One of the things I do as I sip my first cup of coffee in the morning is check the daily deal on Amazon MP3. This website and it’s offerings have supplanted iTunes as my go-to source for downloaded music. It offers DRM-free music when I make a purchase. The website explains, “Digital Rights Management or ‘DRM’ commonly refers to software that is designed to control or limit how a file can be played, copied, downloaded, shared, or accessed. DRM-free means that the MP3 files you purchase from Amazon.com do not contain any software that will restrict your use of the file.”

Amazon MP3 has very effective download software (optional) that works with Mac and Windows and loads the songs directly into iTunes if you set it up to do so. Each month there is a special 100-album selection that only costs $5 per album. Most new-release selections are $9.99–I have seen 100’s of popular records as low as $7.99 and under.

In this day of challenged budgets and diminishing resources, Amazon MP3 proves to be a great way to help you escape from it all with a new record on your iPod. And, by the way, you can find some of my stuff on there, too.

I, my friends, am one happy customer!

I watched a few episodes of the Dick Van Dyke show with Brenda this morning. I was struck with the quality of the production from the beginning to the final credits of each installment. That brings me to ponder about the concept of excellence. I could go on and on with this subject today but I will make a simple observation.

There are three camps in the human race: one who brings their best in skill and effort to each activity and/or project; one who doesn’t see the trouble expended is worth the effort; and the last one is a group of people who are selective about the quality and excellence of certain things and are neutral or don’t fuss about the others. Most of us fall into the final category.

When it comes to music, live productions, writing, visuals, etc., I am a stickler for excellence. My dad always said that God enjoys worship even if it is out of tune. I really think He cringes like we parents do during our child’s talent show or recital– yes, they are our kids but, man that was painful! We are born with differing talents and aptitudes. Life is not “fair” in that regard. Some of us see uneven roof lines on a house, some folks are oblivious. Some can’t stand to see a tilted picture frame and won’t rest until it is righted. Some are fussy about their clothes. Most of us are fussy about some things and not so much with others.

I choose to put as much excellence as I can into the worship leading, music, writing, playing, singing and producing I do. Some critics may disagree with some of the content, but I am going to do my best to make sure that the presentation is at it’s best. After all, I respect you, the beholder; I respect God, my Creator; and I respect myself because I have to live with the outcome. Your time is important to me. And if I capture your valuable time for even a wink, I want to bring you my best.

So, why do we lay out paper plates and plastic tableware when we can offer our best china, so to speak? Excellence comes first by recognizing a high standard. We plan and rehearse to attain that standard and we make corrections along the way in the process to bring our presentation to the public. The spectators in our world make judgments on our God, our belief systems, our families, our work– based on presentation. I am not out to impress everyone. But if I am going to say, “Hey, look at this…,” I am gonna be sure to not waste your time.

Like Brenda’s grandma always said, “Soap is cheap and water is free.” Use it!

Several years ago I was co-producing a worship project in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. The bass player and engineer on the project is a fine singer, writer, player and producer. From time to time, when the hay gets low in the loft, he, like the rest of us hustlers, produces budget projects for “non-professionals”. One such group had just finished a marathon, all-niter recording session with my friend reluctantly at the helm. As he was finishing up, writing the last few notes on the tape box with a Sharpie, a group member was scratching his head, looking bum-fuzzled, searching around the recording console as if he were trying to find his missing keys. My friend asked the guy what was the matter. The man, still looking quite puzzled, looked into my friend’s tired, blood-shot eyes and asked with a slow, country drawl, “Where duz da recuds come out?” He thought, when the session was done, the 45’s popped out of the side of the mixing board like candy from a vending machine .

Sadly, most people don’t have a clue as to how “recuds” (records) are made. Since I and countless others make a living in Nashville, Music City, it is the obvious place to come, while on the eastern side of the US, to make a recording. Everything one needs to accomplish that goal is pretty much here- en masse. Though, just because one has the money, the dream, the time, the guts and a strong defense against rejection, it doesn’t mean they will come away with a great record. Great records are few and far between and it doesn’t take a genius to know one when he hears one.

In my office, on each wall to my left and right, are LP covers mounted in shadow boxes bearing the artwork and photos of the albums and artists I adored and listened to growing up. When folks come over many of them ask, “Did you play on those records?” First of all…I am not that old. And second, I WISH! To me, these 10 or so record covers represent the finest moments in my life when I would carefully place the vinyl on a turntable, then study the liner notes and pictures as the music coaxed me into another world. The scratching of the needle against the final grooves broke my trance and reminded me to turn the disc to the other side. My favorite moments on those albums all had the same thing in common and contained the ultimate triumvirate: 1) great songs; 2) great performances and 3) a supernatural, other-worldly, brilliant moment that is captured in a fine recording.

The “fine recording” doesn’t always mean pristine. It just means that the full potential of the recorded material is all there– hiss, crackles and all! When I listen to the Carter Family’s 1927 recordings, they are masterpieces but sound ancient to our digitally-trained ears. A.P. Carter’s song selection and harmony, Sara’s lead vocal, and Maybelle’s unique guitar picking and harmony all add up to a spectacular, albeit earthy record. Elvis produced great records at Sun in Memphis and in Nashville at RCA, Studio B. A modern recording that, to my taste, is one of the finest: I Can’t Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt. (I have seen numerous lists where this recording is mentioned as an all time favorite). The song captures a longing and a sadness with which everyone can relate…what a vocal, what a song! A great record came out a few years ago and I was surprised to see it basically fall from the charts and go almost unnoticed. It was a 2002, Bob Rock produced CD from the group, Tonic, called Head on Straight. The songs were great, the playing was great, the recording, vibe…the total sum was “masterpiece”. Sometimes great art goes unnoticed. It’s intrinsic value isn’t measured by economics but by it’s ability to remain standing after the junk-food music eventually and deservingly fades into obscurity.

Great records are everywhere. George Jones, James Taylor, ZZ Top, The Beach Boys, John Coltrane…they all made a few in their careers. The cool thing is, they are more accessible today than ever through Amazon, Amazon MP3, iTunes, etc. I still love to browse through used record stores for the “great find”. Where duz da recuds come out? Well, they come out of lessons learned, broken hearts, joyous highs and melancholy, blue gazes through rain-streamed windows. Great records break into our souls with a flashlight and expose the truth of what we feel as humans. Great records take us to other places and times. Great records just are!

While I was writing the blog about Saturday morning cartoons, I shed light on a little visited area of my past: haircuts. My brothers and I would usually don shaved heads in the summer. I guess it was just easier for my mom to place a board across an empty oil drum/ trash can and lift us up there to receive our “butch” for the season. She would leave just a little patch in front where we would dab on a little bit of “butch wax”. As I remember, it was pink, sticky, but smelled clean and fresh like the barber shop. There was very little foolishness when it came to hair, discipline and my 5′-2″ mom.

When we got older, long hair became cool. I learned the hard way as an adolescent that long, unwashed hair was laughed at. So, the people-pleaser in me succumbed to peer-pressure and began washing my hair everyday. Up until then, washing the hair for men wasn’t much more than a quick scrub with a bar of soap and that was it. At that point, in the 70’s, products came out to wrangle the men-folk into a primarily female world: hair care products. I was the first boy I knew that got a shag. I guess my mom persuaded me to go to a “stylist” and get my hair cut in layers, as opposed to the barber’s way of my past, cutting the top to one length and buzzing the sides. We then had to arm ourselves with our sister’s/ mom’s hair dryer each morning. It became a two-hour ritual for guys to get ready when at an earlier time it took all but 10 minutes to shower, dry, get dressed and head out the door.

One thing that my dad handed down to me and outlives hairstyles and fashion- its wearing cologne. My dad would always put on some sort of tonic after he shaved and a faint smell would remain even after he got home from work. In the 60’s my dad started using a cologne that I love to this day called Aramis. People at the store counters roll their eyes when I ask about it, but it really smells good and it has stayed around for over 40 years. I never fell for the Jade East/ Hi Karate of the 60’s. It all smelled the same to me: Skin Bracer. Still to this day, I don’t feel complete without wearing some kind of cologne before I start my day.

I am glad that hair went back to no-fuss in that past several years. I haven’t used a blow dryer for 10 years. I like to throw some gel on my half-wet head, spike it up and go. Brenda is looking online for a new doo for you-know-who. I only hope that it doesn’t involve hair dryers.