That NEW Adage

I haven’t really been able to write much lately because of two things. One, the Christmas season is hectic and time-consuming, and two, our church was presenting a Christmas concert featuring my musical hero, Kirk Whalum(!), and our worship band (of which I am a part) was to back him up!

There may be one or two of you who don’t know who Kirk Whalum is. He is a world-renowned saxophone player. (He is the one playing the solo on Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”)

I have previously written about him and his impact on my vocation.

Our Sunday band consists of keys, bass, drums, guitar,  percussion, and me on sax. When Kirk was approached about doing something for us on Christmas, he agreed and asked that our band be called on to back him! What an honor. Since we both play the same instrument, I pondered my role in the whole thing. I know that he doubles himself a lot on his records (You really should pick up some of his stuff. Any of “The Gospel According to Jazz”, “For You”, or the current, “Roundtrip”, should be a nice entree…), so I knew that there would be something for me to do in the show, but since I do horn arrangements from time to time, I thought that I could contribute in a more significant way.

I decided to write some horn parts for tenor sax and trumpet hoping that Kirk would approve.

Marc Franklin, the trumpeter with whom I normally play was unavailable and unswerveable. My next two choices were working as well. (Nuthin’ but the Devil!) I had asked the Lord to work this out for me, but I was still unsure of what would happen. My friend and former employer Curtis, about whom you’ve read, was free, as it turned out. I had forgotten about him since he is usually working when I am.

With that tear sewn up, I spent the next month or so thinking up parts and recording them, between keeping Max alive, caring for a perpetually sick pregnant wife, and working myself. Curtis came to my house a couple of times to rehearse what I had written, and I thought we had some good stuff. Parts that would complement but not confuse what Kirk would be playing.

Kirk asked if we could have two rehearsals, so I knew that that would give me many chances to watch his work habits and methods of practicing. I also sought to use the rehearsals as opportunities to talk one on one and pick his brain about recording music and becoming a better player. I normally HATE rehearsing because a lot of the guys around here (and probably there, too) use it as time to LEARN the doggone songs rather than to pull it all together!! I hate that! Does an actor learn his lines at rehearsal? No. My time is more valuable to me than to have you piddle it away because you had all this other more important stuff to do rather than learn the material in advance. Paging my current bandleader…

This band is different, though. Especially Dave Mason, the drummer. He is always ready! He will tell YOU what YOUR part is supposed to be. He has a gruff exterior, in need of some sandpapering, but he is true to the bone! True. And our new M.D. is as thorough as a prostate exam. But not as uncomfortable!

The first rehearsal was this past Saturday. 10 AM. This, for a musician (even for those like me who DON’T do drugs!), is like 4 AM for you! Everybody gets there in reasonably good time except for my friend and ace in the hole, Curtis. I text-messaged him twice, and called him as well with no success, but I had prayed to the Lord that my anger and doubt would be slow to rise. The rehearsal went on as scheduled. Kirk had not even been told that there would be HORNS backing him. I was resigned to doing the performance alone and doing well with my psyche an hour and fifteen minutes later when Curtis came loudly rushing in and tripped up on the top step of the stage! He looked like… well, like he had stuffed three New Years’ worth of partying into the previous few hours! I was “crestfallen”. (I know Brothers don’t use that word)

“I’m sorry man, my alarm didn’t go off! It was set for ‘PM’ instead of ‘AM’.”

 Okay.

Kirk, to my surprise, came over to Curtis and introduced himself as if this bull  had not just stormed into his china shoppe and knock over three or four tables.

Now, in case he reads this, Curtis is my boy! I love him. I’m not dogging him. But he’s got some iiiiissssuuues! He knew he had let me down. I told him more than once how important this show was to me. And I fought for him to be able to play. There was no trumpet in the budget. Yet here he was an hour late.

And it was as though the separate practicing we had done had never happened! This was worse than if he had not shown at all. It sounded like he had food stuck in his horn! It was AWFUL! He was asking me for parts that he should have known, and trying over and over and over and over and over and over to hit high notes that he could not hit that afternoon.

I was dying just a little inside with each cacophonous miss.

“Oh, Dear great and grayshious heav’nly Fawwver, why don’t he quit?!? Don’ he see he killin’ me?”

And Kirk wasn’t missing a THING, you hear me? Every missed note would bring him our way. I was afraid I was being lumped in with the mess that was going on. That is the thing about playing with another horn that many don’t understand: You are joined like fingers on one hand. You are playing chords. If one makes a mistake, the thumb can’t say to the middle finger, “You messed up.” The whole hand is wrong. And I wanted Kirk to be like, “Man, them horns sound good! My music sounds different! In a good way.”

But as it was, it looked as if we were going to hear the musician’s worst phrase, “Hey, man, lay out.”

 We muddled through the day, and while the rhythm section (bass, keys, drums, guitar) got an “A”, the horns got a “C” minus from me.

Kirk is smooth, though. This is what he said to Curtis and me after the session was over: “Hey, man, I’d love to get together with you guys after tomorrow’s rehearsal to iron out some of those parts. We could do it at my house.”

I knew what that meant. “Hey, man, y’all jackin’ up my stuff, and in lieu of firing you, I’ll give you one more chance to fix it. Y’all ain’t gonna embarrass me! ” Even though there were a few times when he noted that he liked some of what we had done, in general, we seemed unprepared and maybe even incapable.

Curtis was like, “Cool! Derrick you can ride with me!” I don’t think he got the hint on that day…

Truly, he stumbled down the steps as he left. No lie.

I didn’t know one could still be groggy from oversleeping after a three-and-a-half hour rehearsal…

We rehearsed the next day, Sunday, at noon after church in the sanctuary/auditorium. We all knew this. Church was out a 11:30, so practice would begin promptly at 12.

11:56 Curtis text messages me, “Church over yet?” I kid you not. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him show up on time!

He arrived only thirty minutes late (Kirk was like, “Heyyy, man! How ya doin’? All cheerful. No sweat.), but I’ll tell you what — what a difference a day makes! He successfully negotiated every step. He played great! All the parts I had written sounded like I had hoped, and practice went like butter! The whole thing was coming together, and I was once again excited. I had noted that these rehearsals were fun. More fun than the gig, because Kirk was telling jokes and giving insight into how to command the room. And playing and playing and playing! His horn sounded like “Pet” milk! I was in class. Taking notes.

I told Curtis, “Man, you sound good today!”

“Today!” he laughed loudly, and popped me on the shoulder. “Yeah, you were lookin’ at me yesterday like, ‘what he doin?’ Thass my bad, man. I had a lonnnng night!” Dudes can’t just say, “I’m sorry.”

I know I’ve written a lot so far. 1438 words. But indulge me as I tell you about the actual show…

The concert was to open with our own praise team, which did five tunes, accompanied by the great Andrew Gouche on bass. (He is currently Chaka Khan’s bandleader. Dig THAT!) Kirk would come out and close the show with us and his son, Kyle, on the bass.

Curtis had gotten to soundcheck earlier that day only fifteen minutes late, but before we started, and I complimented him, saying, “Yeah, man, from an hour, to thirty minutes, to fifteen minutes… Shoot! By the time the gig starts, you oughta be here to unlock the doors for us!!” Everybody laughed.

From the first moment onstage, he held the audience enrapt. He preached the Gospel profoundly, and tied each song into the Christmas message. He made them laugh, and cry, I’m sure. He joked, he danced a little, and he explained that his mission as a Christian is not simply to play in church, but to do just what he was doing that night in Japan, Jakarta, and Jonesboro. Preach Jesus, and Him crucified.

My needs are a red line extending from  me to God.

My wants are a yellow one.

My goal, my hope, is to live a mostly orange life.

 Recently, while Kathy and I were watching a CNN news program, I called the guest,  Al Sharpton, portly, in an effort to mitigate his true squishiness.

Kathy interjected, “No, he is ‘hogly’! “ as opposed to being just ’porkly!’

I can’t stop laffin’!!! I’m gettin’ dizzy!!!

Money is tight this Christmas season.

When I came home from work the other night, all happy and cheerful, and shouted, “Merrrry Chrisssstmaas!” to Kathy, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “BUM HUNGBUG!”

I fell out laughing!

The problem many, if not most, people have in their conception of the Christian worldview is that of the Fall, and the way of Salvation. People think that they MUST do something! All other worthy accomplishments require some work on our part.

To pass a test, we must study.

To make the team, we must work out and practice.

To get the job, we must pad the resume!

Just kidding.

Yet, to be saved, we must only allow God… This goes against our method of operation. Surely we must do SOMETHING. Trim the hedges, armor-all the tires, make the bed, rinse the dishes… something.

This is what makes Christianity so foolish to the unregenerate.

It makes no sense, as some Muslims say, that one Person can pay for the sins of another person.

Oprah Winfrey, by most accounts, is a good person by human standards.

She gives away cars.

She gives houses to poor people.

She provides college scholarships to deserving youth.

She builds schools.

She informs us about health, weight, and interior decorating.

She has, by all indications, a beautiful heart.

But the universe, which she claims is god, is NOT God. The universe is scientifically shown to have had a beginning, which requires that it is subject to its Beginner. The universe has no personality. IT does not get angry. It does not THINK. It does not experience joy or pleasure. It only exists. Like a tree, or a river.

Oprah says that she does not need Jesus to get to heaven, because her good DEEDS will get her in. She says that there are milllllions of ways of getting to what YOU call God, and that there can’t POSSIBLY be only one way! She said it with such surety and conviction, too! (So, at that statement, we now have Jesus, that “good guy” they all tout, telling a HUGE lie! He is well known to have said that HE is the only way.)

Jesus is the God of the universe. Like it or not, just as, like it or not, George Bush is President. We accept other things with which we don’t agree — gas prices, death, ’80’s music, insurance (a racket!), ”The Flavor of LOVE”!, line dances…

Jesus is not just a cool guy walking around in dusty sandals, talking softly, with birds fluttering around at His shoulders. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  He is badder than Leroy Brown, even! He says that good works don’t save us. They don’t even help with the burden.

Jesus bore the FULL weight by Himself on the cross.

Oprah or Farrakhan or Richard Gere or Joseph T. Blow do Jesus no favors by claiming that He was a prophet, or a good and wise man who came with a message of peace and looove. Ahhhhh!

No one gets to the Father but through Him. As He truly is. God.

We didn’t just fall down on the ground from a standing position. We fell, and have been falling, from the infinite height of perfection, gaining momentum from Adam till this instance. There is nothing to hang onto, nothing to break the fall. Nothing between us and the Dragon’s mouth. We have no parachute. We cannot reach up and grab the ledge, for there IS no ledge. There is only God.

Do you realize how long an arm He must have in order to catch something that has been falling for millenia?

But this is the beauty –and the truth — of it. A man-made religion would not leave man’s works out of the equation! I mean, if Christians were going to fabricate a religion, we certainly would not invent one where we don’t get at least some of the credit, some of the glory. God gets it all. “Jesus paid it ALL.”

So all the school-building, and advocating, and car-giving, and donating, and photo-opping count for NOTHING apart from a relationship with Jesus. Sorry. Not my rules. Yours either.

Without Jesus, all you are doing is sweeping a dirt floor. Dusting a mud hut.

Our good deeds don’t get us through the door, they only furnish the room.

The Word of God is like duct tape:

You can know its properties and purposes,

but it won’t stick until you apply it.

Derrick L. Williams

I often hear those on the “Religious Right” (with whose Christian, MORAL stances I agree, by the way) such as Dick Bott, James Dobson, and Phyllis Schafly, and the late Marlin Maddoux lament the sweetness of the bygone halcyon days of the past.

Crime is rampant, security companies and locksmiths are booming businesses. Drug use is almost the norm.

The words “sex” and “immoral” are rarely associated with each other anymore. Anything goes. What FEELS good IS good!

NO one is safe.

So what should we do in order to regain or obtain a more morally upright society? Return to the fifties as some conservative reminiscers wish? Can’t do that, because real life ain’t like picking the peanuts out of Cracker Jacks.

For you, it was, “Leave it to Beaver,” sock hops, soda jerks, and maybe a Pat Boone knock-off of a Bo Diddley record. Father went off to the office in the morning, and Mother stayed at the house and made home.

You lived an open and free life. You could go where you wanted, eat in any restaurant, sit in any section, live in any neighborhood, relieve yourself in any restroom, try on any outfit in any department store,  stay in any hotel, and vote in any state. You could drive any car, without worrying about being stopped by the police for a dubious “unsafe lane change.”

The fifties were, for us, a time of terror, exclusion and submission. We had to know our place. We were “boy,” not “sir.”  We looked no White man in the eye. We were lynched for the slightest supposed misstep. We were not on television unless we danced or served, and we could not vote. We lived life on our knees, praying and cleaning other folks’ floors.( I use “us”, and “we” the same way YOU do when referring to the past)

We lived like the mice in the walls: life was great until it was time to get some cheese, then we had to deal with all the cats trying to kill us.

It just shows that we live in different worlds.

Was life perfect then? You would say “practically,” but my parents would disagree. The fifties look cool in the movies. Until the lead character asks for a mint julep, and the maid walks in! YOU don’t have to suspend reality when you see Robert Mitchum kiss Sophia Loren. I do. I love old movies, but I have to turn my sensitivity meter down. I have to ignore all the steppin’ and fetchin’ and grinnin’ and shinin’. I have to try to find context when Butterfly McQueen declares with fright, “I’on know nuthin’ bout burthin’ no babies!!”

I couldn’t have played baseball with Wally and the Beev. I wouldn’t have even been allowed in their neighborhood.

And before you lambaste me and call me a perpetual victim, I must tell you that I have experienced some of the same things my very self. Heck, as children, we were drilled on the art of not looking back when being followed by the Po-leece!

Yes, I want a lower crime rate, effective punishment, no legalized abortion, prayer in schools, and a more civil societal manner, too. But I also want equality in education and opportunity, and justice.

 I want my pregnant wife to not be interrogated by a “neighbor” for parking her own car in front of her own house on our all White (but for us) street!!! Don’t tell me racism is anecdotal and largely in the past…

God can deal with a man’s private sins, but when they become public POLICY, we all bear a responsibility to do something to change things. Discrimination was just that back then – the law.

The Dobsons and the Schlaflys and such simply prove that, at best, they don’t even think about us when they say such things. There is a cavernous divide which still exists.

So, be specific when you long for those “good ol’ days,” because we Black folk can take that to mean that you want us out of your neighborhoods, schools, lives, and back in our “places.”

I’ve been dealing with a cold all this week. It’s been pretty miserable, as you must know. 

My sinuses were stopped up, and my comedian-wife asked me if I wanted her to turn my HUMILIATOR on! She’s the funniest woman I’ve ever met!

 To: Evolutionists/Atheists

 Why do YOU get to be the only intelligent designer? What makes it logical for YOU to create stuff as a human being, yet illogical for someone greater than you to do so?

Things not seen can still be the cause for a particular result. Just “look” at the wind…

Just as your thoughts are not material, and are the impetus of creation, the mind of God is unsearchable and is the catalyst for everything that is. The evidence for both is obvious to all with the senses– and the SENSE– to observe.

Note: Please read the comments, if you have the time. There is a debate going on…

We all have things that boil our blood.

 Driving puts us in an environment where, while we are living life in immediate  contact with the rest of the world, we can instantly be killed or maimed for life because of someone else’s incompetence or inattention. One person’s moment of stupidity can steal your loved ones from you forever. Maybe that is part of the reason for road rage… I doubt if stagecoach drivers got into it with folk in covered wagons to the degree that we do nowadays!

I don’t rage on the road, but here are a few things about inconsiderate drivers that elevate my “prusha”**, as they say;

 “Get off the phone!!!” Since the cell phone has become so popular, I’ve noticed that every time someone slides over into my lane as I am attempting to pass them, it is because they have a freekin’ telephone up to their ear! As though they are sitting at the kitchen counter waiting for the microwave popcorn to get done, and not in TRAFFIC where people can die! And worst of all is that the phone is on the left ear, and the left arm supporting it is blocking the entire left side of their field of vision! How you gonna drive when half the stuff you need to see is on the other side of your ARM? 

When it’s raining, turn your headlights on!

When it is dusk, turn your headlights on! (NOT just your parking lights, either!) It is not so that YOU can see! It is so that I can see YOU!

If you are pulling out of a parking lot into traffic, and you can’t get up to speed before I slam into you… please wait. If you want to wreck someone else, fine, just let me get out of the way first.

If you DO pull out and see me approaching in that thing stuck to your windshield holding your air freshener, speed up! You’ll only use about 50 cents worth of gas, but you’ll save thousands in blood pressure medication.

If  you are in the left lane, and someone wants to pass you on the freeway, or comes up swiftly, please get out of the way! I don’t care if you ARE doing the speed limit! “Slower traffic, keep right.” That’s why they don’t call it the “meandering lane.”

That being said, don’t tailgate me! You should have left sooner!

If you are approaching a semi in the slow lane, and I am in the fast lane coming fast (faster than YOU), pleeeeeze let me pass before you swerve in front of me, causing me to stomp on my brakes to keep from parking in the trunk of your humongous white Crown Victoria! That shiny thing hanging outside your door is not for killing mailboxes, it is for noticing that there are other people on the road, too.

Speaking of Crown Vics, why do you elderly drivers invariably buy those behemoths knowing they look JUST like state troopers? You guys scare the $&^* out of me!!!

If you make a left turn, PLEEEZE turn into the left lane. Don’t swinnnng all the way over to the right! The street is not your personal driveway. The same goes for right turns…

Please don’t put your make-up on while in the driver’s seat. Do I really have to say this? Please don’t pull down the sunvisor to use the mirror to put your make-up on while in the driver’s seat while you are driving your loaded and cocked man-killer!

What geenyass*** thought up the idea of putting a doggone vanity mirror, with lights and everything, on the driver’s side anyway?!? Musta gone to the Kervorkian school of auto design! Is this traffic, or Patti LaBelle’s dressing room?!?

People don’t kill people. People on phones in cars kill people.

Don’t Drive Dumb, folks. Think and Drive. Thank you.

*Or: Driving Me CRAZY!

**Blood pressure

***Exceedingly smart individuals