The Quiet Man

The first time we laid eyes on Josh Oliver was New Year’s Eve, 2006. The Everybodyfields were about to open for the Avett Brother’s at the Neighborhood Theater in Charlotte. We saw him standing beside the band’s van behind the venue and mistook him for one of the Avetts. He was traveling with the ‘fields. The next time we saw him was at a ‘fields gig at the Map Room in West Ashley, Charleston, SC in February of ’07. We realized then that he was a roadie, sound guy and merch man for the band. We didn’t realize that he was also a musician, quietly working his way into the group.

By the time the Everybodyfields released their acclaimed CD Nothing is Okay Oliver was a full-fledged side man, playing keyboards and electric guitar, and offering occasional background vocals. When the band stopped by our house that summer for lunch we got to know him as the “quiet man,” unassuming, but warm. He demonstrated some licks on the piano to our oldest son.

Not long thereafter the ‘fields disintegrated, the lead songwriting duo of Sam Quinn and Jill Andrews going their separate ways. Josh hung around, playing with both artists in their respective solo acts. We saw him again at the Grey Eagle in Asheville, playing and singing scintillating harmonies in support of Sam’s new album, The Fake that Sunk a Thousand Ships. He took that same lonesome voice, raised at the foot of Chilhowee Mountain in Maryville, TN, and complimented Jill Andrews in her slick new band.

What we didn’t know was that Josh was quietly working on an album of his own. But here it is, entitled Troubles, released on the first day of summer, 2011. The set consists mainly of Oliver, his guitar and occasional piano, with some intermittent help from Brandon Story (upright bass), Megan Gregory (fiddle, bgv’s) and Sam Quinn (bgv’s).

Troubles is a collection of covers old and recent as well as a few originals. The vocal arrangements on “I Will Never Marry” are breath-taking and heartrending, while the cavernous guitar and organ effects on the original “Lonesome Heartbroken Blues” are chilling. We can summarize Oliver’s accomplishment by focusing on two tracks, “Red Rocking Chair” and “Pass Me Not.”

The former – alternately titled “Sugar Babe” (or “Sugar Baby”) – was originally a banjo “rounder” common to the upper South. The first known recording of it was made by Virginia banjoist Dock Boggs in 1926. Two versions of the song appear on the Hammons family recording from the ‘70s. Given that the Hammons’s played mostly 19th century tunes, it is likely that “Sugar Baby/Red Rocking Chair” dates from that time (later versions were made by Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and Jeff Tweedy of Wilco). Oliver’s rendering shares little in common with the others apart from the lyrics. Here, the guitar alternates between sparseness in the verses and restive, jazz-like inflection in the gaps; and Oliver’s tortured, reverberated vocals ring over what feels like an abandoned hollow. Unlike Boggs’ biting work-out, this one is a regret-laden dirge.

Similarly, Oliver takes the familiar hymn “Pass Me Not” and, with the assistance of Sam Quinn on harmonies, turns it into as sorrowful a number as Hank Williams could have mustered. It’s high and lonesome and southern Appalachian, to be sure; but one can almost picture a blind Bartimaeus crying out to the passing Savior, as well.

These tracks show us that Josh Oliver is both a conservator and faithful interpreter of tradition. He is mining the rich seams of American folk and spiritual music, making the nuggets his own and informing his originals. It’s the emergent signature style and the discovery of one’s voice, based on deep reflection and experience, which makes this a satisfying debut to own.

The Fed Says Let the Bad Times Keep Rollin'

Bottom line on the economy: we need higher interest rates, more savings, and lower prices. As one who commutes nearly 60 miles round trip per day, a gas price approaching $4.00/gallon had me sweating bullets. The price is now falling as QE2 falters. Thanks be to God. But we need incentives to save, not more stimulus.

A more thorough explanation from Christian economist Shawn Ritenour is here:

Foundations of Economics: The Fed Says Let the Bad Times Keep Rollin': "The Federal Open Market Committee announced yesterday that they will keep up record monetary stimulus after QE2 finishes. They correctly see..."

Arthur

Arthur Alligood is an Americana artist who lives in White House, TN, about 30 miles north of Music City. He is married and has three daughters. Originally from Athens, GA, Alligood (pronounced alley-good) has a passion for literature, including Georgia’s own Flannery O’Connor. Like one of O’Connor’s peacocks, Arthur’s music slowly turns and reveals its brilliant golds and greens in its own time. His new album, I Have Not Seen the Wind, is as spacious and intimate as a shady mountain overlook; honest and humble without a trace of existential excess. It has its heartaches, adorned by a whining steel guitar. To quote one of its best songs, it’s a place “where the storm meets the sun.” Arthur has been there, and you’ll find yourself nodding in agreement, wanting to share it with friends near and far.

But don’t take my word for it. Christianity Today thinks this record merits attention.

Listen to the whole thing here.

Arthur just completed a two-week mini-tour, playing every night but one, from Indiana to Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, the Carolinas and back to Tennessee. One of his stops was our church, St. Jude’s Mission. I put out a call to the church and to friends on Facebook; we only managed to muster 20 for the show last Saturday evening. But Arthur was unruffled. He would rather play for five people who listen closely – as he did the first night of the tour at a house show – than to a large hall where many aren’t paying attention.

The twenty in attendance were unanimously moved by his songs. He sold several CD’s. He came home with us and played Wii with our 12 year-old son, who decided quickly that Arthur is his favorite among artists that have stayed with us. The next morning we went back to church and our pastor invited him to play a piece for the offertory (“The Master’s Side”). It was deeply moving. Those who hadn’t been there the night before were sorry to have missed it.

Our oldest son had to work Saturday night, so after Sunday lunch Arthur favored him with a mini-session from our big comfy couch.


The impressive thing about Arthur is his integrated life in God. Whether it’s being sad about setbacks and losses, or howling at jokes, or having fun with the chaps around my wife’s taco buffet, all is in God’s hands, in His time. Arthur is nearly two decades my junior, but I have a lot to learn from him. Mainly I need to learn, as apparently he has, to wait for God who, like the peacock, will spread His glory before us in His good time.

Rapture Ridicule

Since "no man knows the day or the hour" (Matthew 24:36), it is highly improbable that the rapture will occur this Saturday, May 21.

Granted, the religious group that has made such a forecast has set itself up for ridicule. But I refuse to join the snickering because I suspect that underneath is a dismissal of the idea of the Lord's return in particular, if not the Christian faith altogether. But the rapture is an event described by the apostle Paul in 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17. And there is nothing in the text that suggests a metaphor. In verse 17 he says the redeemed will be "caught up together" (along with resurrected saints) to meet the Lord in the air. The Greek word for "caught up" is harpazo, which means to "snatch up" in the manner of a bird of prey (raptor).

I've read objections stating that the word "rapture" does not appear in scripture. But the word is simply a latinization of harpazo. The word "trinity" likewise appears nowhere in scripture; yet the vast majority of Christians believe in the Trinity as expressed in the historic creeds because its existence can be deduced from scripture.

The rapture is an event that Paul describes in conjunction with the Second Coming of Christ -- a prophetic expectation affirmed universally by the Church. I won't go into the various eschatological theories on the sequence of prophetic events as held by learned and reputable scholars. That isn't the point. Whether the rapture is foretold at all is not debatable (regardless of how one feels about John Hagee's politics). It is plainly prophesied by the apostle.

Therefore, while I feel embarassment for those who try to predict the timing of the unpredictable, I will not scoff at the Church's blessed hope.

Looking Forward

Gary North is an Austrian postmillennialist. I’m an Austrian premillenialist. That’s where our similarities end. Gary North has written over 50 books, is a sought-after conference speaker, and has made a nice sum of money over his life. I’m nothing but a lowly blogger, real estate appraiser and part-time cupbearer and reader at church.

As fellow Austrians, we agree that the current course of the U.S. economy is unsustainable. The phony, credit-driven, inflationary economy that hit high gear in the late 1960’s is winding down. There was a period of illusory prosperity during the ‘90s, but the wheels came off in 2007 with the collapse of the real estate bubble. QE2 has managed only to inflate the prices of gas, food, clothing, gold and silver (have you paid attention to my silver ticker in the lower right-hand column?). House prices are down and out. Case Schiller predicts another 20% drop-off before real estate hits bottom. The national debt has reached staggering proportions, with the central bank so despised by John Randolph, John Taylor and their tertium quid cohorts playing a leading role. Gradual default on entitlements and/or higher inflation is very likely.

Gary North is a consummate optimist. As a postmillennialist he expects an eventual collapse of the federal leviathan, brought on by the inalterable laws of economics which will set off a chain reaction of similar sovereign crises across the globe. The modern nation-state model will be discarded as freedom-hungry people look for alternatives that support civil society. The Church will emerge from obscurity and usher in another Golden Age, better than Byzantium. It will last for a thousand years, and then Christ will return.

I, too, am a consummate optimist. As a premillenialist I expect the eventual collapse of the federal leviathan, brought on by the inalterable laws of economics. In its place (or, perhaps evolving out of it) I expect a new order to emerge that is completely inimical to anything remotely related to Christ and His kingdom. It will deal with the debt and monetary crises by instituting an entirely new economy with an accounting system not based on any known, historic currency. You can peek at it between Revelation chapters 13 and 19. I am not a preterist. Christ will come again, bring down this approaching godless system, and establish His personal reign on the earth for a thousand years.

My opinion on this subject isn’t popular with probably 95% of my Anglican contemporaries; but some of the old-timers including Greek textual scholar Dean Henry Alford and Bishop J.C. Ryle agreed with the premillenial view. That “His Kingdom will have no end” isn’t at issue. That it involves a literal millennial stage before attaining its final state we can debate.

The premillennial view is helpful in allowing us to properly understand God’s purpose for creation (Romans 8:18-22). As part of the recent W.H. Griffith Thomas (who was Anglican, by the way) lecture series at Dallas Theological Seminary, Craig Blaising talked about the coming transformation of the earth in the eschaton. Of particular interest are his remarks on 2 Peter 3:10 and 12. Working from the best Greek manuscripts, he points out that the earth will not be destroyed but rather radically purged and refined by the approaching glory of Christ. “You will be either ruined by [the glory],” he said, “or received by it.”

Michael Vlach is tackling the issue by looking at the history of Christian thought on the eschaton. His latest blog post concerns the intrusion of Platonist philosophy on the church and its role in diminishing the original millennial expectation held by early fathers such as Justin Martyr and Ireneaus.

We have infinite glory to look forward to. In my view the current distresses afflicting the greatest economic and military empire in history are merely setting the stage.

The Other J.R.R.

It turns out that John Taylor of Caroline doesn't hold a candle to John Randolph of Roanoke. I recently finished Russell Kirk's biography of the latter and he has become the new embodiment of every political virtue I admire.

Randolph was afflicted with some malady that left him in a perpetual state of physical adolescence. His tall, stork-like frame and high, squeaky voice would have left him a joke and the subject of coarse jesting apart from the sheer power of his oration (Kirk's book includes full texts of several of Randolph's mesmerizing speeches). From the time he entered the U.S. Congress in 1803 (temporarily booted out when he vociferously opposed the ill-conceived War of 1812; when Virginia's economy was ruined by that conflict we has swept back into office) till the end of his career as the American envoy to Russia, Randolph was the undisputed champion of strictly-limited federal government and leader of the "old republican" faction that split from Jefferson after the Yazoo scandal.

His girlish voice and slight frame notwithstanding, Randolph was fearless and once fought a duel with Kentucky politician Henry Clay, the arch-proponent of Alexander Hamilton's "American system" of corporate welfare and central banking -- the very things Randolph most despised. Randolph's thin profile saved his life as Clay's first shot narrowly missed, leaving a bullet hole in Randolph's coat. Randolph graciously fired his shot into the air, then coolly approached Clay and said, "Sir, you owe me a coat."

He once declared that it would be a good omen if the Congress met and adjourned without passing once piece of legislation. He drew a sharp distinction between change and reform, willing to entertain the latter where crisis demanded it, but absolutely opposed to the former as useless tinkering that would invariably lead to worse conditions. We know how to start governments, he lamented; but he defied anyone to know how to control them once they got started. Randolph appealed to God's ways, which in holy writ and throughout history seemed to move at a glacial pace, slowly but permanently altering courses, in contrast to the work of the Devil, always restless and hurried. Randolph dreaded westward expansion, for he foresaw that with it would come federal expansion. "No government, extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific, can be fit to govern me or the people I represent." He grew to despise the French and their radical democratic revolution, and loved English institutions (he enthusiastically identified himself as a member of the Church of England). "I am an aristocrat; I love liberty and hate equality." Randolph's conservative Christian realism stood in contrast to Jefferson's liberal Deist optimism.

The aristocratic, non-egalitarian Randolph also hated the institution of chattel slavery. It was no small irony that he, as the scion of the wealthy Virginia family, inherited a large number of slaves and farmland on the banks of the Roanoke River in Charlotte County in Virginia's southern Piedmont. Randolph was as practical as he was conservative; knowing that it was against state law (at the time) to manumit his slaves, he opted to keep them and care for them in ways that surpassed all the apostle Paul could have hoped for from Christian masters. Randolph bowed to them, gave them the best of what he could provide, refused to separate family members, and only threatened to sell an unruly hand as a means to correcting insubordinate behavior (it appears he never sold any of them). Once asked who the greatest orator was in America, Randolph confounded an inquirer by asserting that it was a slave woman he had heard as a boy pleading from the auction block. Her eloquence, he declared, was unsurpassed.

At the end of his days Randolph made provision for the freedom of his slaves and bought land for them in Ohio. Ever distrustful of the West, he was buried facing in that direction so that he "could keep an eye on [Henry] Clay and the west." He must have grieved to see his former servants mistreated and forced off their land by the neighboring whites.