An Over the Rhine Show and Why I Haven't Been Able to Get it Out of my Mind Since

"We settled for that, then--for luminance over order, for terse beauty and a smeared-lipstick brand of soul; for spot-welding over handicraft; for leaving 'the edges wild,' as Linford's father had once so richly advised him, and for never comparing this particular journey to any other. I hear this batch of songs now the way the last one of them, 'All my Favorite People,' seems to see the world: as naked in its finery, fiercely tender, and thorny with sweet promise; as heroically humbled, and broken to the point of availing true light to anyone who cares to look inside. That's a gift, by the way: brokenness is raw humanity on display, and anyone willing for you to see theirs is generously offering you something. Not for the sake of comparison, but as shared experience and continuing wonder at the mystery involved in the process." ~Joe Henry, (Over the Rhine's producer)

"As for your tender heart--
This world's gonna rip it wide open
It ain't gonna be pretty
But you're not alone
'Cause all my favorite people are broken 
Believe me
My heart should know
Orphaned believers, skeptical dreamers
You're welcome
Yeah, you're safe right here
You don't have to go"
~Over the Rhine, "All my Favorite People"

"Margie struck Geneva with her baby doll
Barb knocked off the medcart comin' down the hall
Bob leads the congregation when he sings
How now brown cow
Only God can save us now
Jean says fuzzy wuzzy fuzzy wuzzy was a bear
Miss Cleve sings Hallelujah from the choir in her chair
Behind his busy apron Raymond's naked standing proud
Only God can save us now
Who will save me 
From myself 
In the night?"
~Over the Rhine, "Only God can Save us Now"


This past Saturday, I drove north just over an hour with two others to watch and listen to Over the Rhine play at Fort Wayne's C2G Music Hall. The dimly-lit venue--which seems to double as some sort of church or preschool--was full but not sold out for the folk-soul combination from Cincinnatti (the act's name comes from a Cincy neighborhood).

I have listened to Over the Rhine for several years--never obsessively--and even seen them play before (in Indianapolis as an Anderson University undergrad). At the group's core is a married couple, Karin Bergquist (acoustic guitar, lead vocals) and Linford Detweiler (piano, bass, backup vocals). Various others have contributed to their work at different times, but since 1991, the duo has put out 14 studio albums, five live albums, and three solo albums (by Detweiler).

They write their own meaningful music from their farm; that is to say they are distinctly unmanufactored, which adds to the appeal.  I don't think they're albums sell a million copies, but their fans are loyal, and perhaps most impressive to me, is that they have lasting power in a difficult market because what they are saying and living compels a certain kind of person.

They are the kind of people and artists who soothe you with their songs, put you at ease with their words and humor, and intrigue you with their stories. I told my girlfriend that they seemed like the kind of people who absolutely haven't blinked at the horrors and the pain of this world, that they have endured much together and learned to laugh along the way.

The story goes that the couple was on the verge of divorce and out of that season came the album "A Drunkard's Prayer." As you would expect, the result is a far cry from the Katy Perrys of the world. Like any marriage or relationship worth having, the album is full of pain, tenderness, honesty, and grace.

I left the concert on Saturday aware that I know an image of Bergquist and Detweiler more than I know the real people. Nonetheless, the way they look at each other on stage, their chemistry, is contagious. You get the sense that they have lived/loved well and forgiven much.

This, perhaps, is the biggest tension of my life right now. In my head and on the surface, I am drawn to what may be an upcoming season of my life, that is is to say the commitment of marriage, the rooting of myself in a place, and work I believe in for a long time. But inside of me, at my core, emotionally, I am terrified of this. There is too much exposure there. And what if I screw it up?! I hate having any responsibility for the emotional life of another. And yet, it is unavoidable. Life is safer in heady debates, job applications, and professional acquaintances. As much as part of me knows that life's real joy and learning comes in messiness and intimacy, the pattern of my life is in brief attachments, transience, clean partings.

But still, I want what Bergquist and Detweiler have.