Here’s my choir singing a recently penned little song called “Jesus, Precious Jesus.” I was joking with them that I was attempting to skim off some of the royalty stream that usually flows to “Father, I Adore You” and “Alleluia.” But that just a joke. Mostly. What I was really trying to do was compose something very simple for congregation that is supports a sturdy Trinitarian theology. (Only the first of three verses is heard here.) The version here is a four-part, hymn-style version. When I find the time I’ll write out an accompaniment for the Black gospel version I hear in my head.
Author: Greg Scheer
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55 Feet
I just finished converting my Live and Thinking cassette of 1986 (ish) to digital format. Much of it you will never be allowed to hear, but one song still holds up fairly well. “55 Feet” was born from a convergence of two fears: a fear of heights and fear of drowning. Here’s how the two came together. I was offered a job painting houses with a guy from my brother’s church. He made it clear from the start of the day that he was…unstable. For one thing, he forced us to listen to Christian radio the whole day. But that’s not all. He also never offered my coworker and me a break, even though we were climbing up and down rickety ladders from 8am until well past noon. As I stood up on the ladder painting, I thought of how quickly I would die if I fainted and fell off the ladder. With that thought, my mind turned to other gruesome deaths, specifically a story I had heard about two divers losing their way in the immense network of underground rivers that run below the ground in northern Florida. In my song, the story is told from the point of view of the rescue diver who found their bodies. He is so jolted by what he finds that he loses all hope in humanity, and is standing at a precipice preparing to jump to his death.
Gruesome? Yes. But it makes for a riveting story. Take a listen to “55 Feet.”
By the way, the day ended with crazy Mr. Painter guy asking if we could take a “quick stop” at his house on the way home. He proceeded to take a shower and get ready for a date. I sat in his house for about an hour with nothing to do, exhausted from my near-death painting experience, waiting to finally get home. I declined the next time he offered me a job…
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Did Greg Invent Techno?
Back in 1987, I went in the URI recording studio to lay down a few songs on the 4 track reel-to-reel. The first two were “Walking” and “1,000 Hands” with Stephen Brown and Royce Gibson under the moniker Canon Tallis. The next was music for a short film called No Sneakers, which, incidentally, I never heard or saw in its final form. The final song was a sonic experiment called “Was Habe Ich Gemacht?” (“What Have I Done?”) that was comprised of layers of my bass and voice, sometimes at half speed and double speed. The final result sounds suspiciously like techno. But in 1987 techno was only a fledgling movement in Detroit. And I had never been to Detroit. So I must have invented it. Or co-invented it. While you wait for history to vindicate me, take a listen to “Was Habe Ich Gemacht?“
This was a long, sad week at Church of the Servant, as one of our members died unexpectedly. As I planned music for the memorial service, it brought me back to a memorial service I led when I first began music ministry. “We Worship You” is a song I wrote in memory of Chuck Rosemeyer that continues to express for me the lament and trust of Job 1:21–“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”
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A Long Time Lonely
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A Christmas Tradition
One of our Christmas traditions here in the Scheer household is for me to force the whole family to listen to Joel Cohen and the Boston Camerata’s lovely CD “An American Christmas.” If you’re tired of syrupy Christmas crooners, this is the CD for you. It’s a great collection of full-blooded songs from the Sacred Harp and other early American traditions.
If you’re not tired of syrupy Christmas crooners, then you might enjoy the Scheers other Christmas listening tradition–the 3WS “Home for the Holidays” CD. The recording starts off with Lou Christie singing “O Holy Night” and ends with my arrangement of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” The Pitt Men’s Glee Club sang on both tracks, conducted by yours truly.
When 3WS contacted us to be a part of the “Home for the Holidays” CD, we were told that our musical contributions were going to charity. So I happily donated my arrangement of “God Rest Ye” that we had just sung in our Christmas concert and quickly wrote the choir parts for the Glee Club to sing with Lou Christie. And that’s the end of the story, right?
Wrong. About five years later, I was walking through a mall in Tallahassee when I heard the familiar strains of “O Holy Night” playing as I shopped. But it wasn’t just any “O Holy Night,” it was the one we recorded with Lou Christie. It seems that once the charity phase of the project was complete, the song was marketed to a number of other radio stations as part of “The Ultimate Christmas Album, vol 3.”
Someone, somewhere, is collecting royalties from my work this Christmas. Whoever you are, you’re welcome. And now, for some more giving: here’s Lou Christie and the Pitt Men’s Glee Club singing “O Holy Night.”
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Walking
I’ve been taking walk down my musical memory lane as I digitize some old recordings I made on reel to reel and cassette. One of my favorites is a song called “Walking.” The song was written 1985ish and recorded 1987ish with my good friend Stephen Brown under the name Canon Tallis. Though it features all the over-introspection and the mimicked British accent that you’d expect from a college student of that time, I think the song holds up quite well even today. Listening to this reminded me of all the things I wanted to do with music before I learned what you were supposed to do. Maybe I can regain my youthful wide-eyed wonder about the craft while retaining what wisdom and experience I’ve grown since then.
In any case, this is dedicated to Stephen’s mom, Nancy, who wants us to play it at her funeral.
In 1987, when I was just a fresh-faced lad attending the University of Rhode Island, I wrote a piano piece called “River.” I had the good fortune of living in a very small state, so it was chosen to be performed the following year at the Rhode Island Composers Festival at URI and Brown. The main thing I remember about the performance is that I was very excited and felt a bit like a real composer. I also remember that in one of the performances the page-turner turned a page too early, but the pianist Arlene Cole flipped it back without missing a note. I thought that was pretty impressive.
So here on its 20 year anniversary is a recording of River.
I just received a recording of my choral composition “Spring and Fall: to a young child” which was performed at the Iowa Choral Directors Association in July. It’s being performed again today in Bettendorf, Iowa by the Chamber Singers and University Chorale of St. Ambrose University under the direction of Keith Haan. So send out your good vibes to Maestro Haan and take a listen to the MP3 while reading the text below.
SPRING AND FALL:
to a young child
Márgarét, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Àh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
As I finally get serious about putting together Christmas music at the church, I came across a recording from Christmas past. On this recording Charlotte Kerce and the men from the Wildwood church choir sing “Peace in the Valley.” It’s a beautiful song that fits perfectly with the traditional Lessons and Carols reading from Isaiah 11:1-9. Charlotte is not only unique in her ability to wrap her rich alto voice around this lovely melody, but also bears the distinction of being the only person I know who has run over her own foot with her car.