The Gathering Chord
written by Tom Young after LB Jam 2006
The Gathering Chord
LB JAM 2006
Genesis. From the stifling heat of a mid-summer Georgia day, a Lone Bluesman releases a single Chord. A Chord born of wood and steel; melodic Mercury bearing a summons. A call to all like-minded followers to prepare. The thick air does its best to knock the chant back to earth. But messages of significance are resilient. If they can’t be liberated in a great torrent, they poke and prod their way through the thickest of obstacles and ultimately reach the ears of the inquisitive. Those hungry for the call. The summons. Those whose heads slant to the sound of one Gathering Chord as if they’d heard the truth for the first time.
The Preparation. The Chord makes its way to the ears of the faithful. Each of the kindred, wood and steel in hand, welcomes the Chord, its passport is stamped in the memory, bouts of color are administered by the heart, the Chord makes its way through the arms and fingers of the intermediary, is hurled against stretching instruments, bending instruments, hammering instruments, instruments of augmentation and suspension. Dressing the Chord in its finest regalia. Buffed and shined. Each artist painting a unique, impressionistic, Chord canvas.
Not one more or less beautiful than the next.
To be paraded before the sympathetic, those having heeded the call. Other chords are sifted and folded-in. A rhythm emerges, a cadence matching the footsteps of those who will journey. The imminent assembly of the legion.
The Gathering. The cool autumn air is static-filled, electric even. The Lone Bluesman throws his doors wide and extends a harmonious welcome to all journeymen. Eyes meet. Speaking without speaking. The talisman, an all-knowing nod. The eager travelers unburden themselves of their Chords of many creeds. Chords polished by the abrasive mud of the Mississippi. Chords emblazoned by the rich red clay of the Piedmont. Chords blown by a Celtic aire. Chords warmed by the stage lights in the cities’ great concert halls and cooled by the sweet sounds of jazz emanating from the womb of the same cities’ back alleys.
Not one more or less beautiful than the next.
The Chords careen off the walls, rail against the machine, soften the thick skin of the disenchanted, turn down the collar of the sophisticate, and liven the spirits of the world-weary.
The Truth. The Chords slam into each other. Fumbling, tumbling, smoothing the rough edges, each one conforms to the other. A Perfect Fit. Creating one Noble Chord, born of many.
The Lone Bluesman’s beckoning Chord.
The Cosmic 1-3-5.
THE ONLY CHORD.
The erudite bask in the Chord’s brilliant glow. Light so bright and energy so sharp and undeniable, that it spills through the open windows and bleeds from beneath the closed doors. Lighting the path and warming the vehicle of the homeward-bound traveler. Illuminating the Way.
The Vigil. The Lone Bluesman is the keeper of the Chord. Each time the glow begins to wane, the Bluesman brandishes wood and steel and plucks with plectrum.
Keeping the beacon lit that guides the Prodigal Player back to the fold.
The Gathering Chord.
THE ONLY CHORD.
LB JAM 2006
Genesis. From the stifling heat of a mid-summer Georgia day, a Lone Bluesman releases a single Chord. A Chord born of wood and steel; melodic Mercury bearing a summons. A call to all like-minded followers to prepare. The thick air does its best to knock the chant back to earth. But messages of significance are resilient. If they can’t be liberated in a great torrent, they poke and prod their way through the thickest of obstacles and ultimately reach the ears of the inquisitive. Those hungry for the call. The summons. Those whose heads slant to the sound of one Gathering Chord as if they’d heard the truth for the first time.
The Preparation. The Chord makes its way to the ears of the faithful. Each of the kindred, wood and steel in hand, welcomes the Chord, its passport is stamped in the memory, bouts of color are administered by the heart, the Chord makes its way through the arms and fingers of the intermediary, is hurled against stretching instruments, bending instruments, hammering instruments, instruments of augmentation and suspension. Dressing the Chord in its finest regalia. Buffed and shined. Each artist painting a unique, impressionistic, Chord canvas.
Not one more or less beautiful than the next.
To be paraded before the sympathetic, those having heeded the call. Other chords are sifted and folded-in. A rhythm emerges, a cadence matching the footsteps of those who will journey. The imminent assembly of the legion.
The Gathering. The cool autumn air is static-filled, electric even. The Lone Bluesman throws his doors wide and extends a harmonious welcome to all journeymen. Eyes meet. Speaking without speaking. The talisman, an all-knowing nod. The eager travelers unburden themselves of their Chords of many creeds. Chords polished by the abrasive mud of the Mississippi. Chords emblazoned by the rich red clay of the Piedmont. Chords blown by a Celtic aire. Chords warmed by the stage lights in the cities’ great concert halls and cooled by the sweet sounds of jazz emanating from the womb of the same cities’ back alleys.
Not one more or less beautiful than the next.
The Chords careen off the walls, rail against the machine, soften the thick skin of the disenchanted, turn down the collar of the sophisticate, and liven the spirits of the world-weary.
The Truth. The Chords slam into each other. Fumbling, tumbling, smoothing the rough edges, each one conforms to the other. A Perfect Fit. Creating one Noble Chord, born of many.
The Lone Bluesman’s beckoning Chord.
The Cosmic 1-3-5.
THE ONLY CHORD.
The erudite bask in the Chord’s brilliant glow. Light so bright and energy so sharp and undeniable, that it spills through the open windows and bleeds from beneath the closed doors. Lighting the path and warming the vehicle of the homeward-bound traveler. Illuminating the Way.
The Vigil. The Lone Bluesman is the keeper of the Chord. Each time the glow begins to wane, the Bluesman brandishes wood and steel and plucks with plectrum.
Keeping the beacon lit that guides the Prodigal Player back to the fold.
The Gathering Chord.
THE ONLY CHORD.
Tom Young
Winter Haven, FL
http://www.tomyoungguitar.com
Winter Haven, FL
http://www.tomyoungguitar.com