that there is more coming! he is coming to set things right. he is coming to set things straight. he is coming and this is tremendously hard to take in, but our hearts swell and this tide of hope grows and after all of this, after this brokenness, after these tears, after this fury, after this tearing that is life...finally, finally...we will lift up our heads...finally...and the clouds will break...and finally...he who is all light and healing... finally... finally... majesty. here(1).

wholly yours:

my mom is our biggest fan. seriously. she drives radio stations crazy. i have told her not to call them but she doesn’t listen to me. she’s, “my mom,” she reminds me. she will call them and tell them how fabulous her son is and that they should play my music. all the time. i’m certain she would not be happy until every station played us exclusively and so she will forever continue to call. she also has lots of ideas for songs. she sends them in the mail. she sends them in emails. she tells me over the phone. i have told her this is kind of like me having some good ideas for child placement. she is a social worker. i know nothing about child placement. i mean i’m a fan of it. but i explain to her that she would not genuinely regard my input as beneficial in the placement of a child in a proper environment and thus to feel no ill toward me if i don’t write a song every time she calls or emails. my catalogue would be immense if i did. but about two years ago my mom sent a letter. it contained thoughts and prayers that she had written down one morning during her devotions. it all centered around the idea that god calls us to be holy as he is holy and then tells us it’s impossible. this dichotic suggestion troubled her, as well it should, and a phrase that one of her friends mentioned came to mind ­ “wholly yours”. the solution is a simple one. covered by grace we, being in christ, are holy as he is holy, and thus the only hope we have for holiness is to bring the whole of our lives under the coverings of christ. to be wholly under christ’s rule and reign is to be found holy as christ is holy. i thought this was one of the most brilliant things ever. and it was so much like a good country and western song(2) that i actually laughed outloud. and so, like any good country song(3), the punch line comes at the end with such a simple turn of phrase that is the difference between life and death, decay and newness, winter and springtime.

foreverandever etc... :

dying is a strange concept to live by. yet that is what we are called to; forsaking life to gain it. a close friend of mine suggests we look at it as trading up ­ discarding our tiny self centered story for a grander, eternal one. a sinking ship is both a tragic and beautiful image when he is the ocean.

a quiet interlude:

a portent of things to come.

soon...be lifted or hope rising:

this song begins with a sample from a record entitled “‘let my people go’ black spirituals/african drums”. we have titled this sample, “soon...”. it is very old. it was recorded during an era where even sounding african american on an african american record was socially unacceptable. this record was an attempt at historic documentation of black spirituals but you listen and you hear these beautifully rich voices trying their utmost to sound sanitary and caucasian so as not to offend. early black spirituals and bluegrass music share much of the same content and context. most of it is eschatological in orientation, a longing for zion, getting out of here, on to the sweet by and by, etc.... i used to be troubled by this as much of my efforts in embodying the christian faith center on bringing the kingdom of heaven into the here and now rather than postponing it, until these songs were viewed against the backdrop of historical elements from which they were birthed. there was no experience of present life known other than oppression and death and fear and toil. there was no shred of hope for anything other than deliverance and deliverance into the ever after was a more realistic, tangible hope than was deliverance to come in the here and now flesh and blood and sweat of living. there was nothing here other than pain and it’s balm was hope and this hoping in a sense actually did bring the kingdom of god into the here and now. there are sometimes moments in life so full of fury the only residence of redemption to be found is in the lifting of our heads, with our feet still in the dirt of the earth, to fix our gaze on the heavens.

i saw the light:

written by hank williams sr. in 1939. for us, this is a really special moment on the record. it is first, a colliding of musical worlds, for we had not attempted bluegrass music before. we have never practiced so hard! bluegrass necessitates ceaseless 16th notes strung endlessly together. we also did something a tad fanatical to finish this one off. we gave an open invitation to anyone and everyone who happened upon our blogs, documenting our recording process, to join us in the barn behind my house for a little bbq and some group singing. i quote from the blog now: Saturday, May 07, 2005 11:34 pm this is an invitation. we have been thinking of you during this whole recording and although we have truly felt that you were a part of what we have been doing with the webcams and all, there has still been distance. so here's what i propose - tuesday at precisely 6pm we will be gathering as we always do every evening at 6pm upstairs in the barn for the hoedown. we would like to invite you to join us. in the barn. for the hoedown. in person. you see we need to record some friends of ours having a joyous time singing along with us and we think it would be just perfect with you there. so here is the deal. come to the parking lot on the corner of xxth and xxxxxxx in waco texas. a fellow by the name of ben will be waiting for you there. you will see ben. you will see the barn. you will see the dr pepper house. we will be upstairs awaiting your arrival and then we will sing together. we will have a hoedown. now you can't stay. you will have to leave. you cannot reside with us foreverandever. but for an evening we will have some times for sure! so you are invited to join us tuesday may 10th at the barn for the hoedown to record with us for the new record. it will be fun. it was insane. people drove from atlanta, mississsippi, los angeles, kentucky, tennessee, arkansas, and more, it was crazy i tell you! and wow did we sing. at the top of our lungs we did!

o god where are you now? (in pickeral lake? pigeon? marquette? mackinaw?):

the bottom drops out. it is sure and quick and terrible. this song is a cover of sufjan stevens from his michigan cd. the parenthetical title conveys enough. it is a list of locales in the great lake state.

a beautiful collision:

then there is the number 3 and the number 4 that i must mention. i don’t talk about this much because people tend to look at me oddly when it does come up, but i have a long held affinity for both of these signifiers. in fact, as a band, we have used them as a representational model for our efforts. so much so that we have often hidden them throughout our recordings. seriously. they are found in track numbers, tempos, number of verses, number of choruses, the number of notes in a particular melody, or the intervals between them, even the number of words in this sentence. everywhere. now please don’t become nervous. this is not numerology. it is harmless mathematics at work. you see, when these two symbols, 3 and 4, are inserted into a mathematical proposition of addition, the sum of them is 7. this numerical representation has the obvious implications of quantity or amount or measure but it also is a signifier of perfection. it, as a symbol, is symbolic of ‘numerical value’ but also of ‘good’. it has biblical signification, one of my favorites being 7 days to create the earth, the seventh day for rest. we have culturally set aside the seventh day of the week for our corporate worship. the number 3 holds similar significance, it being symbolic of the divine; the three in one, while 4 has often been figurative of humanity. it is the collision of the two, divinity and depravity, that meet in the number 7. i believe art aspires to this. when it happens it is a moment of the divine stepping into our human experience. it is our ascending. it is his descending. it is a collision of the earthly with the heavenly. it is what often happens in moments of the corporate worship experience that in some mysterious way seems to transcend our common everyday experience. it is the divine and the depraved interacting and it seems our feet lift from the ground for a second. we rise from our condition. when our depravity meets his divinity it is a beautiful collision.

b quiet interlude:

entropy is built into the system. without intervention things will crumble. good things break down, get twisted and distort. the first atomic bomb dropped over the city of hiroshima was code named “little boy”. innocence. falling from the sky. bringing annihilation. intervention is needed. sooner than later.

do not move:

momentum ­ the speed or force of foward movement of an object or a quantity that expresses the motion of a body and its resistance to slowing down. it is equal to the product of the body’s mass and velocity. or (perhaps more accurately, the death of messiah.)

come awake:

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said. “I know,” he said. “Why? Why must it be this way?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he said. Her eyes closed. They were heavy. And these thoughts were heavy. And she was tired. She wasn’t scared, but she was tired. He was tired. His heart was heavy. He was scared. “I’m so tired,” she said. “So am I,” he said. “It will be soon,” she said. “I know,” he said. “I’m glad. It will be just in time. I’m just so tired. And the weight is so heavy. In my chest. I’m ready for things to be lighter, “ she said. “I know,” he said. “I will miss you,” she said. “I think. I hope. I love it here. But I’m so tired.” “I know,” he said. “I’m not scared. It’s not that I’m afraid; it’s just that I don’t want to leave. I mean I do. I want to go to heaven. I’m certain it is beautiful. But I love your face. I just don’t want to die. It sounds so final. And I just don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave all of this. I mean I do, some of it, this weight. This pain. These tubes. And that stupid blinking thing that keeps getting lighter and quieter,” she said, her eyes opening, resting on the screen beside her. “I know,” he said. He turned to look at the green blips of flat valleys and sharp peaks and wondered how long he’d stared at the monitor in total. He considered that if he were to count the minutes his eyes had rested on her pulse for these months, it would add up to more than was comfortable to consider. Hours. Sitting. Watching life. Her life. Blinking from a screen. She was alive. She was here. With him. He remembered the night the peaks stopped for the first time. The long unwavering tone that was the loudest sound he’d ever heard. How it had brought so many people rushing about. All with the hopes to bring the screen back to vivacity. Everyone working furiously. Everyone’s eyes resting on the screen. He knew, when it came for good, he would stay in that loud unwavering monotone valley for the rest of his existence. He was scared. It was coming. Soon. “It will be ok,” she said. “I know,” he said. Her eyes had moved from the screen to his face. She loved his face. It was full of lines, deep lines that she had watched come, everyone of them. When she had seen him for the first time, so many years ago, his skin was smooth, so smooth for such a hardened little boy. But the years had come and left their mark and she had been there for their arrival. She was worn into each of them. “You know none of us are getting out of here alive,” she said. “I wonder,” he whispered back...

you are my joy:

be quiet. put your hand on your chest. feel your beating heart. you are alive.

our happy home:

i have a very thick book that was found at an antique shop not located in chicago. it is very old. it is red. it has ornate patterns in gold that is flaking off here and there set against the red. it is called “the book of praise”. it is a collection of songs and prayers, most of which are well older than the book, which is itself very old as previously mentioned. in it, i found this text from 1616, whose official title, according to the information in the back of the golden, red book, was: “a song by f. b. p. to the tune of diana”. i thought it very close in content to the bluegrass music i had been immersed in. we recorded it. i then received a cd in the mail of ralph stanley lining-out some songs. ralph’s voice is that of an angel. all of human history is held within it. the last track on this cd is titled “jerusalem, our happy home”. i knew i had felt something similar turn inside my chest when i had read the words of this song, as it had that night marty leaned over the table while tapping his index finger on the age-worn-yellowed piece of paper that he had just pulled from the box containing a slew of hank williams’ original handwritten lyrics. hank had messy penmanship. i believe that not only are we headed toward an eschatological encounter, but that god is as well in motion. toward us. momentum and consequence. there is a musical metaphor for this in the outro of this song. the acoustic guitar repeats the main riff of the song as the banjo plays the same melody in reverse. they drop one note on each sequential cycle through the melody until they dissolve into each other, finally concluding on the same note in the end.

we win!:

...“i can’t believe it. i just can’t believe it,” he said! a tear had gathered in his right eye and was being pulled toward the ground by the gravity of it all. she took her finger and quietly traced a path along the deepest laugh line running down his right cheek. “let’s go home,” she said smiling.

rescue is coming:

and while we yet were sinners, christ died for us. he did not leave us alone. he stepped into our condition to bring us back to god. to bring us back to what was intended. the divine, bearing all depravity. the most horrific of collisions. the most tragic and beautiful. the breaking is glorious and loud. we have won. it might not feel like it. you might not can see it just yet. but the reality of our situation is that rescue is present. every second of life is spent in the very presence of god. there is not a second of human history that he has not been present. majesty is here. and it is coming. finally. just be quiet. and wait.

lark ascending or (perhaps more accurately i’m trying to make you sing):

in the mean time live with your hand on your chest.

(1)since the writing of this song i have received a number of emails requesting explanation for its verses. the complete thought of verse one is found in the chorus. therefore the whole could read, “here is our king from wherever spring arrives.” in other words, our king comes to us from the same place springtime does; whatever the source of spring and newness. he comes from the same place that put this thing in our chests that makes it necessary for us to search for him and the fact that we are compelled to search for him gives a hint as to the goodness of who we search for. the second verse is a simple redemption metaphor for spring or newness or surrender. roses fold up at night and open in the light of morning with the sunrise. when one considers that christ was also referred to as “the rose of sharon” it takes on an entirely different redemptive metaphor. the singular thing i have attempted to do in this song is redeem images of this massive wave that we observed. there is coming our way, the biggest wave ever. and it is coming from the place of love and springtime and it is terrifying.

(2)talk about dichotic suggestions.

(3)ibid(2)