Welcome! You have accidentally reached the blog of a heteroclite follower of Jesus: dave wainscott. I'm
"pushing toward the unobvious" as I post thinkings/linkings
re: Scripture, church and culture. Hot topics include: temple tantrums, time travel, sexuality/spirituality, U2kklesia, role of the pastor, God-haunted music/art..and subversive videos like these.
Thanks to Asheley Boggan for bring this quote back into the conversation(s) about where Methodism goes from here. She rightly asserts that, "John Wesley's entire ministry was framed by a submission to be more vile." (p.23).
Wesley's Journal:
"I could scarce reconcile myself at first to this strange way of preaching in the fields, having been all my life (till very lately) so tenacious of every point relating to decency and order, that I should have thought the saving of souls almost a sin if it had not been done in church...
“At four in the afternoon I submitted to be more vile, and proclaimed in the highways the glad tidings of salvation…” (, Journal of John Wesley, II, 31 Mar. 1739, p. 167 ).”
What time is it for Methodism? It's four o clock in the afternoon.
At Bristol.
We of the Methodist tradition are quick to quote a different time, date and place as where it all began:
"In the evening,I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." (Journal, May 24, 1738)
But one year later at Bristol, everything took subversive shape:
"Have you had a Bristol moment in your life?
A moment where you felt God calling you into something new and unexpected? (Discussion question, p.22)
In a very moving section (chaper 1), Boggan recounts her own Bristol encounter, literally in Bristol on a Wesleyan heritage tour, interweaving it with her own personal trauma (divorce and death of parents) and the denominational trauma. That brave pilgrimage is one we all need to take! Thank you, Ashley for inviting us into the hard but required work of reflection which can birth a wholly and holy vile life.
Any who know my own traumas connected to discerning my calling as a Methodist pastor may be surprised I am not here to comment on the UMC/GMC divide, or conservative/liberal debates. (See
And I would love to be as Bristol-ed as I was Aldersgated.
I will let you peek at the table of contents, and these reviews of the book to learn more about how she apples the Bristol-birthed vile-tality in the current situation. She is well-versed in history, a great story teller, and the challenges are clamant and convicting A heads-up: many in our tribe are not aware of the Thomas Blair incident (pp 30-31) in which Wesley used his influence to spring a man accused of "sodomitical practices" (reminds me of the Pastor Artie Bucco story) from prison. Tell that story, Methodists of all stripes.
May Wesleyans ever be "prophetically offensive" (p. 107) and sovereignly and steadfastly committed to Jesus..and to true "vile-tality."
Have you had a Bristol moment in your life?
-
Note: I received a copy of the book from Speakeasy for an honest review.
As you probably could have gathered from the title, Rock of the Westies is full of rock songs, and if you read further into the title, you can gather that they apparently came from a place called “Westies.”
That’s right; you won’t find many ballads here. There is only one of them, as a matter of fact, and it’s called “I Feel Like a Bullet (In the Gun of Robert Ford).” It’s a strapping fine song with a nice melody and solid instrumentation, but you’ll probably notice immediately that it isn’t nearly as engaging as his other ballads. But we can forgive that (Right?) because the primary purpose of this album is to rock.
And ROCK, it does just fine. The nice thing about rock ‘n’ roll Elton John is that he’s pretty much always fun at it. Even in the 1980s when his career became stale, his rock ‘n’ roll songs were still enjoyable. They might not have been memorable, but he had a naturally good vocal chops and he generally attracted good musicians to keep them sounding punchy. The exact same thing can be said for Rock of the Westies.
That’s not a good thing, though. Comparing anything to Elton John’s 1980s career is not a compliment! In the 1980s, Elton John existed merely as a zombified shell of his old self where he lost his uncanny sense of melody and harmony, and making it worse, he didn’t seem nearly as keyed-up as he used to. By a large account Rock of the Westies was where that cancerous process had started. You can really begin to suspect something was up by the end of the album when the dull rocker “Hard Luck Story” and the 1970s elevator muzak “Feed Me” comes in. Man, those are flat and lifeless songs.
In fact, you could probably sense that in the other songs, but those were kept alive by a raucous vocal performance, great back-up musicians, and/or unusual “gimmicks.” “Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future)” has a nice tune, but what ends up holding my attention the most are those cartoony guitar and synthesizer tones. So, it makes a good listen, but even then, it isn’t as captivating in that Elton-John-y kind of way. You know what I’m talking about! “Grow Some Funk on Your Own” and “Street Kids” both have cool, gruffy guitar tones, a solid driving beat, and an energetic vocal performance. Songs as spirited as those are impossible to hate — you might even start to love them after awhile — but it’s difficult to deny that they lacks the inspired, infectious quality of his classic stuff.
Even the album’s big hit, “Island Girl,” is a surefire sign that he was declining. Commercially he was doing just fine, though; it hit the No. 1 spot in the charts. I feel great and happy when I’m listening to it, but there really isn’t anything that special about it. Of all his hits, that’s among his least. (I’m saying this even though I gave it an A- … well, it’s still a good song!) Also a good song is the medley that opens the album. It has a fun beat and a nice melody.
But what pushed that over the edge is how he layered the “Yell Help” and “Wednesday Night” sections together toward the end. You wouldn’t think they would go well together, but they did! Nice touch! And the end where the band plays a funky beat as fast as they could is nutty, and that’s another point in its favor. I also enjoyed the ending track “Billy Bones and the White Bird” with that thundering drum beat and that unexpected and beautiful chorus section he worked in. That was the best ending I could have hoped for.
Even though I said constantly that this album was the beginning of the end for Elton John, it was a gradual process for him. There’s still enough about Rock of the Westies that is good and holy, and it would be a good album to possess if you really like his earlier stuff. Just make sure and don’t listen to the bonus tracks. They are the worst bonus tracks of all time! One of them is something similar to the title track from Captain Fantastic except it’s stale and entirely forgettable. The second one is a piano ballad ………….. and it’s by far the worst, most tedious piano ballad I ever heard him do.
This all points to Blue Moves, the tedious double-album monster. link
--
By Michael A Little:
Graded on a Curve: Elton John, Rock of the Westies
St back, kids, and I’ll tell you about the baddest punk of them all. No, I’m not talking about Johnny Rotten or Richard Hell or Sid Vicious even. No, I’m talking about Captain Fantastic, The Big E—that’s right, Elton John his tough mofo self. Sure, he’s better known for such anthemic softballs as “Your Song,” “Somebody Saved My Life Tonight,” and that awful piece of treacle “Candle in the Wind.” But John is the same rock’n’roll badass who gave us “The Bitch Is Back,” “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting,” “Your Sister Can’t Twist (But She Can Rock’n’Roll),” “Midnight Creeper,” and “Street Kids,” the last of which is off Sir Surly’s punkest LP of them all, 1975’s Rock of the Westies.
In a deliberate effort to be misunderstood, because every good punk wants to be misunderstood, John larded his earlier LPs with love songs, broken heart songs and the like. He threw in lots of oddball tunes as well; the great “Solar Prestige a Gammon” is made up of nonsense words, “Social Disease” is a hillbilly ode to living life as a form of human syphilis, and “Teacher I Need You” is “Hot for Teacher” years in advance. As for the great “Bennie and the Jets,” who else could have conceived of such a thing? And who but Elton John would have thought to write a song called “I Think I’m Going to Kill Myself” and fit it up with a bona fide tap dance solo? That right there is a real punk move for sure.
But on Rock of the Westies Elton John is feeling scurvy and ready to put the boot in. “No more Mr. Tender Genitals,” I can hear him thinking. “I’m the bitch who gets high every evening sniffing pots of glue.” And so he went and he co-wrote a bunch of evil-ass tunes and he went and he set Davey Johnstone’s guitar on stun and then he went to business, kicking out the motherfucking jams.
Not every song on Rock of the Westies is a bitch slap. But John, who was evidently in a nasty and drunken funk at the time, only offers up two of his much-renowned slow dancers. “Feed Me” is a throwaway and makes me think Elton was listening to lots of Steely Dan at the time, while the wonderful “I Feel Like a Bullet (In the Gun of Robert Ford)” is a breakup anthem for the ages, and provides solid forensic evidence that while Bernie Taupin is no John Keats (or even Rod Stewart), he has his moments.
On a tougher note, “Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future)” is some brazen honky tonkin’ music, while both “Island Girl” (she’s six foot three and black as coal!) and “Grow Some Funk of Your Own” (which features some switchblade guitar and one great piano) will rock you all the way to Jamaica, thanks to Ray Cooper of the castanets, conga, maracas, vibraphone and I could go on but won’t. Meanwhile, “Street Kids” is as feral a cut as any John has ever written, while “Billy Bones and the White Bird” is all drum crash and tough talk, with some funky synthesizer work by James Newton-Howard tossed in.
“Hard Luck Story” is mean and lean and benefits, as did “Grow Some Funk of Your Own,” from the frantic percussion work of Cooper. A great chorus, one funky bass, and great backing vocals also help. As for “Medley (Yell Help/Wednesday Night/Ugly)” it comes at you like one of Marc Bolan’s funkier contributions to Western Culture before morphing into a glittering glam confection, and from there growing as ugly and mean as its title. John practically snarls his way back to the song’s beginning, from whence the tune takes off into hyperspace with Cooper earning double pay on the congas and LaBelle providing some glorious vocals.
So forget John Lydon. Were he and Elton John Elton to meet face to face, the latter would merely laugh before pushing Lydon into the closest gutter, tearing the safety-pin from his shirt in the process. Because Elton John is the nastiest piece of work you’ll ever run across. Don’t let the outrageous eyeglasses or that “I was best friendsies with Lady Di” bullshit fool you. Reginald Dwight is a regular droog and always up for a bit of ultraviolence. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay out of his way.
For Elton John, 1975 was a peak year in his ascension into the rock and roll stratosphere. His most recent disc, the autobiographical Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, debuted at number one on the Billboard charts upon release, the first time an artist had ever accomplished that feat. The success of Captain Fantastic rounded out an impressive run of albums and singles released by Elton throughout the last several years. But when he arrived at Colorado’s Caribou Ranch studio to begin work on his tenth album, there were changes afoot, in both the band’s lineup and Elton’s signature sound.
Long-time bassist Dee Murray and drummer Nigel Olsson were replaced by Kenny Passarelli and Roger Pope, respectively. Keyboard player James Newton Howard and guitarist Caleb Quaye also joined the group. Both Pope and Quaye had played with Elton on earlier albums, and these additions to the group joined guitarist Davey Johnstone and percussionist Ray Cooper at the recording sessions, which took place during the summer of 1975, with long-time producer Gus Dudgeon behind the boards. The album’s title, Rock of the Westies, was a bit of a pun on the location of the studio, which was “west of the Rockies.”
Rock of the Westies is something of a transitional record in Elton’s oeuvre. He appeared to be trying for a loose, funkier sound, less dependent on the majestic sweep of songs like “Indian Sunset” and albums like Madman Across TheWater, with a vibe more akin to tracks like “Amy” from Honky Chateau. “Medley: Yell Help-Wednesday Night-Ugly,” is an amalgam of rock and soul, featuring vocals from Labelle, and “Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future),” is a percussive tune based on a popular British comic book character. “Street Kids” is a hard-rocking number featuring excellent backing work from the band.
The album’s biggest hit was “Island Girl,” a tale about a Jamaican lady of the night, which notched the number one spot in the US. “Feed Me” a tune about giving in to your excesses, has something of a jazzy feel, reminiscent of Steely Dan. “Hard Luck Story” was originally written for Kiki Dee (who provides backing vocals on the album) by Elton and longtime songwriting partner Bernie Taupin. Guitar maestro Davey Johnstone is credited as a co-writer on the rollicking “Grow Some Funk of Your Own” which features Elton and the band rocking out and creating some deep grooves.
While the album is filled with crunchy tunes like “Billy Bones and the White Bird” there’s a nod to the classic Elton ballads of the past. One of the best tracks on Rock of the Westies is “I Feel Like A Bullet (in the Gun of Robert Ford)” which uses Old West imagery to illustrate the bitter end of a relationship, recalling John/Taupin compositions from albums like Tumbleweed Connection. The song, featuring a wonderful vocal performance by Elton, was released as a double A-side single with “Grow Some Funk of Your Own,” and traveled up to number 14 on the charts.
Rock of the Westies was issued in October 1975, just five months after Captain Fantastic, and like that disc, it entered the charts at number one. Reviews in the music press were mixed, though some critics, like Robert Christgau, praised the record. A number of fans cite the album as a favorite, while others consider it one of Elton’s weaker efforts. I was a little disappointed by the record when it first came out, as I didn’t think it represented Elton and Bernie’s strongest work, though it’s grown on me over the years. Rock of the Westies, which celebrates its 50th anniversary this year, is notable in Elton’s discography for leading to further musical explorations on records like Blue Moves and A Single Man. It also signaled the end of his classic period, and his overall domination of the charts in the 1970s, though there would be more hits, and more terrific albums, to come in the future.
The 21 Pilots ten-year, five-album (though I Could say twelve year, six album) conceptual series /song cycle/concept album(s)/story/storyline ...often called "The Lore" (see this)....of Blurryface, Clancey, the evil bishops of Dema and company is apparently over..,.
...or is it?
So much to say about this ten-year trip. Do check out a summary or two online if this is new territory,
Like many concept albums (or movie trilogies!), the last song didn't seem to end quite up to snuff or expectations. Satisfactory? Yes, but something seemed missing.
The task of finishing triumphantly, or shockingly, may be impossible, especially with long, dramatic, sometimes convoluted storylines
. The Who's "Tommy" (by most accounts, the first rock opera/truly concept album) ended strong with the finale song.
Though I have lamented abut U2 endings; I will not complain about the ending of U2's quasi-concept album, "No Line." It didn't end with a bang, but a whisper; but what a holy hush!
And I once wrote about Pink Floyd:
Even though the double "Wall" album, and concert, ended with a short piece, "Tear Down the Wall," and that seemed like a good thing; it is not so good. In the record’s scenario, once we tear down the walls that keep us from others and reality, instead of freedom, we find our worst nightmare: there’s nothing behind it! We are hopeless, and now to make matters worse, naked, and in front of an enemy. A careful listener will hear, after the sounds of the wall crumbling, the "real last song" of the Floyd record, which numbly submits to circumstances , and coldy bends the arc full circle (literally in this case..I’ll explain) from fear to… fear. The last voice one hears at the end of side 4 (remember records? This was a double album; so four sides) is someone quietly saying something that gets cut off mid-sentence: "Isn’t this where…", and the sentence (as one discovered later) was "continued" at the beginning of side 1: "…we came in." "Isn’t "Isn’t this where we came in?" Clever tactic, depressing thesis: The record (literally) comes full circle (literally); life (spiritually) is endless circle; spiraling through the grooves of the record, and life, into nothingnumbness. Even if we do tear down a wall, we’ll build another and another...link
Don't get me started on "well-ended songs that end well by not ending well"... But I started that conversation here in honor of Ray Bradbury).
I love the "Clancy" series, no matter how it ends.
Note that several thought the storyline was over, though hanging, with the fourth installment But everyone eventually agreed, and band seemed to confirm, it closes with the closer of the fifth, "Breach."
Or does it?
In typically subtle, sneaky and subversive Pilots fashion, a few weeks after the final final album was released, out of nowhere, an epilogue, (coda? alternative ending?) was dropped as a download on the deluxe album version, called the Digital Remains edition, and it's officially behind a paywall for now,,
Or is it?
This is the real, and really satisfying. ending.
Happier, even.
The devil loses. God wins, Christus Victor.
This amazing loaded video by a fan who started tracking and tracing the story when he was 14, and is now 24, should be watched and full, but today, watch from 1:35:52 to learn about the two closing songs. Then test drive the two candidates for closing hymn below.
I like them both, but I think #2 wins.
Or does it?
Cast your vote. But know that my name is Blurryface ...and I care what you think. (:
“Drag Path” by Twenty One Pilots is a cinematic and deeply allegorical track that serves as a powerful narrative of capture, faith, and ultimate rescue. The song’s core meaning centers on a protagonist who, while being dragged away by a demonic, devil-like force, makes the conscious and courageous choice to deliberately leave a trail of clues—a “drag path”—as an act of profound faith that a loved one or a community will follow this evidence and save him. It is a triumphant story about finding salvation through unwavering trust in others, even in the absolute darkest of nights.
Introduction to the Song
Released on September 12, 2025, “Drag Path” is the fourteenth and final track on Twenty One Pilots’ fictional new album, Breach. As the album’s closer, the song provides an epic and emotionally satisfying conclusion to the tumultuous journey of the entire project. Musically, “Drag Path” is likely a dynamic and cinematic alternative rock anthem, building from tense, narrative-driven verses to a powerful, pleading chorus, and finally resolving into a continued here
--
and this:
For now (it may well get removed), here is "Drag Path (Devil's Eyes)"
Drag Path lyrics:
When I see the devil's eyes A current travels down my spine He found me Seems as though I've lost again A story told ad nauseam He found me Maybe once or twice or three He's tried his hand at drowning me But I'm still on fire At least, I'm pretty sure
When I see the devil's eyes I'll look away and smile wide You found me 'Cause then I'll know you're also there 'Cause proof is in the adversere You found me
A drag path etched in the surface As evidence I left there on purpose A sad sack, laying on the surface Can you find me? I dug my heels into the gravel As evidence for you to unravel A drag path, etched in the surface Can you find me?
Would you Please, please hurry Would you Please, please hurry
Can you, can you, can you, can you?
A drag path, etched in the surface As evidence I left there on purpose A sad sack, laying on the surface Can you find me? (Can you, can you find me?) I dug my heels into the gravel As evidence for you to unravel A drag path, etched in the surface Can you find me?
Can you find me? (Can you find me?) Can you find me? (Can you find me?) Can you find me? (Can you find me?) Can you find me? (Can you find me?)
Then the sun begins to rise We made it through the darkest night You found me
image credit: from a post by Brian and Peri Zahnd, Laughter and Lament, recommended
From "Crowds and Power," by Canetti, pp.143ff:
The face of the earth has been changed by the religions of lament and, in Christianity, they have attained a kind of universal validity. What is it then which has endowed them with their power of resistance? What is it that has procured for these religions originating in lament their peculiar persistence during millennia?
The legend around which they form is that of a man or a god who perishes unjustly. It is always the story of a pursuit, a hunt, or a baiting, and there may also be an unjust trial. In the case of a hunt, the wrong creature will have been struck down, the foremost hunter instead of the animal which is being pursued. This animal, in a kind of reversal, may have attacked the hunter and wounded him fatally, as in the story of Adonis and the boar. This is the one death which should not have taken place, and the grief it arouses is beyond all measure.
It may be that a goddess loves and laments the victim, as Aphrodite Adonis. In her Babylonian shape the goddess’s name is Ishtar, and Tammuz is the beautiful dead youth. Among the Phrygians it is the mother goddess Cybele who grieves for Attis, her young lover. In Egypt it is Isis who has lost her husband Osiris. But it can also happen – and this is the later and no longer mythical case – that a group of relatives and disciples lament the dead, as they do Jesus, or Husain, the Grandson of the Prophet and the true martyr of the Shiites.
The hunt, or pursuit, is pictured in all its details; it is a precise story, very concrete and personal. Blood always flows; even in the most humane of all Passions, that of Christ himself, we find wounds and blood. Each of the things which compose the Passion is felt to be unjust; the further removed from mythical times, the stronger becomes the tendency to prolong the passion and to fill it out with human details. The hunt, or baiting, is always experienced from the point of view of the victim.
Around his end a lamenting pack forms, but the lament has a particular tone; the dead man has died for the sake of the people who mourn him. Whether he was their great hunter, or had another and higher value for them, he was their savior. His preciousness is stressed in every possible way; it is he, above all that should not have died. His death is not recognized by the mourners. They want him alive again.
It begins with the few faithful who stand beneath the cross; they are the kernel of the lament. At the first Whitsuntide there were possibly 600 Christians; at the time of the Emperor Constantine about 10 million. But the core of the religion remains the same; it is the lament. Why is it that so many join the lament? What is its attraction? What does it give people?
To all those who join it the same thing happens: a hunting or baiting pack expiates its guilt by becoming a lamenting pack. Men lived as pursuers and as such, in their own fashion, they continue to live. They seek alien flesh, and cut into it, feeding on the torment of weaker creatures; the glazing eye of the victim is mirrored in their eyes, and that last cry they delight in is indelibly recorded in their soul. Most of them perhaps do not divine that, while they feed their bodies, they also feed the darkness within themselves. But their guilt and fear grow ceaselessly, and, without knowing it, they long for deliverance. Thus they attach themselves to one who will die for them and, in lamenting him, they feel themselves as persecuted. Whatever they have done, however they have raged, for this moment they are aligned with suffering. It is a sudden change of side with far-reaching consequences. It frees them from the accumulated guilt of killing and from fear that death will strike at them too. All that they have done to others, another takes on himself; by attaching themselves to him, faithfully and without reserve, they hope to escape vengeance.
Thus it appears that religions of lament will continue to be indispensable to the psychic economy of men for as long as they remain unable to renounce pack killing.
Of all the traditional religions of lament which could be adduced for doser consideration that of the Islamic Shites is the most illuminating.
The cults of Tammuz and Adonis, of Osiris and Attis are also relevant.
Bat they all belong to the past and are known only from cuneiform or hieroglyphic texts, or from the writings of the classical authors of antiquity, and, though these reports are invaluable, it will be more convincing if we concern ourselves with a faith which still exists today in a living and unweakened form
The most important of all the religions of lament is Christianity, and something will have to be said about it in its Catholic form. But from among the crucial moments of Christianity, the moments of true mass excitement, I propose to choose for description, not a moment of genuine lament, which has become rare, but another: the Feast of the Resurrection in the Church of the Sepulchre in Jerusalem.
