Music for the Soul, Healing for the Heart: Lessons from a Life in Song
By Steve Siler
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Music for the Soul, Healing for the Heart - Steve Siler
2016
PREFACE
I remember it like it was yesterday. I’m in the middle of a large crowd at a Christian concert in Nashville, Tennessee. All evening long the duo on stage has been singing songs from their new CD. The audience has been listening in appreciation. But now the artists have invited everybody to sing along as they begin a well-known song.
Almost immediately audience members are on their feet and singing. At first I’m singing too, but it isn’t long before I’m struggling to get the words out. The next thing I know I’m having trouble standing. I can’t see through the tears, and my body feels weak. The song is about the love of Jesus. The words are saying that I’m forgiven. The melody is saying it too.
How can this be? I’ve betrayed someone who trusted me. What I’ve done was so, so selfish, and I’m deeply ashamed. It feels unforgiveable.
But the mercy will not be denied. It’s as if I have been hit in the back of the head with a board. This is no tender mercy. This is a hammer of grace. And it is being delivered on the wings of a powerful melody and a lyric.
People have spoken words just like the words in this song to me before, but I was always able to rationalize them away. Tonight, however, there is no defense against this music. God has used the combined power of the melody and lyric not just to create a thin place but to totally break through.
I’ve experienced an ambush. My heart is defenseless. Before I know it I have been driven to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably in a public place. The friend who has come with me doesn’t know what is happening. But I do—even though I can’t speak. And in that moment I am healed of my shame. I will never be the same.
Simultaneously stirring and sublime, God’s gift of song can permeate our soul at its deepest level. A song can often articulate our story better than we can ourselves, in a life-giving language that restores our hope.
Over the past thirty years of writing and producing music, I’ve watched songs melt walls of defense time and again. I’ve seen songs create profound moments of emotional release, freeing people from pain they have long hidden deeply in their hearts.
That’s what this book is about. It’s about miraculous encounters with the Creator of the universe. It’s about how God’s hand is at work in music and in our lives—moving us, transforming us, and, ultimately, even healing us.
My prayer is that some of these stories will speak the truth of your heart. May God bless you with songs that sing the music of your soul.
ROAD TO A PRAYER
Music, the greatest good that mortals know, and all of heaven we have below.
JOSEPH ADDISON
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Beatles!
With those words and a wave of his hand—not to mention a cascade of frenzied screams— Ed Sullivan introduced the Fab Four to American television audiences on his iconic Sunday evening variety show. It was February 9, 1964.*
My whole life changed that night, which makes me about as unique as a grain of sand on the beach. Millions of lives were changed that night, and the face of popular music, not only in the United States but also throughout the entire world, was never the same.
I can’t even imagine how many parents purchased guitars for pleading children in the weeks following that performance. I only know that one of them showed up at my house.
To begin with, I wanted a drum kit. But after more thought, I decided that because Ringo sat in the back, I would rather have a guitar so I could be out in front and get more attention. Obviously, I was not yet familiar with the concept in Matthew 20:16, that the first shall be last and the last shall be first!
So it was that on a whim, and thanks to the British rock and roll invasion, my journey to a Christian music songwriting career began.
My parents were Sunday school teachers in Kokomo, Indiana, when I was a toddler; but by the time the Beatles burst on the scene, we were living in southern California, and my folks were not attending church. Still, my mom, Carole, did speak of God often and the importance of her faith. She sang solos in church during the years they lived in Indiana, and the standard rendition of The Lord’s Prayer
was one of her favorites. Prayer before meals was a regular part of our daily routine—Lord, bless this food to our use and us to Thy service.
I only have one memory of attending church as a small child. I asked my dad to take me to an Easter Service at a little wooden church about a mile from our house in the San Fernando Valley, a suburb of Los Angeles. Little did I know that not quite twenty years later I would be married at that same Little Brown Church in the Valley and that it would be there that I played my first Christian song in public and where the genesis of my ministry would take place.
It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I began to attend church regularly. I suppose my reason for finally attending church was about as original as my reason for becoming interested in music. A beautiful young lady with long blonde hair—thirty-one inches to be exact—invited me.
Going to School
Thanks to Robin Perna I met Jesus Christ that summer at the First Baptist Church of Sherman Oaks, and within a year I wrote my first Christian song, entitled There Is No Greater Love.
That, of course, is true, but there are many thousands of greater songs. However, it was a hint of things to come.
From the very first time I picked up the guitar, I had been drawn to songwriting.
My parents encouraged me in the kinds of ways I wish that all children could be encouraged. My mom came up with harmony parts for all of my songs, and we sang them together while my dad beamed and recorded them on a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
The lyrics were what you would expect from a ten-year-old. Fisherman, the shark just ate up Dan,
I’ve got a hole in my pants and in are crawling the ants,
and so on. Even at that, my parents never laughed at me. In retrospect I have no idea how they pulled that off!
But here’s the thing. Listening back to those songs many years later, I could hear that the gift of melody writing was already there, God given. Yes, I had been devouring songs as a listener—I must have listened to the Mary Poppins soundtrack five hundred times!—but lots of kids love listening to music and never become melody writers. I was blessed to have been given a knack for putting notes together in a way that made people want to sing.
The encouragement of my parents continued throughout middle school and high school, sometimes to an unreasonable degree. One time my dad, Russ, borrowed a friend’s pickup truck and moved our piano to someone else’s house so that my band could play a birthday party gig for which we were paid a whopping sixteen dollars! What makes this story even more remarkable is that I didn’t even play the piano at the time. I was the guitar player!
As the years passed, they were filled with guitar lessons, piano lessons, and vocal lessons. In middle school, which we called junior high, I played double bass in the school orchestra, trombone in the school band, and guitar in the jazz ensemble.
I remember a battle of the bands where there were four bands and I was in three of them. And I still lost! All of the bands I was in played original songs. By now the lyrics were more sophisticated, but there was no way we were going to beat the guys who knew how to play Smoke on the Water
by Deep Purple!
Undeterred, I kept writing originals, many of them with my friend Sean Sutton. It was our goal to be the Lennon and McCartney songwriting team of our school, and we put together a band with the impossibly pretentious name the Vehicle of Aestheticism. (Of course on the bass drum head we shortened it to VOA since no one knew what it meant anyway.) By the time we were in ninth grade, we had written more than two hundred songs together. In effect, we were going to school
while we were going to school.
Will It Fly?
In high school my focus on music became even more extreme. I had the good fortune to attend Grant High School in Van Nuys at a time when the music program was one of the best in all of the Los Angeles area, and quite possibly one of the best in the country.
Again, I played double bass in the orchestra. I also joined the choir. Our choir teacher, Francis Norbert, was a singer in the Roger Wagner Master Chorale, one of the preeminent vocal groups in southern California.
Both Mrs. Norbert and the orchestra teacher, Miles Neil, challenged us with material suited to adults. Several members of this orchestra went on to professional music careers as classical musicians in philharmonic orchestras around the world. Of the seven bass players in the bass section, five went on to play music professionally. I can still remember the chill that ran up and down my spine when our bass section laid the foundation for Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings
with the violins soaring high and ever higher above us. Experiencing the music from the inside out, as part of the larger group, was a thrilling experience.
Popular forms of music were also well represented at our high school. Several members of the rock band Toto, later known for hits like Africa
and Rosanna,
were regular performers at our school dances.
Anyone who has ever participated in an orchestra, a choir, a marching band, a jazz ensemble, a bluegrass band, or a rock group knows the thrill of being inside the music. Beyond the sound and the emotional tone of the music itself, the communication and teamwork that takes place when one is creating music with others is exhilarating!
After high school came a period that can perhaps best be described as wandering in the desert. God is not a wasteful God, and I believe that everything that happened was preparation for what was to come. The path, however, seems a study in circumlocution and is certainly not a plan that anyone but a very creative God could have ever drawn up!
It all began with my mom reaching out to an old friend on my behalf. When our family first moved to southern California, we landed in a little apartment on Gardner Street in Hollywood. From there my mom went looking for a job, and she found one a few miles away at United Western Recorders on Sunset Boulevard.
At that time United Western was one of the favorite recording studios of people like Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald, so my mom wound up meeting a lot of talented people. One of the people she befriended was a young recording engineer named Bones Howe, who later went on to produce numerous iconic hits for groups such as the Association, the Turtles, and the Fifth Dimension.
So my mom, having decided that I was ready for some mentoring as a writer and potential recording artist, called up her old friend Bones and asked if he would see me.
Over the next couple of years Bones coached me on my songwriting and allowed me to spend time with him in the studio watching recording sessions. I remember one time he walked in and saw me studying a large recording console. What do you think, Steve? Will it fly?
he quipped.
Bones made one of my lifetime dreams come true by inviting me to the studio one afternoon to meet his friend Paul McCartney who was recording the Venus and Mars album at Wally Heider Studios in Hollywood. Spirits of Ancient Egypt
was pumping out of the overhead speakers when we entered the studio. I can’t remember where I put my keys this morning, but I can remember every detail of what Paul was wearing that day, from his black vest and long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to the elbows down to his black sandals. His wife, Linda, was seated at his left, eating cole slaw from a deli tin.
Shortly thereafter, I put together a band for a showcase at the famous Troubadour club in West Hollywood. Afterward Bones responded very positively, leading me to believe that before long he would be bringing me into the studio to record some songs. Over the next several months, however, it became clear that he had cooled on the idea. At the time it was bitterly disappointing.
Still, I will always be grateful to Bones for making time for a green kid to hang out and absorb some of what the real music industry was like.
During the next fifteen years I had a dizzying array of diverse musical experiences:
• Performing as a solo artist at a variety of Los Angeles music clubs. Thanks to my friend Rich Sperber, who ushered at the Hollywood Bowl, I even got to play there twice!
• Writing the music scores to three short films made by my friends Michael Johnson and Adam Greenman, both of whom went on to successful movie industry careers.
• Working at A&M Records as part of the promotion team for artists like the Police (Roxanne
), Styx (Come Sail Away
), Gino Vannelli (I Just Wanna Stop
), and Chuck Mangione (Feels So Good
).
• Putting together a Top Forty band called Livacious
(ya know—live and vivacious) and touring Sheraton and Holiday Inn lounges from coast to coast playing songs like The Girl from Ipanema,
Maneater,
and Funkytown.
• Purchasing a disco ball and putting together a DJ business called Rug Cutters.
(It’s a slang term for dancing that emerged during the 1920s. I know, you’re thinking, What’s with this guy and all the weird names?) I presided over hundreds of first dances at weddings and called Bingo at more than my share of corporate picnics.
Then finally one day the long-suffering woman I had been dating for several years, who thankfully would later agree to become my wife in spite of all of the above, asked me rather pointedly, Do you plan to make a living at this songwriting thing anytime soon, or is it just a hobby?
Ouch!
A Long and Fascinating Detour
It was from that day forward that I decided to treat songwriting like a job instead of a glorified hobby. This meant taking classes on songwriting and studying great songs to see what made them great. Most importantly, it meant creating a regular writing schedule of several hours a week and sticking to it even though I had a full-time job. God bless the neighbors in my apartment building who endured my banging away on the piano every night with uncommon good grace. Eviction would have been totally reasonable.
Finally, it meant being willing to put myself out there—taking every meeting I could get, playing my songs for publishers and managers.
Eventually—after countless rejections and several agonizingly close calls—treating songwriting like a job paid off, and I signed my first single song contract with a publishing company called Catdaddy Music. The song was called Lovers Can Make Anything Happen.
Otis Williams of the Temptations produced a version of the song for an artist named Tony Warren, but Tony was never signed and the song was never released.
A few months after signing the song with Catdaddy, I co-wrote a song with Catdaddy’s owner Tena Clark. That song resulted in my second single song contract and the first time something I had written was recorded and appeared on an album!
This was my first lesson in not being able to control where your songs wind up or how they are used. The tune was an innocuous break-up song called I’m Gonna Make It Easy.
The premise was, If you’re going to keep mistreating me, I’m going to leave you.
Certainly not the most important song ever written, but it was harmless enough.
So, imagine my dismay when I opened up the record jacket and realized the Amsterdam-based group the Dolly Dots, who had recorded the song, had posed in a, shall we say, somewhat compromising manner for one of the album photos. This was not an album I would be showing to my mom and dad.
Undaunted, however, I carried on. It would take two more experiences like that for me to get the message that I was not yet plowing in the field that God had prepared for me.
The first of these experiences took shape after a long and fascinating detour.
Growing up in Los Angeles I’d always been a big Dodgers baseball fan and spent hundreds of summer hours listening to the iconic baseball announcer Vin Scully. So when my friend Rich Sperber, also a huge Dodgers fan, suggested that we write a song to honor Scully, I jumped at the chance.
Rich had learned that Scully’s wife had several members of her family who were affected by a rare degenerative eye disease called retinitis pigmentosa. Tragically, the disease often eventually results in blindness. He suggested we write the song about Scully and offer to donate a large portion of any proceeds to RP International.
It just so happened that Rich was able to do a virtually spot-on impression of Vin Scully!
We wrote and recorded the song, Vinny Is the Voice,
complete with sound effects of a cheering ballpark crowd and some exciting Scully voice-overs by Rich. Peter O’ Malley, the president of the Dodgers at the time, loved it, and Helen Harris, the founder and president of RP International, loved it as well.
The only person who didn’t love it was Vin Scully.
We were crushed. But rather than let things stall there, Rich and I decided to meet with Harris and propose writing a theme song for her organization. She loved the idea. Little did we know we were opening the proverbial can of worms.
There had recently been this little song called We Are the World
recorded by Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross, Billy Joel, Ray Charles, and several other megastars as a fund-raiser for African hunger relief.
Helen’s idea was to take the song we had written for her, entitled Forgotten Eyes,
and take a We Are the World
approach to recording it. She also took a the-more-the-merrier approach to inviting people to be involved.
That’s how we wound up with a final recording with a cast of literally hundreds that included comedian Bob Hope (in his eighties at the time), Smokey Robinson, Sammy Davis Jr. (his last recording), Patti LaBelle, Mel Tormé, fifties teen idol Connie Francis, Andrae Crouch (my first brush with Christian music!), Jack Jones (of The Love Boat theme fame), Dionne Warwick, Cheryl Ladd (from the Charlie’s Angels TV show), jazz piano legend Herbie Hancock, Sister Sledge, and George Burns (the cigar-chomping comedian who actually played God in a movie).
Entertainment Tonight showed up at the initial vocal recording session at Evergreen Recording Studios in Burbank, California. Several more recording sessions followed, eventually resulting in over one hundred tracks of vocals. Producer Lee Holdridge did his best to create a serviceable final version from this widely disparate collection of celebrities, but the song eventually collapsed from the weight of an identity crisis and the recording’s being an obvious attempt to repeat the We-Are-the-World formula.
The song, however, was definitely an early indicator of the ministry that was to come:
Remember the green of the grass in the springtime
Remember the gold autumn leaves on the ground
You don’t have to remember ’cause the seasons return
and you’ll see them the next time around
But what of the child with sight quickly fading
The next flower she sees just might be her last
Will she have to imagine the blue daylight sky
Through a nighttime that never will pass
For the children
For the eyes of tomorrow
We can light the darkness
We can end the sorrow
For the children
In our hands their future lies
Together we will never let there be forgotten eyes¹
Patti LaBelle, one of the bigger names Harris secured for the Forgotten Eyes
recording, had not been able to join everyone for the big session at