The Musical Diary of Greg ScheerI’ve been playing around with stacked fourths a lot lately. “Don’t we all, Greg?” You say. I certainly hope so; it’s great fun.
In this song, I combined the open, biting sound of a melody stacked in fourths on top of an ethereal bass groove. I think this tune’s a winner, but the demo is certainly not. I didn’t have muted trumpets and saxophones at my disposal, so I used the melodica–not exactly the king of jazz horns.
This song started when a single line popped into my head: “It could have been worse, but I’m not sure how.” Certainly a promising opening, right? As I played with it, “worse” rhymed with “hearse” and suddenly it turned into a song about a guy who has died, yet remains hopeful. What can I say? I go where the music leads.
If you love yourself some Ataris, this one’s for you.
1. It could have been worse,
but I’m not sure how.
We all arrived in a hearse
and they won’t let me out.
They said it’s all up from here,
but now I’m not so sure,
‘cause I’m gasping for air
and they’re shoveling dirt.
It’s been a year.
It’s all up from here.
I try to see things on the bright side
even when they’re looking bleak.
What’s the point in dramatizing
everything?
2. Things are looking up
even though I’m down.
I thought I’d had enough,
when it was just starting out.
But it’s not so bad.
(It’s also not so great.)
Maybe I should be sad,
but that can probably wait.
Chorus
3. As the crowd dispersed,
I realized
it was so well rehearsed
that nobody cried.
But it could have been worse
though I’m not sure why.
And even though it still hurts.
I’ll just give it some time.
Chorus
Shortly after Cindy Prince heard my music for her lyrics “Only Good Vibes,” she sent me a message: “Do you do jazz?” Clearly, in the short time we’ve known each other, she’s learned that I can’t resist a challenge! Yes, I do jazz. And I had a ton of fun working with her song, “That Mr. Jazz.”
Now for something completely different…
I decided to (kind of) take part in FAWM 2025. That is, I’m not committing to writing all 14 songs (or the ensuant mania required to complete that task). However, I’m dipping in and out, contributing when I can.
The other day, I came across a cool lyric by Cindy Prince that was in need of music. I pounded out a dance ditty in about two hours, start to finish. I quite like how it turned out!
I’m going to be vulnerable and let you hear a song I’ve had rattling around in my brain for a while. You might assume that a person who has composed over 100 Psalm settings and has dozens of songs in hymnals would be a person of bullet-proof faith. The sad fact is that I, too, have my seasons of doubt.
The full title of this song is “Maybe (Hymn for a Reconstructing Friend).” There’s been a lot of talk about people “deconstructing” faith, often decried by those who claim it’s heresy to mature beyond the simplicity of Sunday School faith. I think it’s better to talk about “reconstructing” faith. But first, you have to lament the doubt that comes before rebuilding.
Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
Maybe honest doubt is my song of love.
Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
If I knew the tune, I would sing along.
Maybe simple answers aren’t enough.
Maybe a hallelujah is too much.
I can only sing the song I know.
I forgot to post this to my blog when I completed it in December!
My alma mater congregation, Church of the Servant, reached out to me last year about their O Antiphon service.* They had been using various musical resources and wanted to commission a brand new setting of all seven “O” texts. I set to work writing new texts based on the original Latin verses and composing an original melody.
Since the O Antiphons are traditionally associated with the Magnificat, I decided to tie all seven verses together with Mary’s song of praise, turning her words into a group response: “Our Souls will Magnify the Lord.” It is a pentatonic (five-note) melody that never seems to come to rest because it begins on the second scale degree and ends on the third. Let me put that in normal person language: the melody has a mystical, elusive quality that reflects the tone of the text and worship service.
This should have been a simple one-and-done seven-verse hymn, but as I continued to work on it, I imagined more sonic textures. By the time I was done I had written a 60 page score for choir, flute, alto recorder, violin, viola, bass, and piano. Feel free to follow along in the scrolling-score video above.
*If you’re not familiar with this Advent tradition, the O Antiphons are seven songs, each beginning with “O” and then addressing the coming Savior with a title like “O Wisdom” or “O Root of Jesse.” You may know them in one of their most popular forms, the hymn “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”
Psalm 32 is the classic Psalm of sin, confession, and forgiveness–so classic that Paul quotes it in Romans 4:6-7 to explain righteousness apart from works.
The Psalm begins with a beatitude in three parts: “Blessed is the one whose sins are forgiven” is reiterated with three nuanced synonyms for sin and forgiveness:
What is more important than the exact meanings of each is the parallelism that tells us “This is important and complete; God will forgive every sin.” I kept this parallelism in the chorus of my song.
One of my favorite things about this Psalm is the vivid picture of unconfessed sin: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away.” People often glibly say, “Confession is good for the soul,” but this Psalm takes a much more serious view of not confessing–your secret sin will eat away at you until it causes you physical distress.
And then–Poof!–just like that, the Psalmist confesses and is forgiven. It begs the question of why we are often so reluctant to own up to the messes we’ve made. The Psalmist has a thought about that: “Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding.” I recast this in more colloquial terms: don’t be as “stubborn as mules.”
Musically, I found myself in a folk/world groove that is amplified by all sorts of sonic doodads in the recording–tabla samples, Arabic tambourines, overdriven guitars doubled with synthesizers, and even a cloud of rhythmic patches like you’d find in EDM. What I most like, though, is the way the key of C minor slides into all sorts of other harmonic terrain without sounding forced.
Blessed is the one whose sins are forgiven.
Blessed is the one whose wrong is recalled no more.
Blessed is the one whose spirit is washed from iniquity’s stain.
1. Oh, when I kept silent,
my bones, they wasted away.
My secrets consumed me;
my groaning accompanied my days.
The longer I hid
the more weary and weak I became.
I longed for relief
but was filled with the heat of my shame.
2. I finally gave in
and confessed the depth of my sin.
I trusted your mercy
and God, you forgave me again.
Oh, why did I hide
from the One who sees sins and hears prayers?
The waters may rise
but I’m singing salvation’s refrain.
CHORUS
3. As stubborn as mules
we insist that we find our own way.
But we’re lost little lambs
and too proud to admit that we’ve failed.
God’s bottomless love
will surround those who give him their trust.
Rejoice in the Lord!
Rely on his mercy and love.
CHORUS
You’re likely familiar with Freud’s theory that the psyche is structured in three parts: the Id, Ego, and Superego. The Ego is the you you think of when you think of you. The Id is your animal nature: the part of you that wants immediate gratification with food, sex, and violence. The Superego is the angel sitting on your shoulder reminding you to have patience, plan ahead, or take the high road.
What you might not know about Freud’s theory is that the German words he chose were everyday words, rather than Latin: Das Es, Ich, and Über-Ich. That is, “The It,” “I,” and “Over-I.”
From Jekyll and Hyde to Nick Lowe’s “The Beast in Me” to St. Paul’s “For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do,” people have been trying to figure out what this thing is that rears its ugly head when we least expect it. Freud would call it The It.
With that in mind, I wrote “The It and I.” The song laments the shadow side that accompanies us all our days. Neither the song–nor I–have come to any conclusions about this ugly part of ourselves. Make peace with The It, my friend–It is you.
1. The It and I.
The It and I.
By night or in the day,
I cannot get away;
my shadow never leaves my side.
The It and I.
2. The It and I.
The It and I.
I feed it or I starve
this beast inside my heart
and yet it seems he’ll never die.
The It and I.
3. The It and I.
The It and I.
Why won’t it let me be?
Oh, will it ever leave?
Or will it hound me til I die?
The It and I.
I’m starting to believe it’s me.
This jazz-pop tune has been languishing on my hard drive for months. A few things kept me from finishing it:
The first was that the recording simply wasn’t gelling. I imagined the song to be an understated, funky tune driven by electric piano. As you know, my keyboard abilities are woeful. I just couldn’t get my fingers around the complicated chords and extensions in a way that pushed the recording forward.
The second reason it remained dormant for four months was my doubts about how good it was as a composition. I liked the angular melody above simple chords and the sudden shifts into new tonal areas every 8 or 16 measures. But did it have a spark?–that je ne sais quoi that I want for each of my songs?
Finally, I felt insecure about releasing a song about my insecurities. We all want to curate an image of ourselves that makes us look good. Even a song about being bad can put the protagonist in a positive light: “I’ve changed for the better,” “I was wronged but heroically rose above it,” “I’m a tragic genius or a mysterious bad boy.”
One of my commitments here at my musical diary is to forego the posing and the polish, simply releasing music in its raw form. The Musical Diary of Greg Scheer: what music looks like when it wakes up in the morning!
How did I overcome my deficiencies, doubts, and insecurities to finish the song? First, I moved away from my mediocre piano playing to my less mediocre guitar playing. Eventually, I’ll record this with a real pianist, but for now, the repeated electric guitar quarter notes get the job done. I also put the bass way up in the mix; play to your strengths and all that. I had left room for a solo in the middle of the song, but once again decided I wasn’t up to the task. Instead, I found a graduation speech from Jon Batiste that addressed the very kind of musical outsiderness that the lyrics talk about. It was encouraging to hear such a fine musician discuss the resilience it takes to be your own person and how rejection can strengthen your vision. Thank you, Jon! I ended the song with a rising chorus of harmonies–simple, but cool.
So there you have it: a song that has overcome adversity to make its way into the world. I don’t know if it will be a colossal failure or a runaway hit, but it’s part of the exploration that is invaluable to my growth as a composer.
How many times am I going to try
before I just give in?
How long can I find
the strength to begin again?
How many doors have I knocked on
and still not been let in?
How long will I stand
on the outside looking in?
Where can I find the keys to this gate?
What do I have to do?
So far I haven’t had any luck.
I haven’t got a clue.
So I knock and I call
and I pound and I shout
and I do it again and again.
And I scratch and I dig
and I walk all around
and I’m looking for any way in.
Oh, I knock and I call
and I pound and I shout
and I do it again and again.
But it’s always the same
and I always end up
on the outside looking in.
A friend sent me this lovely Chinese communion song and a literal translation by a missionary/translator. There is no better way to procrastinate than to translate, arrange, and record a new global hymn, so I set to work!
The key to translating a song is to get the spirit of the song, rather than just the words. Is the song highbrow or heartfelt? What is the rhyme scheme in the original language–or is there one? Is the music simple or complicated? All these questions come into play when “transplanting” a song from one culture to another.
“One with the Lord” is a simple chorus with no surprises or sophisticated nuances. And yet, in its simplicity it is lovely and immensely singable. You’ll notice that the lyrics are all in first person. I’m not always a fan of “Jesus and me” communion songs, but I’ll make an exception for this authentic expression of personal prayer. One of the difficulties was that meter is 6.6.6.4. With lines that short–and distinct breaks between each line–it’s hard to fit all of the Chinese lyric’s meaning into so few English syllables. In cases like this, I always choose singability over correct grammar.
I would love to hear from anyone who has sung the song in its original language or know where the song originated!
1. Christ gave himself for me–
body and blood for me.
The bread and cup I see
come from our Lord.
Christ broke the bread of life,
poured out salvation’s wine.
I eat and drink and I’m
one with the Lord.
2. I have been crucified.
My sin is dead in Christ.
And yet I am alive–
alive for God.
I am made new in Christ.
Darkness gives way to light.
Christ has become my life.
Glory to God!