What Does the Song Mean?

By Sam Burnham

Through the magic of the Internet and a college friend I found myself reading another blog last night. It stuck with me. In fact, it has me listening to some old tunes that I can only imagine are just as good as they were 60 or 70 years ago.

Credit where credit is due: http://www.nextavenue.org/blog/why-harry-connick-jr-couldnt-sit-idle-during-idol is the inspiration for this post, with special thanks to Mr. Harry Connick Jr.

So I read the article. I hope you gave it at least a once-over. The article is all I know of what happened. I'm not an "Idol" fan and that comes as no surprise if you have followed this blog for long. I don't sing or play any instrument. I'm the least musically capable person in my home. But I love music. For me it is so emotional...almost otherworldly. It is oh so very important to me. From a Southern perspective, Blues, Jazz, Bluegrass, Southern Rock, Soul and (though I'm not much of a fan) Country are all a part of our culture. It tells our story...often times to us.

That is why I tend to grow frustrated with popular music. It has no soul, at least not one I can detect. Then someone gets after a song, wailing on, trying to impress with something physical and ruins the whole thing. A perfect example is Joan Baez recalling the anguish of Virgil Caine of which she knew nothing...and it showed.

But the philosophy of today is to sing louder, carry a note farther, belt out a note that will wow the audience, after all the show is what matters. Who cares what the song means?

But that philosophy doesn't end with the music. It infiltrates our history, our philosophy, our language, our literature and our religion. Who cares what it means? Meaning is nothing as long as the presentation is awesome!

So I ask, what does the word "love" mean? We love our spouse, our kids, our dog, our favorite sports team, that joke we heard last Thursday.

When one of these modern day crooners belts out "...that our flag was still there..." do you really feel what Mr. Key was feeling as the first rays of light brought Ft. McHenry into the visible spectrum? Do you even know what Ft. McHenry is? A recent poll of Americans seemed to suggest that a large percentage believed that the song was referring to Ft. Sumter.

Really?

After seeing a video of a youth pastor crashing his dirt bike into a church's interior wall while trying to "make an entrance" this morning...well, that sort of speaks for itself.

Why did we fight the Civil War? The Vietnam War? The Revolutionary War? Not the knee-jerk answers. The truth. When our government tells us they are doing something in the name of "freedom"...what does that mean? We love freedom. Except for that guy over there. We don't agree with him so "common sense" dictates we "regulate" his freedom.

Common sense you say? These are indeed the times that try men's souls.

And so to borrow a quote from a friend. We need to define our terms.

Knowing what the "songs" mean helps us to "sing" them the way they were meant to be sung. We don't have to buy into propaganda, advertising or hype. You can recognize a lie when you know the truth. When the sun comes up in the morning, you can know which fort you are looking at. I can love my wife and kids while I show partiality to my Gamecocks and enjoy the joke I heard last Thursday. I can allow my fellow American to exercise a little freedom while I demand to be allowed to exercise my own.

So you have a song to sing. There is an audience waiting. You can sing in the way the establishment tells you so that you can become rich and famous but your song will mean nothing. Or you can sing your heart out and tell the world your story, the true story.

Is your song worth the risk?

Carrollton

By Sam Burnham

Took a quick morning trip this week. I've been a regular in that particular town for the last 16 years. I even summered there one year. But I had never really got out and explored it on my own.

A few quick thoughts on Carrollton, GA.

The plan was simple enough. A quick stop in Tallapoosa on personal business and then scoot over to Carrollton.

*Ok, side note* Tallapoosa is a beautifully quaint town. It's small and not overdeveloped so if you're looking for crowds or a lot of action, stay on the four lanes. But if you enjoy a slower pace and some beautiful old homes, Tallapoosa is a neat stop.

After following an empty pulpwood truck to Tallapoosa and finding my rendezvous closed on Wednesdays, I proceeded down Georgia Hwy 16 to Carrollton. The drive was much more pleasant than my usual route down US 27 and the sounds of Appalachian Spring via Georgia Public Broadcasting made it that much better.

I was able to make contact with my Tallapoosa business in Carrollton and then headed out to explore a little.

Brand new Little Free Library

First stop, Adamson Square. Beautifully restored, the square has plenty to offer in shopping and dining. Park benches, wide sidewalks and even a brand new Little Free Library make the area welcoming to visitors such as myself.

A word of caution. Should you visit this area, use caution in crosswalks. The traffic and pedestrian configuration is a bit confusing and I can see that it would not be hard to hit someone or be hit by someone while driving or walking.

Underground Books

Horton's Books & Gifts (410 Adamson Square) is reportedly the oldest bookstore in Georgia. There is much documentation to support this claim so I see no reason dispute it. It is a very nice shop with a respectable inventory of books, nice gifts (games, small decorative items, and other sundries) as well as access to the coffee shop next door. This is a new book vendor with a great atmosphere. They have been doing business in Carrollton since 1892, so they must be doing something right The resident cats are a nice touch...unless you're allergic, like me. But it's a nice place and definitely worth checking out.

I personally had better luck searching in Underground Books (102 Alabama St) which is tucked into a basement just off the main square. Used, antique & rare books are available and this is a buy-sell-trade sort of place. Upon my arrival, a staff member greeted me, let me know they were available and then left me alone to peruse the shelves - exactly what I want from a bookstore. They have a decent variety and the layout lets you walk through a room only to discover there are more books in the next room. Loved it.



Confederate Memorial

 Just off the square at the courthouse sits the Confederate Memorial Monument. The plaza has been renovated recently and the monument is well maintained, including the restoration of the concrete cannonballs that had been missing for some time. The stoic sentinel facing north is a standard in small towns throughout the South and this is an excellent specimen. Several churches and municipal buildings are located in this area. Pedestrian traffic is common and there are plenty of sidewalks.

Grave of a Confederado

A quick check in at the city cemetery (a usual stop for me when visiting a town) was pleasant. A lot of the town's history can be found there. I had received a tour booklet in pdf format from the Visitors and Convention Bureau (per my emailed request) and found it to be helpful. I found some of the monuments damaged, apparently more by time and elements rather than vandals. My stop in the cemetery was nice and I was excited to find the final resting place of a Confederado - not a common find. Overall, it's a nice place with lots of local history.

But the day was windy and an unmistakable aroma was riding the breeze. A good BBQ restaurant needs no advertisement. I followed my nose from the cemetery back over near the square and found Sam's House Memphis Style BBQ and Blues (108 Alabama St.). I laughed at the thought that the place "had my name on it" and stepped inside.

Be brave. You can handle it.

My waitress was friendly, the music wasn't live (at least not at lunch) but was very good just the same. The atmosphere is relaxing and is filled with images, aromas and sounds that reflect Memphis, BBQ and The Blues. The prices were reasonable for good food and that's exactly what I was served. The yellow bottle with the masking tape label reading "XXX" has some tasty stuff in it. Give it a try if you're brave enough. Although it didn't count on my lunch special, they do offer discounts for military and emergency responders. I'm always thankful for that and told them so. Oh, and the sweet tea is spot on.

All in all, it's a great little historic downtown. I collected this info just before lunch. Given a whole day, I'm sure there is much more to find. There's an Irish pub, a few more restaurants and stores and that is just the square. It's definitely worth checking into if you have plans anywhere near the area. Give it a try if you have a chance.

The Doorknob Fiasco

A doorknob. It's not complicated. In fact, it's rare to give a doorknob as much as a second thought. Until something goes wrong with it.

But when doorknobs go bad...

We visit my in-laws from time to time. The upstairs offers sleeping accommodations for our boys on one side, our bedroom on the other and a bathroom just off the hall between the two.

So it was no surprise when I heard the bathroom door shut while immersed in that sweet but often elusive state of "I don't have to get up so I'm not going to" semi-consciousness that I had found on this particular morning. It was a glory with few rivals that shattered into a billion pieces with a loud CLANG-CLANG! that seemed to shake the entirety of Carroll County.

My first thoughts were of a shattered heirloom or an antique. Surely this was a horrible sound. One of my children had broken something. So, considering there had arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Instead of Santa Claus I found my 13-year-old son standing with fear in his eyes, "The doorknob fell off." Realizing that it was much less of an issue than originally feared, I did what all rational people would do. I took the quick route back to dreamland. I slid the tabs back in the slots, the doorknob crooked but off the floor and slid back into bed.

Yes, I found the glorious slumber again. I was reveling in it when I heard a scratching, or maybe a rattling or maybe...what in the world is that noise?

Back out of bed, back to the bathroom door. Knowing it wasn't the chihuahuas wanting out, I asked the mystery prisoner for an identity. Turns out the 8-year-old was trapped in the bathroom. The door is locked, the knob, hastily (read: improperly) reinstalled is about as useful as a battleship anchor in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. So I told him I'd get him out and to stay calm. I went to my wallet, pulled out an old gift card that I keep for just such an occasion and returned to the Bastille fidgeting and wiggling my makeshift key.

No dice.

As hard as I tried, I could not budge the lock. As I continued my poor display of burglary talents, my 10-year-old joined the incident. "I need to use the bathroom." I advised him that there were trees outside if he couldn't wait for me to pick the lock. He waited. Then I suggested that the captive remove the doorknob and replace it in the right position. Magically, the door opened, just as my wife walked up, ready to risk being held hostage by the rogue latch mechanism herself. So the four of us were in the hall, not exactly designed for family reunions, discussing strategies to prevent imprisonment.

The 10-year-old went in and then reemerged, doorknob in hand, confused about what to do with the severed item. "Just leave it", my wife advised him. He was so confident in this advice that dropped it on the tile floor. CLANG-CLANG!

So the knob had come full circle.

We returned to our bunks but laughter prevented any more sleep. Fortunately the smell of coffee and biscuits soon wafted up the stairs from the kitchen. That alone is enough to help me overcome the call of the pillow. Add in my family's laughter at the doorknob fiasco and you have a pretty good start to the morning, early or not.