On the weekend of November 12, I was invited to speak at a symposium at Highlands Church in Denver, CO. Rev. Mark Tidd laid forth a daunting request. Would I be willing to speak open and candidly about my experience as a gay person of faith? He’s not the first person to ask. From the moment that others have become aware of my story I have received many requests to comment, admonish, endorse or simply just appear in the on-going, emotionally charged conversation about being gay and Christian. At the same time, I have found much encouragement to simply remain silent. The message seems to be clear: It is ok that I am gay, but it is not acceptable to some that I speak of it.
That being said, it took several long emails and phone calls with Rev. Tidd and the symposium facilitator, novelist, Jonathan Odell, for me to agree to participate in a symposium entitlted “The Evangelical Church & Homosexulality”. They worked hard to convince me that this was a moment of hospitality; an opportunity to release the tension of silence by means of sharing stories. Stories of loss, of joy, compassion and of spiritual growth. Stories not fully written, continually evolving, fragile and potent. Not unlike the stories any of us could relate to, regardless of gender, ethnicity, spiritual traditions, or social class.
Yet the elephant in the room remains, we are talking openly about the experiences of being gay in the church. I find that anytime I write it down (gay) or say it out loud (gay) or talk about the joys of sharing my life with a partner (gay)…there is always someone who comments that they wished that I would not speak.
In the words of a pastor who came out to his church, “Pastor, we all knew you were gay. We’re just made as hell that you told us.”
But here’s the rub. How well do we, or have we ever, responded when assumptions are made about our unique person? When we meet a new friend, join a new group, continue a relationship with another human being, we tell the stories of our lives. We share the narrative of how we grew up, what experiences have shaped us. We confess our sins, our misdeeds, waiting for the other person to make good their escape. We lure them back in with tales of our accomplishments, our victories, our strengths. We secure these bonds by showing our vulnerabilities and willingness for the capacity to love.
Along the way of living we accumulate the joys and sorrows of our individual experience that grow into ‘our story’. We learn by listening to others. We learn in the telling of our own journey. We wound, heal, divide and unite, over and over again.
I cannot avoid it. I have a story. Occasionally, someone asks me to share it in questions like: Where did you grow up? Why do think that? What’s your family like? How did you get that scar? What’s it like being gay?… Every time, the dizzying risks of vulnerability sound their alarm and I am left with a question:
Will I share my story?
Ok, my brain is fried, so for now, I thought I’d write about something a bit on the lighter side of things. I’m not much of a gear junky, but I am picky what I use out on the road. As I’m doing the solo acoustic thing a lot these days, I’m traveling very light. But what I do carry has to earn it’s keep when it comes to carrying it all around on my back like a pack mule.
First and foremost, I’m playing a Taylor 810ce. She always gets the most attention, so I’ll save space for my less acclaimed gear.
I recently added a Taylor T5-C2 to my quiver. It’s a Koa topped hollow body electric that Taylor describes as blurring the line between electric and acoustic guitars. It’s an accurate description. Currently, I’m running it direct, interchanging on the same line as my acoustic set up. Basically, I’m working the vintage, hollow body sound, and getting the front of house to add some reverb. It’s a nice aural change from listening to the acoustic all night.
L.R. Baggs Para DI
My gear on the floor is pretty basic. There are tons preamp options out there pitched to acoustic players that promise to deliver the warm tones of the unplugged, natural sound of an acoustic. For years I toured with a Demeter VTDB-2B tube DI. It is amazing, but it’s also a bit pricey, heavy to carry around and needs to be handled with a bit of care (although mine took a pounding and seems to have survived!) That’s where the LR Baggs Para DI comes to the rescue. It’s no accident that just about every performing acoustic artist has had one of these in their gig bag for better than a decade. It performs exactly as promised, it’s affordable and always reliable. It has saved my bacon on more than one occasion from feedback & EQ nightmares.
Boss TU-3
Of course, good tone is pointless if you’re not in tune, so before my guitar hits the DI, I run it through my Boss TU-3 Tuner pedal. The TU-3 is a very accurate chromatic tuner, which makes it versatile for alternate tunings. It also mutes while tuning which is handy.
Now that it looks like the T5 is going to stay on the road with me, I need to get a dedicated line for it, which means carrying a little more gear. So I’ve just ordered an LR Baggs Venue DI. It’s basically the same specs as the Para, just updated a bit and has a chromatic tuner built in for good measure.
Last, but certainly not least, are my Mono cases. The M80 series of guitar gig bags are without rival. They are durable, water resistant and not to mention… sexy! I feel like a rock star with these bags strapped to my back. Oh, and did I mention it is the best protection I’ve ever seen in a soft case? As airlines have started charging for every checked bag, I try to carry on all that I can. (This tactic also avoids the lost luggage dilemma when I’m traveling the same day as a show!)
Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. With a different stage every night, bringing some of my own gear is one of the easiest things to help me feel at home.
Ok, I’ve been inside my head all week. Mulling and obsessing as usual. Here’s what it looks like:
You may have caught the news, that former gothic novelist, Anne Rice has decried Christianity, in the name of Christ…Her words, not mine. With all the eloquent prose befitting her talents as a writer, she’s attempting to shed the label but not her faith.
The blogosphere went nuts; instantly posting, judging, cheering and jeering Ms. Rice’s exasperated expression. Many comments to the effect of “Get in or get out!”, “Put up or shut up”, “Be either hot or cold”…
I’ll be honest and say that after a week of ruminating over Ms. Rice’s comments I have experienced both elation and devastation on both sides of the coin. I so very deeply understand the frustration of identifying with the label of Christianity with which many parts of me seem incomplete when attempting to please all under its banner. At the same time, I have an acute awareness in recognizing that I am equally a powerful agent for the legacy, definition and culture of a diverse, mysterious faith.
But the questions that come to my mind this week are sociological/psychological in nature:
What are some of the labels I adopt, willfully or intrinsically?
Are there ones I wish I could choose/remove?
What is the value/effect of the personal adoption/rejection of these labels to me? To others?
Am I content with how the diverse elements of my life form the picture of my whole being?
Is it the label that makes me recognizable or valid?
Is the person I seek to be still honored without the assignment of grouping?
I know, I know- it’s a lot of questions. So let’s start small.
Here are a few ‘labels’ I have adopted and have been given:
woman, musician, artist, business woman, world traveler, writer, daughter, lesbian, country girl, student, employee, employer, leader, servant, Christian, Kansan, Australian, American…
I’m really curious, what are some of the labels you wear?
(click on this blogs header to view the comments section)
Links: Anne Rice Facebook, gestalt : principle of totality
Another view: Michael Rowe/Huffington Post; Alisa Harris/Patrol Online
No doubt, one of the most anticipated dates on my calendar this year, I had the opportunity to catch up with Lilith Fair 2010 in Kansas City and St. Louis this July.
First, it was a bit of a crap shoot ever getting a spot. (There’s not a girl with a guitar on this planet that wouldn’t consider all kinds of bribery to get this gig!) At the time that Sarah McLachlin & Co. were putting their line-up together, I was hardly worth mentioning. I hadn’t toured in years and didn’t even have a record pieced together. Most folks had only heard a whisper of my return. On a wing and a prayer, we tossed my hat in the ring and hoped…and to my surprise and honor, I got a couple of days!
Two dates are better than none, especially when you get to see up-close performances Sarah, Emmylou Harris and Mary J Blige!
I dunno why, but I’ve never been one to get too excited about things. About the best you get out of me is a wry smile and a laid-back response like “Yeah, that was very cool.” It takes a lot to get me jumping up and down, but Mary J’s performance in St. Louis had me stupid with excitement. I actually got out of my seat and jumped up and down a few times. I seriously thought my head was going to explode in joy ala Femme-bot style!
Considering how hot and unholy the weather was, it was a miracle I could even move at the end of the day. Everything was burnt to a crisp and then made soggy by hours of sweating. Fortunately, there were little patches of shade we could all share, have a chat and take a few photos. I don’t know why any of you would have wanted to even come near me, but then again, you guys were just as gross as I was! Nonetheless, I met some fabulous people. Not to mention just how humbling it was to have folks show up just cause they knew you’d be there.
By far the best moment was being on stage and watching my family come over the hill. Like I said, it was a miserably hot day, but they braved the weather. It gave me a chance to perform Mr Gray for my Grandparents for the first time…for which I received the most beautiful, sweaty kisses. Seriously, how much better can you get…
A few pics HERE
Behind the Scenes video HERE
As I talk to more & more artists, I am comforted to know that few are eternal wellsprings of constant inspired creativity. Frankly, some days it feels like I’ll never write another thing again, and worse, can convince myself that perhaps it doesn’t even matter. Fears, irrationality, irritability can trick me into long periods of inactivity. If it’s not ‘inspired’, I don’t want it. I stop writing, when what I should be doing is anything I can to get the pump working again.
Generally, I know I need to take some purpose to my creativity when I start pacing around the house, eating cookies for breakfast and muttering to myself: “You should be writing. You haven’t written anything in while. What’s your problem?” I avoid. I mope.
But the jig is up. Now that I’ve been through this a few times, I realize I can sit there and atrophy, or get up and start moving. Everything I create doesn’t have to be gold, nor does it have to be shared, but I do have to keep the muscles moving. Knit a sweater, draw a bowl of fruit, listen to music, write a letter to an inspiring person…
The Artist’s Way has been a good tool for me to grease the wheels of my creativity. It keeps me moving and mindful. I’ve been revisiting this book lately and it has been a great reminder to me that I needn’t fall over in a heap when I’ve nothing inspired rattling around in my head. The exercises get me writing and thinking. I hate to admit it, but sometimes the structure does me good.
Sometimes, Cameron reaches a little far into the realms of self-help for my liking, but at the very least, this series has equipped me with the notion that a moving mind is more likely to create than an idle one. What I like is that she doesn’t teach you how to write or paint or sculpt, that’s not the point. It’s not about launching oneself into an explosion of productivity so that we can be world-renown songwriters or the next Picasso. It’s about the need for expression that we all have and getting onto the business of exploring just how creative we all can be.
So, the Jennifer Knapp, Derek Webb and Amy Courts ‘no name tour’ has come to an end!
I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to Derek and Amy for their time, encouragement and flavorful company in helping me get my tour ‘chops’ back in shape! It is always a pleasure to share the load and the wonderful moments with friends.
As with any tour we need people to play, places to perform and people to come. A warm thank you goes out to all that helped make this happen, including the venues, their staff and of course our wonderful fans!
On a personal note, I feel like I’m starting to hit my stride. My legs have stopped shaking, the chords of the new songs are well on their way to being fully engrained in my muscle memory…but even more, it must be said, I am overjoyed at the opportunity to be reunited with so many familiar faces. It has been the overwhelming sincerity of each of you who have come out that keeps me going. I am grateful for your presence! So many nights I choked back tears of joy when greeted by your shining faces.
Thank you all for helping me get back ‘out there’ and for your support in generating excitement for the Letting Go release. I’ll see you soon!
Jennifer
In the abundant amount of private time I have been afforded to reflect, I have been deeply moved by the memory of rich experiences brought about through the intersection of faith and music. Generous fans, humble churches, believers, stumblers, seekers, the broken, the faithful and the faithless, alike, through the common thread of music we have found ourselves in the same spaces ignoble in our own humanity. Where I often begin, alone in sacred spaces, to plumb and pen the depth of my own person, music draws me out to the land of others. I discover that I am not alone, nor have I ever been.
As ever,
Jennifer
A kind soul who had taken any punishment I had forced upon her. She listened and heard my joys and deepest sorrows. She has been the most trusted of friends, having never judged even my most foolish of whims, always speaking to me in the most honest of tones. She did not cry when I left her, but bravely waited for my return. She endured the quiet darkness with me and rewarded me with the sweetest of songs upon our reunion. Still, I do not know her name. I just call her “The 810”.
She is a 1996 Taylor 810-WMB and I love her. Through the years she has waited patiently in the belly of airplanes, buses and ships to the result of many repairs, broken braces and (beautifully) cracking finish. Today she is tired and complaining of a desperate need for a re-fret and a serious vacation in a humid climate. And so it is I summoned compassion and retired her from active duty on Feb 17, 2010.
I have had many guitars over the years, most of which were merely workhorses designated for touring. The result was that I kept my heart distant, never giving them names (as so many guitarists seem to do), in the event they were destroyed or (worse) completely un-inspiring. Of the several Taylor dreadnoughts I’ve owned and passed on or sold, I’ve only regretted the loss of one. A wound so deep, I needed only learn my lesson through one experience. There are guitars, and then, there are guitars.
The 810 is my guitar. You have to understand, I’m not crazy, possessive or overly materialistic…I love to travel light, keep few, but potent friends and most of all, attempt reasonable behavior when it comes to inanimate objects. It’s just that I think she’s almost become a ‘security blanket’. Through this whole ‘coming back’ business I counted on her being there…she made it through the recording of Letting Go, but she just can’t do the road. I am devastated.
Before I run this blog completely off the rails into the bounds of insanity, I’ll just say this. I had to replace her, so I recently purchased a new 810-ce from World Music in Bellevue, TN. (Talk to Jason about all that’s hanging in the acoustic room. He’s a real lover of wood & steel, not to mention just an over-all cool guy.) I must admit, as I neared home, I was getting pretty excited at the thought of recklessly wailing away on an axe that could take it. But The 810 was out on the stand. Being in such a fragile state, I didn’t want to push her over the edge at the sight of a strong, shiny new beauty, so I kept them in separate rooms. This was going to be tricky. I needed to get The 810 into the new case without seeing ‘Honey’ (the new girl. I know, I named her, right? Man, am I in trouble!) and Honey in the Calton road case without making fun of the old-lady. Though looking a sure fool, I managed. Now The 810 rests in a brand new Taylor case, comfy and humidified without being any wiser to the gorgeous sunburst girl stealing the show outside (or so I hope!)
All that to say, is that The 810 has her place, loved and hallowed.
If Honey knows what’s good for her, she’ll keep her top rockin’ and neck straight.
Jennifer
I rarely sit down to write a song with a specific intent in mind. I often find it constraining and intimidating to the extent that what I truly intend to capture eludes me. When asked why I have written a song I find myself stumbling for words, hoping that the next answer I give will be different from the last. Still, it is often the same. It is the process of finding the emotion that song is holding inside, or maybe even discovering what is inside of me, that yearns to be heard.
Creating a record as a body of work is a scary prospect. I am always hoping for cohesion, a narrative, but can never fully plan it. Each song reveals itself slowly and intimately in it’s own time and place, independent of the next, and still unknown tune to follow. While the song may stand on its own, it can lose it’s potency if stuffed into some premeditated style or jewel case.
In the end, it seems the music always finds me. No matter the hope or the pride that I might selfishly try to grasp, I am usually relegated to a listener. The record has taken it’s form while I was asleep. Like a Jackson Pollock, it has waited patiently to be understood, or rather felt in the deeper parts of my soul. It is my sincere prayer that it will find yours as well.
The Moon-Woman Cuts the Circle (1943), Jackson Pollock
http://www.jacksonpollock.com/
Jennifer
Special thanks to Amy Courts, Tony Lucido, Jeremy Lutito, Paul Moak and Nathan Dugger for working extra hard on short notice…I am truly humbled to share the stage with their big beautiful hearts!
Anyway, I’m glad you are all showing up in your various forms; avatars, seat warmers and general digital correspondence…my how things have changed!
Some general boring news…
Yes…I realize that you would all prefer facebook…well, let’s just say that the general impostors throughout the years have taken their toll and I am having to jump through some hoops to prove that I am actually the legit form of the singing Kansan. It will take some time.
We’re continuing behind the scenes construction for a more fluid jenniferknapp.com as well. As per usual, those who hang here & on twitter or join the email list at jenniferknapp.com will be the first to know of any updates.
love,love,love…Jennifer
