RockOm

In recent interviews, rock singer-songwriter Melissa Etheridge has been opening up about her battle with cancer and the awakening that this experience has brought with it:

During days of total stillness during "dose dense" chemotherapy, Etheridge said, "My mind's tape ran off the reel, it just stopped -- there was nothing left to think about... I imagine this is where yogis and people who meditate try to get to ... and what's behind that is this incredible soul, it's this spirit."

Read more about how Melissa's trauma has opened her up to see the beauties of life and the depth of spirit HERE [offsite @ The Arizona Republic].

Over the Rhine is an Ohio-based indie husband-and-wife duo with a huge devoted fan base and eleven studio albums under their belts. Known for their unique yet ever-changing sound and thoughtful lyricism, Over the Rhine has made a name for themselves while playing the industry game their own way. OTR's Linford Detweiler spoke with RockOm's Trevor Harden about their career, the band's newest release, The Trumpet Child, and the biblical imagery and whimsical political musings within.

Linford Detweiler: I think when people walk away desiring to be a better human being (laughs) that something important has happened. I know when I encounter any kind of creativity that moves me on some significant level that's one of my immediate responses. I just want to be a better person. I love that art can do that – there's something mysterious about how and why that happens. But that's what keeps it interesting and meaningful for us, to get caught up in that sense of creativity being a springboard to being more fully alive.

RO: You've also said that one of the things that Over the Rhine has been interested in – among other things – is "challenging the status quo and taking power away from those who have too much and transferring it to people who have too little." This sounds to me a lot like Jesus' saying that "The first shall be last and the last shall be first." In what ways has Over the Rhine's career and music promoted that attitude or approach?

L: I think some of it has to do with the ethos of the band and our do-it-yourself work ethic from the beginning. The music industry, the whole power structure of it, was centered around LA and New York and Nashville and there was a lot of discussion early in our careers about getting on board and moving to one of the power centers for the industry. But we took a little more of a communal approach; a little bit more of a historical approach, maybe, in that we opted to stay closer to home where we had roots, where we also had friends that had been important influences to us and where we had a sense of community. Right off the bat we said, "Thanks but no thanks," to aligning ourselves with some of the big industry structures and decided to strike off the beaten path a little bit. That being said, I hope our recordings have filled a niche on people's shelves and served a purpose in a way that they couldn't really find exactly what we were doing anywhere else. There was a little bit of something kind of strange and wonderful about what we were trying to do with our music. I think we gave permission to a lot of people to sort of strike out on some sort of creative journey with or without the partnership of a record label or a publisher and [promoted] the idea that everybody has something to contribute, something to say, [that] anybody that wants to live with their eyes wide open can participate in this bigger conversation.

RO: Your new album's title track, "The Trumpet Child," beautifully blends apocalyptic biblical images with some jazz references. Is this a fresh modern retelling of the Christian end-times Revelation story or does it have a second, metaphoric meaning?

L: "The Trumpet Child" was an interesting song for us in that it kind of veered into a new territory musically. There are a couple things going on there. Some of it was on sort of a personal level and there's also a bigger, spiritually symbolic level. On a personal level, one of my earliest memories was the sound of the trumpet at a camp meeting revival that my parents took me to. It kind of woke me up to the world; it really is one of my very first memories. The sound of that trumpet up on that little wooden stage appeals to my imagination and so the idea of a child discovering a trumpet was always a powerful image to me. I can remember the first time I heard a piano as well. It seemed like a strange little wooden house was calling my name when I heard what was coming out of it. There's also an image in the Old Testament about the lion lying down with the lamb, the earth being healed, and a child leading the lion – which is a powerful image that some of us grew up with in Sunday school. So there's some of all of that tangled up in there and I guess the song is just a riff on this idea that we hear over and over in gospel music that the earth might be reborn somehow with the sound of a trumpet. We were wondering what that might actually sound like and thinking of [how if] some of the great American horn players like Louis Armstrong and so forth did start blowing riffs in the sky, what kind of a musical ride that might be.

RO: And now just several weeks away from the big 2008 presidential election, I'm sure your song "If a Song Could Be President" takes on a timely significance. It seems to speak of how hope, democracy, love, and change can – as your lyrics state – "break us out of a minor key." How have you seen your thoughts about this song or your mindset while you're performing it change in light of the current political landscape we find ourselves in?

L: The song was kind of a whimsical little idea that popped up on our radar while making The Trumpet Child. We got to thinking about what might happen if we sent some of our personal favorite songwriters to Washington to help sort some things out. We got to wondering who might do what. John Prine could run the FBI. In concert, we talk about the fact that Tom Waits could be Secretary of State. Emmylou could be ambassador. I think those are all still really good ideas (laughs) but I think one thing that we were hoping that the song might contribute is this sense of reminding people that American music is something that we still hold in common regardless of political affiliation. It seems like as the political landscape sort of revs up that there's a lot of pressure on people to divide into separate camps, surround yourself with people that think like you do. There's very little opportunity actually for real conversation. We've noticed that if we go to an Al Green concert, it's one of the most beautiful mixes of people in the same place with a very diverse audience – black, white, wealthy people, working class, people that are drawn to the religious component of Al Green's gospel music, people that are there because they love the early love songs. It's just this big melting pot of America in the same room and music is the common thread that is getting people back together in the same place. I think people forget and take for granted all the music that could've only happened here in America – ragtime, blues, jazz, rock n' roll, bluegrass, country and western, or gospel music. There's so much music that has come from this messy experiment called America. So we were hoping that the song might be a reminder that music is something that can get us out of our separate camps and remind us that we are all Americans.

RO: Lastly, Over the Rhine is on tour and people can catch you all over the country. In December, you're doing a two night 20th anniversary concert in Cincinnati, back where it all started. What can people expect at such a special event like this?

L: We've put out quite a few CDs over the past 20 years so we've decided to break it up into two nights and focus on our first decade of recordings on the first night and the second decade on the second night. We've had a pretty amazing revolving door of musicians that have inspired us, contributed to these recordings over the years and toured with us. Obviously Ric Hordinski and Brian Kelley, the two co-founding members of the band, were extremely significant in getting the music of Over the Rhine off the ground. So they're going to join us on that first night and we're going to revisit some of those early songs we've not played in years. And yeah, just invite the people that haven't been around in a while to join in and hopefully make a bit of a lovely ruckus for a while.

www.overtherhine.com

[Edited by Andrew Hoogheem]

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In front of the altar of the Jubilee Church on a recent Friday night, 16-year-old Jordan Taylor pulls a well-worn Bible from his backpack and flips to an earmarked page to read aloud from Ephesians 6:13.

"Therefore," he intones, "you put on the full armor of God so that when the day of evil comes you may be able to stand your ground and after, you've done everything to stand."

Then, with a hip-hop beat filling the room, Taylor stands rigid at first, his face contorting as if he's in pain. His hands clutch at his shoulders, torso, hips and legs as he symbolically puts on the armor of God. His body convulses. He kicks and stomps, his knees bend, and he kneels on the ground before rising to his feet, all in a matter of seconds.

Taylor is "krumping" for Christ, dancing to interpret Scripture through movement. It's a regular feature of the Mattapan church's youth ministry, as well as with a larger Boston community of hundreds of young people who feel a connection to God when they so behave.

Sometimes referred to as "break dancing on speed," krump got its start on the streets of South Central Los Angeles about 10 years ago, among young people looking for a way to fight back in a creative way against a life of struggle. The style, parts of which are derived from African tribal dances, was originally a way for urban youths to release anger and frustration, said Ben Carter, a youth leader at Jubilee.

But since its conception, krump has evolved into a spiritual movement. One of its founders in LA, Ceasare Willis, who goes by the name "Tight Eyez," felt he was saved by God via krumping, Carter said. Tight Eyez developed an acronym to convey the dance's newfound meaning; KRUMP has come to mean "Kingdom Radically Uplifting Mighty Praise" and krumpers have BUCK sessions, or gatherings for "Believers Upholding Christ's Kingdom.'

Before service each week, young people gather at Jubilee to krump. When they stomp and punch, they say, they are fighting off demons; when they pull at their flesh, they add, they are releasing themselves from evil. They say they minister to each other through their dance and feel God's presence when they enter a trance-like state.

"God's gonna be with you while you're krumping," said Deonte Lockhart, 14, of Randolph. "He told you how to do these moves . . . You gotta do it to the best in His name."

"We don't just do it to dance," added Benito Henri, a towering 16-year-old from Dorchester. "We do it for something higher. Something more than us, more than movements, more than anything we say out of our mouths. . . . We're using this as a weapon to fight against the things that we go through daily."

The transformation from secular to religious happened naturally for many krumpers, said Jimmy Thompson Jr., a member of Dorchester's Greater Love Tabernacle, and an ambassador of information for his son's krump ministry in Boston, the Gooniez.

"Young kids who were frustrated with economic conditions were taking their issues to the dance floor," said Thompson, adding that "they were getting relief on the spiritual level."

Brendon "Genesis" Waters, who dances with Status Quo, said he started krumping a couple of years ago when the dance began to gain ground in Boston. "Dancing in general is a good way to get people off the streets," Waters said. He and the rest of Status Quo have made a lifestyle out of dancing, using it as an alternative to drugs and violence that other young people fall into.

Krumping adds meaning to dance moves that may "look cool" but also serve as a way for young people to give physical expression to their spirituality, said Waters, who introduced krumping to other Status Quo members.

Ernest "E-Knock" Phillips, the leader of Status Quo, admits he's new to krumping but has found a renewed connection to God since he picked up the style. "There are times that we all . . . have krumped so long and so hard and for a certain reason that we cried," said Phillips.

Status Quo has krumped at several churches in the area, including Jubilee, one of the first in Boston to introduce krump as a form of worship. Some churches, particularly those with older, more traditional congregations, are not as welcoming, Phillips admits.

Rami Thompson, a youth pastor at Jubilee, said when she noticed kids from her church krumping and learned about its spiritual roots, she invited them to do so at Jubilee. Some people think the young dancers look possessed and demonic, Thompson said, but as youth ministers, "our job . . . is to see the way that youth express themselves . . . find redeeming qualities in it, and bring those qualities out," she said. The krumpers at Jubilee say their relationship with God has grown stronger in the year since their krump group, or "family," the Royal Family, was born.

Emmett Price, Northeastern professor and author of "The Black Church, Hip-Hop Culture and the Dilemma of the Generational Divide," said he's not surprised there has been resistance to bringing krump into a religious setting. In the 1930s, Thomas Dorsey was thrown out of churches when he introduced gospel music as a form of worship, Price said.

And in the 1990s, Kirk Franklin, the first artist to bring hip-hop to the church, was criticized for tainting Christian values. But holy hip-hop, including music and dance, is now a growing phenomenon that brings young people to churches in droves, Price said.

Krumping for Christ is the most recent case of a younger generation using its own voice to say what their elders did years prior, Price said.

"A lot of people just krump because it looks good and everybody's gonna go 'ooh' and 'aah,' " said Giovanni Pabon of Randolph, one of Jubilee's Royal Family. "But we're looking for more of the pleasing God. . . . There are a lot of ways to worship. . . . This is our way."

[By Katherine McInerney, Boston Globe Correspondent]