It seems like every year about this time I always think of one song that always seems to get me through. I've been playing it all week and it's really soothed me, and now to hear of the suicide of another artist, Michael Hutchence, it's just very eerie that I've been playing it all week. It's Tom Waits favorite recording, for all you Rain Dogs out there who may have never heard it before, which he also sings on. Something called "Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet" which Gavin Bryars released that you can get at any decent music store. In 1971, Gavin Bryars, England's leading musician/composer, agreed to help his friend Alan Powers with the audio aspects of a film that Powers was making about homeless, street people. The filming took place in an area around London's Waterloo Station. Powers filmed various people living on the streets - catching with the camera's eye their daily rituals, trials and joys. Some were obviously drunk, some mentally disturbed, some articulate, some incomprehensible. All of them were homeless, poor, and ragged. As Powers filmed these people, Bryars captured the sounds on tape. Back in the studio one day, as Bryars was looking over the audio and video footage, he became aware of a constant undercurrent, a repeating sound that always seemed to accompany the presence of one older man. At first, the sound seemed like muttered nonsense. But after removing the background street noise and cleaning up the audio tape, Bryars discovered that the old man was, in fact, singing. Bryars took the audio tape, and listened to it again and again. He could not escape the haunting sounds of this homeless, nameless man. He did some research on his own into who this person might be. From the film crew, Bryars learned that this street beggar did not drink. But neither did he engage others in conversation. His speech was almost impossible to understand, though his personality was cheerful. Though old, and alone, and filthy, and homeless, he retained a certain childlike playfulness. For example, he delighted in teasing the film crew, by swapping hats with various members. But what distinguished this old man from the other street people was his song. The song he sung under his breath was a simple, repetitive Sunday-school tune. For him, it was like a mantra. He would sit and quietly sing it, uninterrupted, for hours on end. Like a film loop, the song's final line fed back into its first line, starting the tune over and over again without ceasing. The man's weak, old, untrained voice never wavered from pitch, never went flat, never changed key. The simple intervals of the tune were perfectly maintained for however long he sang. As a musician, Bryars was fascinated. One day, while playing the tape as a background to other work, Bryars left the door to his studio open while he ran downstairs to get a cup of coffee. When he returned several minutes later, he found a normally buzzing office environment eerily stilled. The old man's quiet, quivering voice had leaked out of the recording room and transformed the office floor. Under the spell of this stranger's voice, this office of busy professionals had grown hushed. Those who were still moving, walked slowly, almost reverently about the room. Many more had taken their seats and were sitting motionless at their desks, transfixed by the voice. More than a few were silently weeping, tears cascading undisturbed down their faces. Bryars was stunned at the effect the song had on people. Although not a believer himself, Bryars could not help but be confronted by the mysterious spiritual power of this unadorned voice. Sitting in the midst of an urban wilderness, this John-the-Baptist voice touched a lonely, aching place that lurks in every human heart, offering an unexpected message of faith and hope in the midst of the darkest, most blighted night. Bryars himself started yearning for the confidence and faith this old man's song celebrates. He began to face what it means to feel homeless and alone, even when we are sitting in the midst of our families. Though the nameless man died shortly after the film-crew left his street-home, Bryars vowed to respect this homeless person by creating a recording that would celebrate and accentuate his simple message - that, no matter what one's condition in this world, no matter how difficult or sorrowful or filled with suffering, Jesus "loves us so..." It IS the one thing we can know... It took Bryars - England's leading contemporary composer - from 1971 until 1993 to create and produce what he felt was a proper, orchestrated accompaniment to this homeless person's song of trust and obedience. This he did in partnership with one of America's leading composers, Philip Glass. The result is "Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet." With every repetition of the thirty second loop of the hobo, a new orchestral section is added as accompaniment. Bryars' delicate arrangement builds to a crescendo at a snail's pace and then fades away, creating a unique musical and emotional experience for those who wait it out. The original version lasted 24 minutes and was released in 1975 as an LP on Brian Eno's Obscure Records label. The version re-released in 1993 is 74 minutes with the first 20 minutes similar to the original. Beginning with simply the voice of the tramp, Bryars then adds a string quartet, then low strings, then an orchestra with no strings, then an orchestra with full strings, and finally Tom Waits Words can't really do it justice, it just has to be heard. Just thought I'd share it with you. Take care, Malcs