Picking up from yesterday…
On the surface, a free concert on a foggy beach in front of a few dozen faithful doesn’t sound like much. Don’t let the surface fool you. This was music from the heart addressing the three elements of life as we know it: earth, soul, and rock’n'roll.
The Lost Dogs individually and collectively are a fascinating study. They are as stubbornly human as the rest of us, yet are sanctified vessels of pure music addressing the entire spectrum of the Spirit’s light and what is revealed in the light. Music is a gift from God, a whisper of His pure language addressing us all. Some choose to hear while others to their loss turn away. All those of us who have been blessed with ears to hear can do is as best we can spread the word. You ought to hear this. You need to hear this. And no, I’m not spouting farcical hyperbole. They are that good.
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It was good to see and spend time with my beautiful beloved and crazy in a good kind of way friends and sisters Beth and Dawn. Beth, the determined planner and organizer who can not only formulate solid marketing plans but put them into action by pulling off the seemingly impossible job of getting musicians, normally not the most linear thinking lot, to match in a straight line for their own good. Dawn, the determined voice for the independent musician against a clueless, soulless industry. Both loving parents, both unfailingly gracious when called upon. Their marvelous parents were also there, as were Beth’s trio of energetic boys and Dawn’s teenage son Chris, blessed with heartthrob looks but far more important a heart for God plus a level of talent that can create delicate, touching melody one minute and blistering metal the next.
Somewhat surreal was giving each of the band members a copy of their special edition of the book, watching their faces as they immediately turned to their chapter and started reading. Back in my previous life when I was the hotshot journalist, despite all the articles about different artists and bands I wrote not once was I there when they first saw what I had written. It wasn’t the first time the members of the Lost Dogs had seen their chapters, as I have adhered to a promise made at the beginning of the process that everyone would have the opportunity to read and approve their chapter prior to publication, making changes they deemed necessary. But those were e-mails. Here at long last was an actual book. Their thanks meant more to be than I can express. It also provided additional fuel to finish the regular edition of the book, still one artist chapter (Nancyjo Mann from Barnabas — making good progress, though) and the afterword away from completion.
It might be a ragged glory known by the Lost Dogs and the faithful, but it is glory nonetheless.
