MON., DECEMBER 08, 2008
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From the Vaults: Elder Charles Beck's Rock & Roll Sermon!
by Michael James McGonigal
It's 1956. Dwight Eisenhower is president, the Cold War is raging and Elvis Presley has revolutionized popular culture with "Blue Suede Shoes." After three notes on a big old church organ, we hear a preacher's voice, followed instantly by shouts from his congregation. "Subject: rock & roll! Can I get an Amen?!" he shout-sings (and yes, he receives enthusiastic "Amen"s). This guy's already revved up about a hot topic on pulpits all over the United States. "Rock & roll has just about brought about the disintegration of our civilization," the preacher declares, and as soon as he says "rock & roll" for the second time, a sinewy electric guitar appears.
"Rock & Roll Sermon, Pts. 1 & 2" by Elder Charles Beck has to be the raddest piece of anti-rock propaganda ever produced. I'm listening to it for what iTunes tells me is the 44th time since music writer Alex Abramovich hipped me to the song two years ago. "Some of the records are so suggestive 'til even the disc jockeys won't even play them!" Beck intones, a little bit louder now. "After a while, God's gonna set this world on fire!" he shouts, and now the unknown backing group is starting to let it be known that they can handle "blue" notes as well as any rock band. "After a while, this old world is gonna" — and here he pauses for effect — "rock & roll!" The musicians are still winding up, and you have to draw a breath in anticipation of the explosion you know is sure to come.
I love a great sermon, and am often more electrified by the musicality and intense manipulation of timbres than I am by the particular sermon's message. I've been known to listen to sermons just by themselves for hours on end, though often I mix in some drone music by the likes of Terry Riley or William Basinski or Lois Vierk. The best preachers are amazing musicians, even if they never sing or play anything. It's extra sweet when they do, of course — Elder Beck began his recording career as a gospel singer and pianist, later adding trumpet, vibraphone and even bongos to his musical gamut.
Beck's earliest recordings were made with Elder Curry and his congregation in 1930. They're collected on the Document collection Elder Curry and Elder Charles Beck (1930-1939). From the start, Beck showed himself to be a formidable interpreter of gospel standards, recasting them in a forceful, highly rhythmic style, an infectious mixture of song and sermon, swing and bounce. Both Elder Beck's birth and death particulars are hazy. He was born ca. 1900 somewhere around Mobile, Alabama, and died some time in the early '70s while doing missionary work in Africa.
The historian Opal Louis Nations writes in All Music Guide that Beck is "one of the most exciting preachers of his day." That's the entirety of his review of the Document collection Complete Recorded Works (1946-1956), which includes the "Rock & Roll Sermon" and twenty other gospel burners flavored with jump blues ("Delilah"), jazzy swing ("I Got A Home in That Rock"), smooth and delicate crooning ("He Knows How Much I Can Bear") and heavy sermonizing ("Handwriting on the Wall"). Beck's smooth, gorgeous recording of "Jesus, I Love You" is regularly cited as the likely precursor to Elvis Presley's version, while a song from his very first recording session with Curry, the deliriously rollicking and oft-anthologized "Memphis Flu," has, ironically, been referred to as an antecedent to rock & roll.
But back to the "Rock & Roll Sermon" — as the song moves onto its part two flip-side it's clear that not only has the backing group been restraining themselves, but that they can also match the greatest rock & rollers of their day. "Rock & roll is filling up the dope dens!" Elder Beck shouts, and from there he gets real gone, hammering home the fate of those who would succumb to the dreaded evil music with impassioned, beyond-hepcat fervor. "Rock & roll… Rock & roll all night long… Rock… One o'clock rock… Two o'clock rock… Three o'clock rock… Four o'clock rock… Five o'clock roll… Roll into the patrol wagon… Roll in before the judge… Rollin' out of the courthouse… Rollin' into the penitentiary… Rollin' into the electric chair… Rollin' out to the undertakers… AAAAAWAGGGH! WHOOO! ROCK AND ROLL! YEEEEAAAHHHHH! You better get readyyyy!"
And then, just as the band terraplanes into raw, revved-up rock, the guitarist peeling off bluesy licks that would make Keith Richards explode with jealousy, the song fades out. You only get a taste, and you want to hear at least an hour's worth. It's the perfect, teasing end to a fiery sermon that ostensibly denounces rock & roll and yet shows that the right church is more raucous than even the heaviest rockers.
"Rock & Roll Sermon, Pts. 1 & 2" by Elder Charles Beck has to be the raddest piece of anti-rock propaganda ever produced. I'm listening to it for what iTunes tells me is the 44th time since music writer Alex Abramovich hipped me to the song two years ago. "Some of the records are so suggestive 'til even the disc jockeys won't even play them!" Beck intones, a little bit louder now. "After a while, God's gonna set this world on fire!" he shouts, and now the unknown backing group is starting to let it be known that they can handle "blue" notes as well as any rock band. "After a while, this old world is gonna" — and here he pauses for effect — "rock & roll!" The musicians are still winding up, and you have to draw a breath in anticipation of the explosion you know is sure to come.
I love a great sermon, and am often more electrified by the musicality and intense manipulation of timbres than I am by the particular sermon's message. I've been known to listen to sermons just by themselves for hours on end, though often I mix in some drone music by the likes of Terry Riley or William Basinski or Lois Vierk. The best preachers are amazing musicians, even if they never sing or play anything. It's extra sweet when they do, of course — Elder Beck began his recording career as a gospel singer and pianist, later adding trumpet, vibraphone and even bongos to his musical gamut.
Beck's earliest recordings were made with Elder Curry and his congregation in 1930. They're collected on the Document collection Elder Curry and Elder Charles Beck (1930-1939). From the start, Beck showed himself to be a formidable interpreter of gospel standards, recasting them in a forceful, highly rhythmic style, an infectious mixture of song and sermon, swing and bounce. Both Elder Beck's birth and death particulars are hazy. He was born ca. 1900 somewhere around Mobile, Alabama, and died some time in the early '70s while doing missionary work in Africa.
The historian Opal Louis Nations writes in All Music Guide that Beck is "one of the most exciting preachers of his day." That's the entirety of his review of the Document collection Complete Recorded Works (1946-1956), which includes the "Rock & Roll Sermon" and twenty other gospel burners flavored with jump blues ("Delilah"), jazzy swing ("I Got A Home in That Rock"), smooth and delicate crooning ("He Knows How Much I Can Bear") and heavy sermonizing ("Handwriting on the Wall"). Beck's smooth, gorgeous recording of "Jesus, I Love You" is regularly cited as the likely precursor to Elvis Presley's version, while a song from his very first recording session with Curry, the deliriously rollicking and oft-anthologized "Memphis Flu," has, ironically, been referred to as an antecedent to rock & roll.
But back to the "Rock & Roll Sermon" — as the song moves onto its part two flip-side it's clear that not only has the backing group been restraining themselves, but that they can also match the greatest rock & rollers of their day. "Rock & roll is filling up the dope dens!" Elder Beck shouts, and from there he gets real gone, hammering home the fate of those who would succumb to the dreaded evil music with impassioned, beyond-hepcat fervor. "Rock & roll… Rock & roll all night long… Rock… One o'clock rock… Two o'clock rock… Three o'clock rock… Four o'clock rock… Five o'clock roll… Roll into the patrol wagon… Roll in before the judge… Rollin' out of the courthouse… Rollin' into the penitentiary… Rollin' into the electric chair… Rollin' out to the undertakers… AAAAAWAGGGH! WHOOO! ROCK AND ROLL! YEEEEAAAHHHHH! You better get readyyyy!"
And then, just as the band terraplanes into raw, revved-up rock, the guitarist peeling off bluesy licks that would make Keith Richards explode with jealousy, the song fades out. You only get a taste, and you want to hear at least an hour's worth. It's the perfect, teasing end to a fiery sermon that ostensibly denounces rock & roll and yet shows that the right church is more raucous than even the heaviest rockers.
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