The Revelation of Charles Wesley
Guest contributer! And no, I'm not Methodist but the puns basically wrote themselves.
The following is a short essay written by a friend of mine on a college entrance exam. It speaks to the thrill and otherworldly joy of musical discovery. It is a concise and deeply personal examination of the relationship between man and music.
In the earliest days of electronic keyboard technologies, there was a distinctly unrealistic tinge to the output, especially noticeable for stringed instruments. It was surprising. After all, the keyboard sounds were based on live recordings and they seemingly replicated them flawlessly. It was found that the sonic flaw was in the minuscule period of time where the musician first touched the guitar strings or laid the bow onto the violin. The “attack” with its minute imperfections were what lent such a flavor to the actual instruments and it was something that the early keyboard makers didn’t realize. At its finest, discovery can fuel change. The moment when a new song hit your eardrums and resoundingly impacts you is magical and the “attack”, that first moment is what creates the magic. The following short essay brings that pivotal singular moment to life in an eloquent and profoundly relatable manner.
-Joe
One-and-a-half years after it was released, I heard it for the first time. The fingerstyle acoustic, the soaring steel guitar, the dissonant violin double stops – all of these sounds and more enveloped me as I lazily lay in my bed, longing for the next auditory delight, which I would soon receive. The “fix?” Charles Wesley Godwin’s solo debut album, Seneca.
Hearing the introductory guitar riffs to the opening track, “(Windmill) Keep On Turning,” I knew I had entered into a realm of sonic splendor. The combination of Appalachian folk, country, and Americana yielded a perfect blend of dark, hazy timbres from the creaking violin, worn guitar, and Godwin’s gothic vocals, contrasted by the vibrant, clear shades of steel guitar and percussion. However, it wasn’t until the fourth track, “Seneca Creek,” that I felt something truly resonate with me. One line in particular allowed me to identify the beauty of Godwin’s lyricism:
“[I told her] I’d marry her with half a carat.”
Indicative of the album's constant themes of hope and contentment in spite of adversity, the song's main character (Godwin's grandfather) confesses to his grandmother that he is willing to give her all he has, no matter how meager it may be. Somehow, this simple line about the relentless love of a West Virginian couple in the mid-20th century stirred me, a Floridian boy, over 70 years later. From that moment on, I knew that this album was more than just its sonic identity. It expanded beyond music. It was alive, its heart and soul encapsulated in one key aspect: story.
Before hearing this album, the aspects of music I most appreciated were sound, poetry, and message. While these all still hold a place in my heart, Seneca allowed me to recognize a side of music I had never truly respected. From contentment in the face of hardship shown in “Seneca Creek” to the gut-wrenching love letter a man sings to his widow portrayed in “Sorry For The Wait” to the plight of coal miners revealed in “Coal Country,” Seneca completely restructured my view of music and has served as a catalyst for my shift to the genres and styles I adore today.
There’s a belief among lyricists and poets that asserts: “The more specific the details, the more universal the message.” This is the perfect summation of my thoughts on Seneca. These stories are not about people like me, but I still relate to them, and that’s because the meaning is so human. I may not be a moonshiner on the run from lawmen whose story is outlined in “The Last Bite,” but I do know what it’s like to be trapped and feel consequently impotent.
And that is why I love stories. They allow a person to empathize with someone he will never be. And that is why, on a lonely summer day, lying in my room, I fell in love with Seneca.
-Tristen
Joe here. I couldn't resist adding a little bit of the Seneca discussion. It is one of my favorite albums and I enjoyed (maybe too much) putting some words to pixels about the mastery within it.
Like his namesake, a talented wordsmith in his own right, the modern age Charles Wesley utilizes the ramshackle constraints of the English language to convey raptorous adoration of the subject matter. Whether in the depths of spirituality or the heights of West Virginia, the timeless Wesleyan tongue elegantly brings forth the profound via the mundane mediums of poetry and song.
I came across Seneca in the midst of my early journey into the depths of the independant country/ Americana scene. Godwin wields his rough hewn tone and impeccable writing to create a firm sense of place. Upon listening to the ethereal ballad Seneca Creek, I almost felt the silt of the muddy bottom of the creek underneath me. The selfsame feeling of place and tangible reality replicates itself all throughout the album bringing the lives and the region to 4k technicolor. Truly remarkable and a worthy album of the decade contender.
Endnote: Things are busy in my life right now. This was written back in mid November. Hopefully there will be some end of year recap content for you subscribers (maybe an expanded end of year Burd Bites). I'm trying to write some material in advance so December and January will roughly follow the regular biweekly posting schedule.
From the crew at Today I Heard we wish you an enjoyable holiday season.
-Joe