I grew up in a small town with limited cultural opportunities. We didn’t have television until I was about seven. The only movie theater lasted just a short time. High school plays and band concerts were the extent of the arts on offer.
Going away to university greatly broadened my horizons. The university had a good music program, and I remember going to a Christmas concert there. A soloist sang, “I’m Just a Poor Wafaring Stranger.” It was the first time I had heard the song, and I was mesmerized. I mentioned to a friend how much I had appreciated the song, but she said she had not. I was not surprised. She was musically gifted and far more cultured than I was, and, to be fair, the singer’s voice and performance had been far from perfect. But that did not lessen my appreciation.
I was reminded of this event recently when I had a discussion with my cousin about the music we have listened to and still listen to. The conversation turned to Bob Dylan. I stated that Dylan was a great poet and songwriter and a cultural icon. He had a profound impact on the world in ways that went far beyond music. But I added that Dylan was not a very good singer. I have Dylan songs on my iPod, sung by other artists, but none sung by Dylan.
My cousin is far more knowledgeable and gifted than I am when it comes to music. He was in a rock band, after all. He agreed that Dylan’s voice can be “pretty harsh,” but added that his voice worked well on select material, including the songs “Like A Rolling Stone,” “Sweetheart Like You,” and “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”
My cousin is correct, of course. A good song requires an appropriate blend of singer and song. If you are singing about heartbreak and brokenness, it helps if your voice is rough and slightly imperfect—not terrible and out of tune like my voice, but still flawed. If a singer (or a choir) sings about brokenness in a perfect, clear, and beautiful voice, then it comes across as unauthentic. If you are heartbroken and in pain, your voice should not deliver joy and beauty. Brokenness needs to be expressed by both the voice and the lyrics.
The same is probably true for authors and books. You cannot write about pain and anguish (or love and joy) if you have never experienced any. An editor once advised me, “If you want to be a great writer, live deeply.” The best singers and writers are poor, wayfaring strangers traveling a path that is hard and steep, facing sickness, toil, and danger, on the way to a perfect place.
























































