Power Out, Power On
John Michael Talbot

The Thorncrown Chapel and RBTE concerts were hundreds of miles, and one week apart. But they shared something strange and wonderful in common. They both experienced power outages that affected the PA and lights, so that I sang and played in the dark, and without a PA system. Yet, at both concerts this seemed to actually enhance the prayerful atmosphere of the concert.

When the power went off the audience was forced to really listen. After the effect of seemingly not being able to hear during the first song after the outage, almost everyone said they began to actually hear better. Something truly wonderful came over both audiences that enhanced the spiritual contemplation ushered in by the quiet music. When the power came back on many found the sound reinforcement almost too much. It was sensually overwhelming. Some even said that it was artistically and spiritually intrusive and disruptive.

This says so much about our music and media, and our entire civilization today. We have been sensually overwhelmed through technological overload. We are the "Star Wars" generation, where everything seems bigger and louder than the real thing. This is not only true with the obvious example of Rock music. It is also true of acoustic and classical music. It is true of our whole life as symbolized by TV, or computers.

Classical music has faced a similar reality in recent years. Recording technology has brought the sound of the classical acoustic instruments into the faces, and ears, of modern classical listeners. We are right up next to the very instruments played in a classical piece. We are no longer really in the audience. So, in the concert hall those same listeners are sometimes disappointed with the actual acoustic sound with little sound reinforcement. Yet, others are made even more sensitized to the actual delicacies of
acoustic sound.

I can remember well listening to the folk singers of the sixties performing before thousands of people with only one or two microphones at best. I remember Peter, Paul, and Mary singing before some fifteen thousand people at the Indianapolis Coliseum with just two mikes, and the sound system used for sports events! Yet, no one seemed to miss anything. Every inflection and nuance was heard, and seen, even without massive sound reinforcement and screens. We actually had to look to the real people on a real stage, and listen to acoustic sound of the music.

Likewise, I recall the stories of how Segovia would respond when someone would cough out loud during one of his performances. He would stop playing, discreetly pull out his handkerchief from his coat pocket, cough into it quietly, and place it back into his coat. He would then continue the musical piece. Thus, he would teach the audience the impoliteness of open coughing in an audience that was actually trying to hear the acoustic sound of his masterful guitar performances. Today, people cough out loud, and move around freely during concerts. They have to be coaxed into turning off their cell phones and pagers. Something has definitely gone wrong.
I have no illusions that technology will not ultimately dictate both the art and morality of society. I wish that it were not true, but it is. It is the age old pattern. Perhaps in sacred art that process can be more seriously questioned. I also see advantages for the use of serious sound reinforcement in certain settings where acoustic sound is impossible.

But for myself, I must wonder what God is saying through these two consecutive experiences of playing without sound and lights for hundreds of people. Perhaps it is to simply simplify, or stay simple? Or maybe it is to do something radical and symbolic? Maybe it might be good to go out with one great stereo recording microphone, and "far mike" the guitar and voice some five to ten feet away from me, with little artificial sound reinforcement? Then the performance would be far more acoustically pristine, and would draw the audience into a more contemplative experience of listening that is truly
counter-cultural.

John Michael Talbot