Cradle Me

I think there are lots of folks lonely, feeling like they’re going crazy in their heads when they’re alone, wondering if any eyes will ever see them. Feeling like those things desired with all their heart are just out of reach. As a woman – and a single one at that – this is a familiar piece of my structure. As a woman – a woman in love with a specific man – this is a familiar piece of my structure. As a woman - a married woman, even - this is still familiar. This song came during a soul bleed, looking for an end to a season of waiting and required patience. (Baby, when will you propose? Is God holding out on me? Is marriage my Dagon – a more important presence and reality than the Bridegroom himself? These demons of discontent, loneliness, self pity and entitlement are scarring my heart.) Even though the wedding eventually happened, myriads of new unreachable desires bring these same demons to head again. Many of you hearing this song have shared with me how you relate. Thanks for identifying - I guess you can't help it being human and all.

Another dark sanctuary, another slightly out-of-tune piano to slow the bleeding, and another tune – this time stemming from a sermon about that surreal story from history. Christ crosses the water only to encounter the madman screaming in the graveyards – and then rescuing him from his legion of demons. Madlady Ris can relate – rescue me, cradle me, take my breaths for me. Let me feel your human hands touching me – maybe even through my human beloved. But let me not mistake him for You.

Cradle

Shackled on my island alone, unknown.
You come brave this ocean storm you own.
Atrophied, my bloodless flesh and bone
your mercy eyes have seen,
you breathe for me.
Cradle me on my broken knees.
Cast these old demons into the sea.

Returning to my chains, when will you be enough?
Prove to me again, I’m alive, you’re in love.
Show this drowsy, jaded, faded soul
you’re uncontainable,
remedial.
Cradle me on my broken knees.
Cast these old demons into the sea.

You’re uncontainable,
so joyful.
Cradle me on my broken knees.
Love me, endear yourself to me.

Thoughts on Rue

A few words about this song need to be mentioned because I’ve been told it’s weird and hard to understand otherwise, we want you to be able to enter in with us. It’s called “Rue”, and “rue” in its noun form is a feeling of deep sorrow, pity, regret, or compassion. I've always loved the word "rue" since I learned Samuel Barber's art song "With Rue My Heart is Laden" in my teen years of voice lessons. It conjures up all kinds of otherworldliness in me. This song is the outflow of a weightiness I have for someone very close to me who grew up hearing words of otherworldly hope and happiness week after week with me, but who puts his love and worship into trends and new whims, who is maintained and distracted by counterfeits to the living Christ. His pattern, like mine so often can be, is to say, “Later” to the ultimate Lover. This is sort of a double prayer: first a wake-up call, a plea to a fellow immortal to know Love, to run from eternal wince to the reasoned hope of ageless beauty and satisfaction. And then a prayer to the Priceless, ancient Christ who was "laden" –who was slain with real rue – to save and “slay” hearts for Himself. His kind of slaying, the kind that kills death and wakes one up!

I love the way Dave Schonauer brought this simple song alive – you gotta listen to this on headset. He weaves our vocals in and out, left to right, back to front, and fuzzy and panned and uses all kinds of bells – really wakes you up, ha ha! Plus Darren Keith on drums really keeps you guessing where his funky rhythms are going to take you.


Wake up, O Sleeper, and arise from death

Ardor, trends, fancies new,
These, the stuff maintaining you.
“Later”, hope of your unbeing,
tragic to my ears, my dear,
I’m laden with a rue, my slumbering one,
This, my dirge to you, slays my heart.

Wake up, O Sleeper, and arise from death.

Shun that end, ageless rending,
Throes of sting and fraud molesting,
damaged form, eternal wince,
and banned from beauty, O my God,
I’m laden with a rue, my slumbering one,
This, my dirge to you, slays my heart.

Wake up, O Sleeper, and arise from death.

You were laden with a rue, my Precious One,
Hear my dirge to You, O Slaying Heart.

Wake up, O Sleeper, and arise from death.
Wake up, O Sleeper, Christ will shine on you.

Summer

This is my 2nd summer working solely (soul-ley? more like it) on Ange&Ris. It's great, I'm grateful for the time and the freedom. I hope my piano gets tapped as often as this computer! But there's something negative about it that sucks me in. I find myself working frantically from 7-8am to 7,8,9,10pm - never being able to quit and be at peace with what the day held. One more trip to myspace. One more check on the email. One more thing crossed off the list. And if I sit down at the piano? One more song, one more song, one more song. Is this relatable? Am I a work-a-holic or is there something in us humans that, once lit, burns and burns?

I'm rediscovering what it is to really take a day off, a sabbath. For me it doesn't mean sitting in front of the TV with a computer on my lap. In fact, sometimes it even means saying "no" to friendly invites - just to go home and take a nap on the couch. I read somewhere that Angelina Jolie and her kids have "Sunday sleeps" where everyone gets on one bed and naps together. Now, THAT sounds like peace to me! Curled up next to mom, brother, the dog. Curled up next to my husband on a perfectly beautiful day. Turning off the computer so that I can't hear the friendly "bling!" whenever someone sends me new mail. Ah.

I truly have to SEEK rest to find it. I have to discipline myself to rest. The things that people assume are restful -- having lunch together, bar-b-ques, going out to see some live music, watching a movie -- they're all great, but they just don't give me a true battery recharge. I hope this summer I find some sun. I hope I stop at 1pm and take a walk with the cuteness, my dog Blitz. I hope I can discipline myself enough to walk away from my dream, my passion, my music from time to time and take a slow breath of rest. Hmmm, 11am. Maybe now-

Phil's Room

Room, wrought with light,
Harbor from the night
Warm eyes at the door,
Wander alone no more.
You’re home this night
Love you for life

Close both your eyes
Hide your hand in mine
Let the world keep its chill
Feel the Heartbeat warm and still
You’re home this night
Love you for life

Welcome, friend, take off your coat
Shed the weight and ache and cold
Like a child, let us wrap and pass you round
Lean a while your weary soul

Close both your eyes
Hide your hand in mine
Let the world keep its chill
Feel the Heartbeat soft and still
You’re home this night
Love you for life
You’re home this night
You’re home
You’re home.


This song is for you, Phil. We know the valley you're in, and our heart is with you. Hope you understand this is about the body wrapped around you every other Wednesday night - and in spirit every day - the home you seem to understand so much better than anyone else present. We love you, dear friend.

the sweet smell of almost done

We're both sitting here on a beat-up tan leather couch. I (Ris) am watching producer Dave's inspired head bouncing up and down...sometimes swiveling on its axis. No real predictability about where his head will end up - he's not following the percussion blasting out of these awesome, worth-thousands-of-dollar speakers - he's controlled by some dancing geist in his neck. Ange has her beads out, hunched over in her funky Goodwill find of a royal blue blouse with white polka-dots. She's preparing for the day when she opens her music/art/jewelry/djembe circle shop. I'm trying to embrace my promise to only consume 1600 calories today, but I'm starting to get the munchies and those garlic and onion pretzels downstairs look mighty yummy.

We're on our (hopefully) last week of fixing and mixing this labor of sweaty love album we call the Ange and Ris CD 2007 because, just like our name, we can't seem to find a fitting title other than the obvious. CD 2007. It's lined with songs we've birthed and performed, and fought over and still loved - the fruit of "otherness", learning how to partner with the other. Can't wait to hug folks with our babies that, frankly, seem rather more like adolescents these days.

So methinks this will be the spot to share the musings of Ange and Ris, the musical duo without a name, but with a large heart for our sistahs and brothahs, the lovahs of music with ambiance and a story.