A Strong, Sensitive Man

The Sovereign Simpleton Continues

Singer Roger Miller.

It’s Sunday at 10:03 pm. I just home home from a long day with family. Our two sons had their first piano recital today. The recital, a mix between younger children under ten, and a few teenagers, was certainly entertaining. Our boys did their quick bits, smiling most of the way, and when the older kids came, I sensed something was a bit off. There were about a six or seven teenage boys that played on stage, and there was a commonality between all of them – very little emotional affect. Many of them played technically well - yet as they sat at the piano, they were physically stiff, expressionless, or increasingly robotic. One of them smiled once in his entire performance. There was, for lack of a better phrase, a lack of soul.

We left the recital, and ever sense, I’m been in a hell of a mood. Something has come over me that I just can’t shake - and with every passing minute, I’m starting to understand why.

Yesterday evening, my wife went out for a few hours to visit a friend. I was glad for her to get out for a bit. So after the boys went to sleep, I headed downstairs to read and listen to some music. Immediately, through Spotify, a tune I know, but not this particular version, came on – By The Time I Get To Phoenix, by Roger Miller. The song was originally written by Jimmy Webb, and made most popular by Glen Campbell’s and Isaac Hayes’ wildy differnt renditions.

Now, for those of you that don’t know, Roger Miller was an American country, pop, ballad crooner that rose to fame in the mid 1960s. I didn’t know much about him until recently, when I heard one of his old tunes on the original 1988 Robin Hood Disney film soundtrack. Most of life, even though I consider myeself as massively ecletic music fantatic, I have been incredibly anti-anything that slightly reaked of Country music. However, over the last few years, I’ve dug deep into some country classics –holy hell was I missing out.

Cover art of Roger Miller’s album, A Tender Look At Love.

Back to last night, and “By The Time I Get To Phoenix.” I began listening to the song, and within twenty seconds, my eyes started to well up. Another twenty seconds went by, and now I was sobbing. Not because the lyrics were particularly impressive, not because I particularly loved what the song was about – but there was something in the sound of Roger Miller’s voice – and the easiness of the instrumentation: honesty, humility, simplicity, strength, grit, gravitas, depth, common speak, and immense tenderness. Yet, after writing these descriptive words, they still don’t quite nail it. Perhaps the word, integrity, is most seminal for the moment. When Miller sings this tune, I know he’s being honest with me. He’s not bullshitting. He’s not changing the subject – he’s not stalling - he’s not making excuses - he’s telling the god damned truth. No frills, no pretention, – just raw, unbridled, candidness.

Listen to “By The Time I Get To Phoenix,” by Roger Miller, directly below:

“What a fucking man,” I thought in my gut as I listened multiple times, on repeat for over thirty minutes. As the tears continued, I was still just tranfixed: “What in the world is this song doing to me?”

There’s something about hearing a man like Miller sing in this way that is just too beautiful for me to accurately depict in words. This is the voice of a a kind of man who’s never made too much money. He’s never been one to accomplish much of anything. He’s had some hard times, some addictions, some regrets. Yet, he’s got his forthrightness, his everyday kind of love for his family, his admission when it’s fault, and his word that actually means something. He gets around a tool shed just fine, yet he also knows how to play the guitar and sing when he’s got something to say. He knows how to dream, and he also knows how to wash the dishes. He works for as much as his family needs, but the currency and wealth he carries is in the way his body loves his wife and kids. They know when dad is around, because his firm hugs and cuddles are with mighty muscle.

This Sovereign Simlpeton feels everything all the way down to the cellular level. The cold, mechanical, disquieting world of culture and material things has not taken him out. He’s too far gone in his subtle, whisper-like potency. He cares about people to the point of it making him teeter on madness. His presence is feral and rich with the energy of nature, like the frequency of the root system of a large old Maple tree. His handshake hurts it’s so tough. His soul has found a nest to hatch within his completely unextraordinary, but solid enough frame.

Another Roger Miller album cover.

Most of all, his sensitivity is purposive, it services his own ability to love fiercely and outwardly. His sensitivity isn’t selfish, it connects him to his inner life, so that is inner experience can help him better relate to what’s outside him.

Now to back to this god damned mood. Why did I walk out of that piano recital feeling all sorts of bleh? This is going to be challenging to articulate, but what the hell.

How much, in our daily lives, are we confronted with a lack of integrity? Within our selves, and others? Now, in this case, I’m going define this kind of integrity as the one that is deeply connected to the essence of who we are. This essence is undeniably human – it’s the most beautiful aspect of our being. It shines, it glows, it weeps, it is full of all kinds of miraculous substance.

How much does the corporate meeting at 10am lack this kind of integrity? How much, does that commercial you just saw for Pepsi lack integrity? How much does your own defended heart long to say outwardly how you really feel? This piano recital, to me, lacked this sense of direct, unfiltered honesty. Again, it lacked soul.

Perhaps that’s it. Integrity is connected to soul. It’s connected to a wild human element that cannot be neutered, tampered down, erradicated. When I hear Roger Miller sing, I accept his integrity – I accept his being. He’s a bit dangerous, like a wild horse, but he’s also completley familiar – like a neighbor that’s always lending a helping hand.

I recently came across this quote from William Martin’s The Parents Tao Te Ching: Ancient Adivce for Modern Parents.

“Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.”

― William Martin, The Parent's Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents

The Sovereign Simpleton kind of man, akin to George Miller singing this tune, is radically ordinary. He digs into this ordinariness, and therefore lives at the frequency of treasuring the simplest of life’s delights. He’s not afraid of his simplicity – and he doesn’t have to perform or pretend he’s something that he’s not.

My mood is a direct calling and hunger for this kind of rebellious integrity. On this subject, I recently had a call with poet Tom Hirons – most known for “Sometimes A Wild God.” Tom mentioned that that poem came through him not long after he made a promise to himself that he would tell the truth in his work. This statement has been ringing in the back of my mind for weeks.

How many men out there are brutally honest? Do they just say things to better their fragile egos or because it’ll get them good business deal? How full of shit are many men, really?

I’m also talking to and challenging my own integrity as I write this.

Am I willing to be fully honest – embrace the depths of my sensitivity, and be radically human?

What does living in this tenancious integrity, humility, and honestly look and feel like?

Time will tell.

--David B. Godin

Sources:

William Martin

Roger Miller