DATE: 06/13/2007 10:49:05 / MOOD: whatever

Mama Willadean, "The Mississippi Songbird", booked this gig for her and her boys. Some cousin of a cousin of a friend had called her and she gave her standard reply... "Sure sister, we'll come!"... "Now Willadean, we cain't afford to pay y'all but we'll take a love offering and y'all `ll get the whole thing - unless of course, ya wanna give it back to God's work". That's always a red flag for me and makes me wonder if these folks think we're just chopping liver. Mama never seems to notice.

We'd already missed it once and had to back-track several miles before we found the place. It was on Old State Route 13 just like it was supposed to be, but the little clapboard building sat way back from the road and their sign lay broken on the ground from the tornado that came thru the week before. In retrospect, that was appropriate for a church called "Broken Heart Assembly". We're used to scouring the hills and hollers of Tennessee to find places where the faithful meet - but this place surprised even us. The "middle of nowhere" comes to mind.

There wasn't any gravel down on the drive, it was just dirt. The church was built box style and badly needed a coat of paint. As we walked to the front door we checked for a power line (just to be sure) and spotted it. We knew we wouldn't really need the P.A., but it always makes folks think they're getting professionals whether it's turned on or not. We tried the knob and it was open like the preacher said it would be... "never locked, no need fer it", were his words as I recall. We'd not be leaving beforehand because whether or not they had anything worth stealing - we do (unemployment's endemic in the hills and hollers of Tennessee - just as well we don't give a body more call to be sinnin' than they already got).

We always scope out a place before we set up. The wood stove was smack dab in the middle and the AC was non-existent. It was early fall so neither would be needed. There was a platform, a pulpit and an upright piano (we were in luck - the accordion wouldn't be needed but for one song). The pews in the place would seat about 50 people. If each gave a dollar that would almost cover our gas but I knew that was too much to hope for. Just to be sure we checked the farthest points on the platform for a Viper Box - no snake handling, that's always good. We'd seen all we needed so Dabo and I started hauling equipment in and setting up.

After about 45 minutes I noticed Mama looking `round the church for something. Finally, she called to us, "Hey boys, where's the rest room?" I hadn't thought to look but with a sheepish grin on his face Dabo answered... "go out that side door, walk down the path 50 feet and look for a little structure with a half moon cut in the door." - "An outhouse? - O no!", was all Mama said as she made her way to the door. I don't recall ever seeing such a look on her face before... Mama's kind of funny about bathrooms. As she stepped outside I called after her, "You're the one who booked this gig!" Me and Dabo fell on the floor laughin' so hard we had to hug our bellies. `Fore he keeled over, Cuz'n Jimmy always said, "Kazkill's die young cuz we laugh so hard".

A couple minutes later, between guffaws, Dabo said, "C'mon!" Now I knew he was up to no good and I shouldn't do it... but I did. "Quiet!", he said as the half moon door swung shut. Now I wanna make it clear... this was none of my doing, it was all my brother's fault... I just followed him down the path. I wondered what mischief he was up to as he picked up a stick and crept up to the outhouse door, then I saw the clasp as he stealthily slipped that stick in, sealing my sweet Mama in that stinky place.

Mind you... this was all his doing, I was merely an innocent bystander. A few minutes later the door rattled. There was a brief pause - then it rattled again. Another pause and this time the door shook, and it shook, and it shook. Pumph... the sound of a body slamming against wood... pumph - pumph - "Help!"

"Boys! - Boys? - Can ya hear me? - Help! - I'm locked in this outhouse! - Help!"

By this time we were crying. I never knew laughing could hurt so bad. Between sobs we heard a car pull in the drive so we ran and hid in the bushes. O no... it was the preacher. That poor fella had to be 80 years old but when he heard the ruckus Mama was raisin' he ran down that path. He was so out of breath he couldn't manage the strength to get the stick out. By this time Mama was frantic, "Help somebody, please!" - "Calm down Miss Willadean, it's Pastor Theo... I'm here, I'monna help ye!"

Pastor Theo finally managed to get that stick out and Mama came tumblin' outta there lookin' like death eatin' a cracker. We'd've gotten away with it too if Dabo hadn't busted a gut and let `em know we were hidin' in them bushes. It didn't help my cause that I was laughing so hard when they found us I nearly peed my pants. Just because of that sad fact, I, an innocent man stood condemned along with Dabo in the eyes of Mama and Pastor Theo. Neither of `em said 2 words to us the rest of the afternoon.

Those hills and hollers emptied out that evening and it was standing room only at Broken Heart Assembly. `Bout half way through the gig we took a break so the love offering could be taken up. Pastor Theo looked right at us as he announced that he had a little sermon to preach before the offering. "If ya got yer Bible turn to Deuteronomy 21: 18... If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them: Then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; And they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die: so shalt thou put evil away from among you."

Ole Pastor Theo got to preachin' on that text and dogged if he didn't get them folks stirred up. All I can say is - it surely is a good thing we live under grace `cause if we still lived under the law - Dabo and I would be dead men.

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DATE: 05/29/2007 13:09:50 / MOOD: not pleased

Without, the night is cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Cumberland Furnace, Tennessee the blinds are drawn and the fire burns brightly. The master of the house is at DVD, half-heartedly purveying "The History Boys" while pondering radical changes and unnecessary perils. "Hark at the wind", he says to no one in particular. The gale now carries a sound of impending doom for in it's wail he hears the howl of his recently deceased hound.

He wasn't much of a dog but he'd always have a home. The reason stemmed from years ago when the master was off on a gig. Upon his return he found screwdriver sized holes in every window screen of the house. Just then he noticed the hound dog chewing on a piece of blue denim. Upon closer inspection, a pocket was stitched into the hound dog's chew toy. Without much deduction a mental video of the previous night could be envisioned. A thief had tried to burglarize my house and the hound had taken a bite out of his butt; thereby, running him off and foiling the crime. Yes, despite his shortcomings, the hound would always have a home.

He had a fancy-shmansy name on his AKC registration, "Jericho Lee" the papers said. That name never stuck... he was simply, "Hound Dog". In truth, a dumber, lazier dog has rarely lived. That may have been a facade however, for Hound Dog always went where he pleased and did as he pleased - all the while, wagging his tail and going on his merry way. The one time he needed to show some gumption - he did - and in so doing attained eternal security.

Cumberland Furnace is a small town. The "Welcome" sign says - Pop: 1,250 (but that may be stretching the truth). There's a main street that flows past the town square across from the courthouse. Because there's a traffic light directing traffic between the two, we qualify as a full fledged town for only towns have a traffic light. My house is on a hill directly behind the courthouse. "Jail Hill" to be exact because the town jail is 2 doors up. I can stand on my front porch and when the mood hits me, I can pee on the courthouse roof. The mood hits me every year at tax time.

Hound Dog used to mozee down the hill and be too tired to walk up again. He'd plop down right in the middle of Main Street and stop traffic in both lanes. Horns would blow, people would curse but he was not moved by any of it. Once when I was in the square and witnessed this happening, a farmer got out of his pickup, looked directly at me and spit out... "who's damn dog is that anyway?" My reply was, "Mister, I have no idea but something really should be done about him." (stretching the truth is easy in Cumberland Furnace)

I still look back in horror at the day a couple made the mistake of getting married on the courthouse lawn. It was a beautiful affair with friends and family gathered for the joyous event. Unfortunately, Hound Dog decided to attend. It must have been the guitars that set him off or maybe the fiddle but he howled throughout the entire ceremony. It would have been embarrassing had anyone known whose dog he was.

The creme de la creme happened about 4 years ago. Miss Maebelle from next door was out working in her yard when she slipped on a pile of dog doo. She fell and broke her pelvis. Now my heart went out to poor Miss Maebelle, at her age bones don't mend too quickly. But when she accused the hound of being the culprit I had to stand up for him and request DNA testing be done before I'd admit his guilt. After all, he's not the only dog in Cumberland Furnace.

About 3 months later Miss Maebelle was backing down her driveway and either didn't see Hound Dog or more likely saw him and sped up. In any event her car whacked him and he went rolling down the hill all the way to the courthouse. If we had a vet I may have taken Hound Dog, but since we don't I called my sister, Boop, who's a Physician's Assistant in North Carolina. I described his symptoms and her over the phone diagnosis was - you guessed it - a broken pelvis. Hound Dog permanently hopped around on 3 legs after that. He never ventured down to Main Street again.

Not long ago we had a gig and were gone for the weekend. When we got back the hound was nowhere to be found and my telephone didn't work. I finally got People's Telephone Company to come check it out and we discovered a possum had gotten up under the house and chewed through all the lines. Then we smelled it. I looked over at the old abandoned well behind my house and the cover was off. Cautiously, I and the Peoples man peered down into the well and there floated Hound Dog, drowned! Once again deduction envisions a mental video. The Peoples man deduced that Hound Dog had taken off after that possum and in his excitement knocked the cover off the well and fell in. I have a suspicion that Miss Maebelle was somehow involved but I'll go with the Peoples man re-creation and try to think the best of my neighbor.

The wind ceases suddenly, although the echoes of it are still in the house. A cold wind blows up the staircase and a long loud howl of misery can be heard from just outside the back door. The master gathers the courage to run to the window and peer out at the abandoned well. The street lamp flickering opposite shines on a quiet and deserted yard.

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DATE: 05/26/2007 08:55:19 / MOOD: content

There are certain laws of physics that can't be denied. "In the beginning God created..." and God created in unchanging ways. God created water to exist in 3 forms - liquid, gas and solid. That's a great thing. Because of it we can pour Kool-ade into ice trays, freeze it and have koolickles.

Cold is the absense of heat - dark is the absence of light - always was, always will be. That last physical law awes me. An area can be totally dark but as soon as a light's turned on darkness is dispelled or defeated or overcome - however ya wanna say it. Happens every time... try it. My Bible tells me, "God is Light" - God's the Light of the world. There's also a prince of darkness who just doesn't get it. Light wins - dark loses - every time. To not understand that is to be dim-witted; yet darkness rages against the Light just like any dim-witted criminal rages.

Raging against Light is often demonstrated in ministry projects and goes by the name of "Murphy's Law". This happens every time we set out on a project. A CD that should take no more than 4 months to complete and release runs into all sorts of attacks. Prior to our newest release, we made the mistake of trying to help a brother out who was having financial troubles. In Christian music that's nothing unusual. We pre-paid him for mastering and production and in return we got put on his back burner. What should've taken 2 weeks took over 9 months. We still call that project "our baby" because the gestation period was about the same.

With our newest project, "Dance of Innocence" we discovered that darkness resides in small town Tennessee and disguises itself as a squirrel. We were ecstatic with our new state of the art 32 track studio board (with limitless virtual tracks) and basking in new technology. What the sales rep never told us was that there was a design flaw - if there was a power outage during formatting it would fry the power card. A very remote potentiality - but there. It's easily solved by adding a battery back-up unit (which we've done) but at the time we didn't know we needed it.

We complete weeks of work and now we're done. Time to format the CD. It's formatting - it's formatting - BOOM!!! An explosion rocks the studio... we look out the window and floating down from the electrical transformer (smoking from every hair) are the remnants of an exploding squirrel. My old hound dog even got up off the porch and had himself a grand ole time - rarely does he enjoy fresh cooked food. That squirrel took out the whole town including our formatting board.

To make a long story short... the board was so new that nobody in "Music City USA" would touch it. They had no experience with the make and model. We finally found a feller 6 hours away in the mountains of east Tennessee that weren't afraid-a nothin'! We went there. He diagnosed the problem but found that there were no parts available because the machine hadn't been in circulation long enough to require maintenance. The home office in NYC said we were the first (we finally went #1 at something). The part had to be ordered from the manufacturer in China. Beloved... we now understand the meaning of "a slow boat to China". It took 6 months to get the board repaired with our entire project sitting in it and un-down-loadable. If you can help us think of a pet name for a project with a 6 month gestation period please pass it on.

The project's in production now and we'll release it in a few days (Lord willing). We didn't lose any tunes, the studio's back up and we're starting on our next CD. The hound dog's got a smile on his face. Savoring this fleeting moment we share in Robert Browning's word of 1841... "The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in His Heaven -- All's right with the world." Light wins again.

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DATE: 05/20/2007 07:34:29 / MOOD: whatever

We pulled up to Phillips-Robinson Funeral Home in east Nashville and knew we were in the right spot. Out front stood long hairs, babes in bomb black dresses, dudes sporting cool vintage clothing, smoking and engrossed in pockets of conversation - "MUSICIAN" may as well have been stamped on foreheads. It was a gathering in Nashville not seen unless one of our own crosses the Great Divide or there's an award to be given.

We hadn't been with Randy for many years since we were kids. Not little kids but at this time in my life, I class late teens & early 20's as "kids". Randy was a drummer. There was a talent pool among the music scene in Hendersonville. Tennessee at the time that was extraordinary. We played - we laughed - we loved - we lived. If we'd had a motto it'd have been the classic... "Sex, Drugs & Rock-N-Roll!" We lived like we invented it.

Now, nothing on Earth remains of Randy but ashes in a green marble box. We didn't know what had killed him, he was just 52. Beyond the recent scare for guitarist (now college professor) Raskuvavitch Pa-Newton's double by-pass surgery, Randy is the first of our gang to go. I had looked up his band web site "Horse" and found it... cancer. Posted, was an article from "The Nashville Scene" in which he was dicussing living with and fighting that dread malady. Like Mellencamp's lyrical fight with "the law", Randy's fight with cancer came to the same end.

Scattered upon the tables on either side of that green marble box were pictures and momentos encapsulating Randy's brief life. We met up with Pete from back in the day (a phenominal guitarist who edits music videos now) and together the memories started flooding in. As always, we recalled the fun and funny, leaving the bleak and hung-over trapped somewhere in the furthest recesses of our minds.

We left early. We had a 2 hour drive ahead and we'd had about as much as we could handle anyway. This gave Dabo and me a chance to ponder our own lives. Most of our buddies have lived what people consider fast paced, exciting lives. Lives filled with wine, women and song... in many cases that translates to booze, divorce and road burn-out. I wish we could tell you that Randy's drumming in a Heavenly angel band now but we honestly don't know.

We chose a different path many years ago. Perhaps it's more apt to say a different path chose us. It alienated us from friends of our youth... friends forever in our eyes of love. They know our stand for Christ and it doesn't fit into the partying lifestyle so da KAZKILL boyz ain't on too many "Who's Who" lists of party invitations. We still love them and we miss just being with them... we'll miss Randy dearly.

In the end, for us at least, it can best be said in an old poem by Rhea Miller, set to music and made popular by George Beverly Shea...

I'd rather have Jesus than men's applause; I'd rather be faithful to His dear cause; I'd rather have Jesus than world-wide fame; I'd rather be true to His holy name: Than to be the king of a vast domain or be held in sin's dread sway! I'd rather have Jesus than anything this world affords today.

Never do those lyrics reach deeper into the soul than when standing before the green marble box.

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DATE: 05/20/2007 07:32:52 / MOOD: whatever

Ok... so what is about comfort zones God doesn't like? Come to think of it, it's a pretty boring place to be. Life in Christ should be lots of things... boring ain't one of `em!

When I was a younger man and my now 26 year old son was just 5 years old, we took a family vacation to Disney World in Orlando, Florida (what a cool place). I remember dragging him all over the park to hit every E-ticket ride they had... Space Mountain, Pirates of the Carribean, all the really fab stuff. Then I made the mistake of taking him into Kiddie-land (or whatevah). It was all A-ticket rides... guess I was out of E's. One ride he begged to go on was "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride". OK, OK... I'll humor the little bugger before going to buy more E-tickets.

As it turned out, it was the perfect ride for a 5 year old child. Seldom over the years have I heard much about Space Mountain, et al... but O have I heard time and again about "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride".

I've come to view life much in the same way. I've even given it a name... "Mr. GOD's Wild Ride". From the outside it appears to be an A-ticket but once inside it turns out to be exactly perfect for this child. If there was such a thing as an F or G ticket, I suppose it would be found in GOD.

Recently, "Mr. GOD" has decided to take us to His Disney World. We've been living in a small, country-fied, crime free town in Middle-Tennessee in nice, comfortable abodes with nice, comfortable jobs driving nice, comfortable cars back and forth to our urban ministry in not so nice and not so comfortable East Nashville. Welp... GOD's decided it's time for a "Wild Ride" so here we go moving into a motor home parked in our church parking lot in our East Nashville "hood".

We're only just entering the turn-style but we'll keep you posted as the ride progresses. Stomach's a little queezy and eyes are a bit bloodshot but I think that's just a hang-over from insisting on Space Mountain.

I'll close with Ecclesiastes 3... To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

A time for comfort and a time for Wild Rides. Blessings, y'all!

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