Vigilante of Suburban Coffee Shops

Bill Mallonee
Originally uploaded by Greg Blosser.

Bill Mallonee, former lead singer & chief architect of Athens, Georgia based alt-country act Vigilantes of Love performed solo at Scotty McBeans in a Columbus, Ohio suburb just mile from my home this past week. And when I say he performed "solo" I mean "SOLO". The poor guy travels the country in a rented car with his guitars in the back seat. He runs his own soundboard, sells his own merchandise, tunes his own guitars, chauferrs himself to and from venues... The only thing he didn't do is run the cappucino machine. Anyway, the show was rewarding. Bill ran through a slew of favorites from his days with VOL as well as newer works from his three solo albums.

If you've never listened to Bill or VOL, I recommend you give it a spin. Expect a peculiar vocal style (ala Dylan or Neil Young) and lot's of poignant lyrics. I know this sounds odd, but I think Mallonee's lyrics have had as much influence on the way I want to approach preaching as any contemporary author or homiletician. In fact, there a handful of lines from his lyrics that I've carried around with me for years, in the back of my mind. They're always there and shape the way I think about life and God and faith. Bleeding heart sewn securely to thread-bare sleeve. Here's a few:

All this stuff I thought was jewelry turns out to be chains.

Take the true and the real from the false and the fake and the mountains reduce to rubble.

The Doctor is in, the surgery is free, he use no anasthetics but its all guaranteed

It's amazing what you'll sell when you're not doing that well, the stories you will tell to make you a friend

How much of this was meant to be, How much the work of the devil? How far can one man's eyes really see in these days of toil and trouble?

Are there any words of wisdom I've picked up along the way? Yes, death usually comes dressed up in her finery and lace. Hasn't eveyone in these bars been crying inside their whole life through? Well you might think we've ceased to hear it but no, the opposite's true.

It's all over, there's no explanation. All that's left is the messy clean up operation.

I have a picture. Wish it was a photograph. You were holding little children, right there upon your lap. Its never cold in that picture, as far as I can tell, but outside the rain has changed to snow and its frozen in the well.

This is dangerous terrain we're attemtping to traverse. It's a crying shame, but it could be alot worse.

Jim and Tammy and Reverend Swaggart, they don't look like Jesus & they're a whole lot fatter, Don't miss the Truth for a stupid side show, & don't confuse the cup for the contents it holds

I'm so tired of all my toys, they never last for long. They keep beaming dreams and wishes to the big dish on my front lawn. I want to drink out of that fountain on a hill called double cure. I want show you my allegience. I want to be a son of yours.

Your lips were alluring and slightly moist, so let's kiss away our part of the curse.

We've been dragging our dreams across the asphalt and pavement, trying to speak of the gift and the one who gave it.