The Calling

by Lisa Jo~~ freelance writer, easily distracted shutterbug, and songstress

This guest post is from Lisa Jo, who my wife and I both love (and have for decades). She convinced me that music is great and that she knows music when I mentioned that I’d heard a song I really liked on the radio—one that included something about getting lost in your rock and roll and drifting away—but didn’t know the singer or the song. Lisa Jo filled me in on Dobie Gray and “Drift Away” then and she has filled me in on much else, about music and life, over the years. She has promised to write for Letters … again, and I’ll hold her to it if I can. (She should have her own blog instead but don’t tell her I said so.)

THE CALLING by Lisa Jo

She was simply a girl with a vivid memory, really.

Herself as a small child of maybe six years old, lovingly wrapped in a blanket and carried in the arms of her father to the rickety old couch in their living room; him placing the chunky Koss headphones on her small ears, walking over to lift the lid on the stereo unit, gently removing the vinyl from its dust jacket, placing it on the spindle, and setting the needle into the groove. And suddenly, there was nothing but music. Specifically, the sounds of The Pink Panther Theme. Then, sleep.

A visual list written by her mother of about 10 or so songs she could pick out by ear on the piano when she was still just a toddler, really.

A black and white 8mm moving picture of herself dancing and singing to a song in front of their window unit air conditioner.

She and her sister placing the portable record player in the upstairs window as they did majorette routines in the yard to a stack of 45s.

Sitting on a blanket in the grass at Chastain Amphitheatre, listening to her father play in the big band backing up Johnny Mathis for the evening’s entertainment.

A kiss planted on her teen-aged cheek by Jimmy Darren after her father’s evening set at a downtown Atlanta nightclub.

My first (and last) piano concert:

In His Image…Photos by Lisa Jo®️2023

You see, in their home, music wasn’t just something you listened to, it was what you did.  Her father, an educated band director, composer, and professional jazz musician; his father, a prohibition-era ragtime piano player; his uncle, a jazz fiddle player, and their father, a traveling music educator (like the original Music Man sans the Harold Hill sales pitch). 

My father’s hands:

In His Image…Photos by Lisa Jo®️2023

Her mother could play piano by ear with never a lesson having been taken.  Her aunt was chief pianist/organist for the church, and their mother sang with her three sisters in the earliest days of WSB radio.  She was helpless to even think of kicking back against the music in her veins…and she had no intention of doing so.

Raised in the church, she joined every choir available. At one time, she was in the children’s choir, a teen quintet, and the adult choir. High soprano back in the day was the prized possession of many a choir director and she had her fair share of solos. There was just one problem: her father did NOT want her to sing.  He had already laid out the life plan for her sister and she would be no different.  He was a combination of Pat Conroy’s Great Santini and Jackie Gleason with a heaping helping of Mozart genius thrown in for good measure.  Amazing musical prowess had he, and he couldn’t understand how his two girls didn’t also have it all in one package.  Alas, they were two – the older, with the musical aptitude, sightreading and proper attention to the rules, and the younger with an ear, good pitch and no fear of trying to reach extreme notes whether they be made by a male or female.  She just loved to sing.  Hence, it was hard to reign her in.  In the end, he couldn’t.  They struggled. She complied, for a while, on the oboe – the most disdainful of all sounds in the orchestra except maybe the Sousaphone, and it was at least invented by…well, Sousa. While intelligent and inquisitive, she was a lazy student, but her skill with the oboe garnered her a music scholarship and away she went…for half a term.

You see, being in the orchestra is not the same as LISTENING to the orchestra, or even being in a choir – one cannot hear the other parts. She also enjoyed chorus much more, and so she approached the faculty with the idea of switching her instrumental scholarship to vocal but alas, it was not to be. So of course, she did what any stubborn, strong-willed, foolish 17 year old would do. She quit college.

The music inside her lay dormant for almost 6 years. She moved to the big city, lived with her sister, and got a job at (oddly) a university. Oh, she went to concerts and sang in the car, yet she didn’t go to church; she didn’t even think of singing for quite some time. And then she met him. He was a bit downcast all the time, and she thought she could make him happy. He liked music, too, but it wasn’t until too late that she discovered his tastes ran much differently from hers - not to mention his ideas about marriage. Not even a month into the marriage, the glasses got shattered; the food got thrown against the wall; the lit cigarettes got thrown at her; and the fists started flying.

The one saving grace was that he allowed her to go to church. It became her only escape. He believed that through her faith, he was “protected”. Of course, she joined the choir. The music began to well up in her; to rebuild her confidence; to rekindle her desire to be free. One moonlit night, after one last effort to beat her down, she found herself on her knees, locked away from him, singing the most mournful of songs. Her cry was heard.

To this day, she believes that out of great pain comes great artistry.  Maya Angelou wrote, “The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Truly, it was as if all the music inside her came rushing out, ready to be heard. She joined a band, then a madrigal troupe, and she answered what she had finally discovered was her calling. Better yet, a whole new world of music awaited her during the Christian music revolution of the 80s & 90s. This music was fresh and filled with messages of hope. She was free; she was saved; and she was singing all over the place. She gave up the city life and moved back to her hometown.  Her friends told her she’d never meet anyone by singing and going to church all the time.

But I did. We met singing. We still sing occasionally, 31 years later.  Both of our sons are classically trained in piano and voice, but the older one has a great ear for improvisation, while the younger is the more “by the book” musician. Both are also worship leaders in local churches, and both married young ladies who could sing.

Back in the 60s, when my mother taught Sunday school, young people were seeking adults who could understand them.  She would pull out a song lyric and find a message in it to teach them. One of her favorites was:  “And the people bowed and prayed/To the neon god they made/And the sign flashed out its warning/In the words that it was forming/Then the sign said, ‘The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls’/And whispered in the sound of silence.” (Paul Simon/Art Garfunkel)

My sister (who actually completed 8 years of college) studied music therapy and found that music is used in all sorts of ways to improve mental and physical health.

I still believe musicians are modern-day prophets. I also know that music evokes such strong emotions and memories that if not, then Woodstock would just be a cute yellow bird in a cartoon; Amazing Grace wouldn’t be the most widely recognized hymn in the world; and our National Anthem wouldn’t pierce the hearts of different people for different reasons.

What music brings back a sad moment for you?  Well, then just think of a song that  brings back good memories! Whatever you do, “Don’t Stop Believin’” that you can get “Good Vibrations” when you listen to “Your Song,” and you’ll eventually be “Dancin’ In The Streets.”

For me, just a simple girl with a vivid memory, music is my salvation. I’ve spent the majority of my life so far with music in my head, my ears, and on my lips. When I was happy, it helped me spread joy. When I was terrified, it helped to soothe me. Music stirs, calms, smolders, rekindles, ignites, awakens, lulls us to sleep, makes us laugh, cry, uplifts us, brings us down to earth, divides, reunites, and speaks to hearts in all languages. All I really know is that when I was lost, music found me and led me back to the God of my youth, which turned my life into one of harmony.

“When I thought I’d lost me,

You knew where I left me,

You reintroduced me to Your love;

You picked up all my pieces,

Put me back together;

You are the Defender of my heart.”

~~”Defender”, Bethel Music

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