On the Music Group Being in the Image of the Triune God

I had a bit of a rant the other day about "proper" versus quire music. And you may not be aware, but in my salad days I used to be the cello-player in a folk/rock/worship group called "Elijah's Babies". Which is why I tend to favour the Mellstockian in all things music-worshipful, I guess.

I've always thought there's something rather wonderful about being in a band as opposed to being a soloist. And we players of bass instruments notice it most of course. It's like an image of the trinitarian model of God - the way that the different instrumentalists have to offer up their different roles to God, each other and the congregation. There's something of an epiphany about the way the keyboard player has actually to look up; to recognise s/he is in a group; to stop playing all the lead notes during verses, recognise there's a vocalist to do that and a bass player to do the bottom line, and a guitarist to fill in the mid-range - and just play the stuff that makes the whole thing just right. The rhythm section keeping the show on the road, the bass/cello/serpent/left hand of the keyboard player adding the depth that brings us to the profoundest place of worship - each playing their part, and then yielding to the other in their turn.

I remember one day, we were playing the Cropredy Folk Worship Gathering, and we were scheduled to play the inevitable "Be thou my Vision (Celtic Style)". We'd got it just right in practice. Started quietly - just tabor, voices and a bit of cello for the bass (a lovely, stabbing, short stroke). Then building, bringing in the other instruments until the last verse when, bringing the song to a crescendo, we threw the kitchen sink at it. Quite literally, actually. Throwing a kitchen sink at a dinner gong has a lovely effect, I always feel - both exotic and yet homely at the same time.

So we were ready. Me and Bodhran Bill looking intently at each other, ready to move the audience - I mean, congregation - with this most evocative of songs. We waited, as we always did, for that moment of perfect peace when the anticipation of the gathered worshippers created a still point - a thin place, if you will, into which the music would be breathed into that first chord.

Of course, you know what happened,  don't you? Terrified by an extended period of time (ie about 30s) in which he had nothing to contribute, Ivor the Ivories launched into a traditional church-style introduction. At the wrong speed. In the wrong key. In the wrong key signature.

We can laugh about it now, of course. But in fact at the time it was a great learning experience. In particular, I learned it's very hard to remove Irish Harps from round the necks of organists without taking their ears off. Terrible, sticky-out ears, keyboard players.