I’ve been a fan of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings for decades. While we were dating, my wife Ginny used to sing their songs as I strummed along on the guitar. When I think of our seminary years together, songs like “Miss Ohio” and “Orphan Girl” come quickly to mind, along with my personal favorite, the Dylan-esque “Wrecking Ball.”
This summer, Welch and Rawlings released a new album, “Woodland.” Like wine or a loving marriage, their signature guitar riffs, incredible vocal harmonies, and cleverly crafted lyrics have gotten even better with age. Welch has a knack for writing folk ballads that are simultaneously old-fashioned and relevant. On “Woodland,” “Lawman” protests police violence while “The Day the Mississippi Died” laments climate change. (“I do believe we’ve broken/ what we never knew could break.”)
This past year, I’ve marched and rallied and sung traditional protest songs. I’m sure the new year will bring more of the same. I think of these actions as “praying with my feet” (Frederick Douglass). Yet, I’m less interested in art – whether it is poetry or music – that aims to preach or argue, to convince or cajole. I want my soul to be moved. I want to be inspired.
My favorite song on “Woodland” is “The Bells and the Birds” with its lines, “Are they rejoicing or are they grieving? What do they say to you, my love?” Don’t the bells ring and the birds sing without words? So, our experience of these things is based on where we are and what we bring to them — perhaps most of all, what weighs on our hearts. I hold a deep belief in the intertwining nature of joy and sorrow, recognizing that many feelings – faith, hope, fear, anger, and love – are present whenever a community comes together. This is part of the reason why I go to rallies, protests, concerts, and, yes indeed, church.
Our dear friends invited Ginny and me to attend a show on Welch and Rawlings’ fall tour. Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh had died earlier that day, and the duo paid tribute to the musician by opening their set with “Brokedown Palace,” a song that the Dead often performed as their finale. After a few measures, there was a gasp of recognition from part of the audience. Even if you didn’t know the song, you had the refrain by the end, and we all sang, many with tears streaming down our smiling faces: “Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell.”
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