Old Plastic Records

When I realized that the website for WBDY-LP, the Binghamton, NY Community Radio Station (99.5 FM and on Patreon), had linked to this “Peace, Grace, and Jazz” blog, I thought I’d better add something here that noted how much fun it is to be back in radio each week. My show is called “Classic Vinyl Jazz,” and is a way for me to move through several hundred jazz LPs in my attic looking for music I had been ignoring for years. And actually play and listen to my favorite musical genre.

In previous years’ entries here, I’ve noted the other jazz shows I’ve produced and hosted: “Headset Jazz,” “Public Affairs and All that Jazz,” the B-103 “Jazz Brunch,” and “The Spirit of Jazz.” All were produced and aired in Richmond, VA, with the latter syndicated to a few cities by the Presbyterian Media Mission. Through the years, I had accumulated jazz LPs of all sub-genres (straight ahead, fusion, “contemporary,” etc.) thanks to record distributors, radio station music directors, and my own purchases. When stations dropped jazz or dropped off the broadcast spectrum entirely (WRGM, a 10,000 watt day-timer and WRFK, an FM sold by its owner Union Presbyterian Seminary), the records were orphans and I adopted them. (Truth be told, most of what I played on air was given me directly by those Columbia and Atlantic record reps; they knew I was one of only a handful of jazz deejays who would play — and therefore promote — their “product.” So, my personal library grew.)

When I left Richmond for my Vermont parish ministry, the jazz and rock records (rock from 20+ years producing “Celebration Rock”) were packed in boxes and occasionally played for my own pleasure. Ten years later, the collection found its way to the damp basement of our Ithaca, NY home which was just a parcel or two up from Cayuga Lake. Not the best storage space. Mildew. By this time, CDs were the media from which our music came, and the records were neglected.

Then came my retirement from active ministry, and our move to Owego, NY. The whole record collection was moved into the attic of the new house. I did wipe the jackets (covers) clean of mildew, and eventually the “moldy oldie” aroma disappeared. The record surfaces were miraculously clean, and still fine for broadcast. But I had other things to do with retirement, and the records remained on shelves, except for the times I’d pull one out to play on my only turntable while working on my model train layout in the sizable attic space. (The attic also held my reel-to-reel Revox tape recorder, big console speakers, and my early-marriage amp, all encouraging me to play an occasional LP as I “been workin’ on the railroad.”) Oddly, the Upstate NY weather and the attic’s seasonal challenges of frigid winters and summer sun have had no effect on the records, maybe because they are tightly packed onto the shelves up there.

Meanwhile, for several years I’ve co-hosted a television program produced by the Broome County (NY) Council of Churches, and late in 2023 I interviewed the manager of a low power radio station operated by the Bundy Museum of History and Art in Binghamton. The rest is recent history. I shared an idea for playing jazz exclusively off vinyl for an hour each week, and Andru’s advice was to record a few programs before airing the first one. Then as 2024 dawned, each program would be broadcast a couple of times a week. I thought we’d begin with 13 shows, rerun them, and then evaluate the process.

Turns out, I have now (as of this morning) recorded 22 fresh shows and aired no reruns. This is too much fun to let go. I look forward each week to choosing the music, recording the tracks, and adding my voice to the Audacity files to produce the program. I upload the final mix to WBDY-LP, and the station airs each program twice, once on Friday night and again on Saturday morning. I couldn’t be happier with the time slots! Plus, for a station with a comparatively small transmitter, the signal reaches almost the whole area of the Southern Tier’s “Triple Cities” of Binghamton, Johnson City, and Endicott and their immediate environs. Plus the program can be heard at the Bundy Museum’s website, and is available far and wide through Patreon, a subscription service.

I learned after the first shows had aired here that other community stations around the country could pick up shows they wanted to re-broadcast and add them to their schedules. So, I see that “Classic Vinyl Jazz” is now available on stations in Freeport, ME, San Antonio, TX, and through the Global Community Radio streaming network in Geneva, NY.

Finally, the title: “Classic Vinyl Jazz.” Yes, it’s all off vinyl records. Those range from the first jazz I bought while in high school to the LPs I bought last week. I regret that some of my recent favorite artists don’t have exposure on CVJ because they haven’t released any vinyl. But limiting the music to vinyl is my edge, my focus. As for “jazz,” I play it all, from Dixieland (a tiny bit) to big bands (too much, I admit), hoping to keep listeners happy. And the “classic” part? There’s the rub. To be sure, playing Brubeck’s “Take Five” and Herbie Hancock’s “Maiden Voyage” are bows to the true classics. But I also play classic tunes by less familiar artists, and keep things fresh by playing more contemporary jazz that (who knows?) might someday be a classic. Plus, heck, the vinyl itself is kinda classic. Right?

Besides, as I’ve said on the show, I could have simply titled the program “Old Plastic Records from My Attic.” And WBDY would be OK with that.

 

Special Places: Montreat

[Each day in Lent, I am writing of a sense of place. Today, a place of community, spiritual growth, and re-creation.]

To Presbyterians, especially those of the southern persuasion, the Montreat Conference Center is as close to our Mecca as anyplace on the planet. When I first thought of writing about “place,” Montreat was among the first of the “sacred spaces” that occurred. It is just up the road from Black Mountain, NC, about 40 miles west of one of the country’s most attractive smaller cities Asheville. Until my seminary years, I’d never even heard of the place. And then when my Southern Presbyterian classmates spoke of it, I was skeptical. And then I visited that mountain retreat the first time, and I was ready to look for a home there. (Not likely, of course. $$$)

Assembly Inn, Montreat, NC

Joan and I have driven through the Montreat gateway too many times to count. We have never driven away disappointed with our time there. The annual Montreat Worship and Music Conferences were a highlight of many summers for Joan and me. She followed the music track, and I feasted on the theology and liturgy offerings, both of us finding fresh approaches, new ideas, spiritual renewal, and that warm sense of genuine community that springs from reconnecting with old friends from across the church.

Those conferences drew a thousand or so pastors and musicians (the professionals and members of church choirs, instrumentalists, and bellringers) for each of two identical conferences held back to back each summer. The leadership varied year by year, but was almost always the top people in their respective fields. The participants, young and older, sang in huge choirs through the week, worshipped creatively in festival atmospheres and quiet chapels, attended Bible studies and organ workshops, rang handbells and took notes at lectures, and walked and walked and walked the grounds from one venue to another — often from 7:30 a.m. until 9 p.m. or so when daily exhaustion and evening prayer ended the official day.

Imagine creative festival worship experiences with a youth choir of 200 and an adult choir of 800!

But there was more to Montreat. I attended some rather routine planning meetings there and some continuing education events. I remember leading a regional youth event where I talked about the impact of mass media; I titled the event “Voices and Visions from Electronic Boxes.” We listened to rock music and watched excerpts of popular TV shows. Once I was the keynote speaker for a national gathering of “singles” — again sharing ideas about our media-mediated culture. One summer I offered a similar seminar for the national Presbyterian Youth Conference. It was at the end of that week that Tom Tate asked me if I’d be the keynote speaker for the three identical Youth Conferences the following summer. That was a yikes!! moment. I said yes. After lots of planning meetings and weeks of writing and gathering media, the team pulled it off, thanks to an auditorium crew that knew how to bring audio and video tape presentations to the stage for maybe 3000 teenagers over the three conferences.

Whatever the occasion, Montreat provided get-away time for our family, as well as true re-creation ranging from hiking Lookout Mountain, square dancing in the Barn, or just sitting by Lake Susan watching the swans. And the people: old classmates, colleagues in ministry, seminary profs, and young people (some of whom I am still in touch with some 40 or so years after).

Among the fondest memories of Montreat: our “landlords,” Lamar and RuthMary Williamson. Lamar was professor of New Testament at the former Presbyterian School of Christian Education where I taught video. He built their home into the side of a mountain almost single-handedly. (It was either plumbing or the electrical work where he needed some help.) They offered us one floor of that precious space each summer, and they were the warmest of generous hosts. The photo below was taken on their porch. It says what Montreat meant to us as well as any image. Peace. Well, except for the many busy, busy conferences!

Here’s your question for today: what place holds special meaning for you? Somewhere you love(d) being, beyond the daily life of work and play? Maybe that place is sacred to you. Holy. Or, perhaps a retreat to which you return in your heart on the hardest days.

You up for a visit?

 

Gratitude: A Riff

As far as I’m concerned, every expression of gratitude is a prayer of thanksgiving.

From our parents to Captain Kangeroo and Mr. Rogers, we learned at an early age that saying “Thank you,” was good manners. The right thing to do. And when the words were spoken not as a mere courtesy or unthinking habit, but as a sincere expression of a grateful heart, the words were as much a blessing as the gift or gesture that prompted the two-word sentence. Especially if eyes spoke to eyes.

I enjoy looking at the etymology of common words. The word “thank” is related to a kind thought. The word gratitude is linked to an expression of praise. In an era when criticism and meanness abound, gratitude may seem somewhat foreign, or homeless. Thank God (literally) that there are still enough kind hearts that recognize, even laud, the grace of giftedness that surrounds us day by day, and prompt a simple “Thank you” in return.

Here is a half-hour radio program of gentle jazz that centers on thanksgiving…in any season. It is one of the last in my series “The Spirit of Jazz.” [The date may be 2012.]

The Spirit of Jazz: Gratitude