Mason Jennings
Touched By Mother Nature's Wrath
2008-05-27
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In his new video, singer songwriter Mason Jennings strums his guitar and walks around a place that is no more.
Chalten was a town at the southern tip of Chile. Well, technically, it’s still a town – a quiet, gray ghost of a town that’s buried in ash. On May 3 – a few months after Jennings was there to film the playful love song “Fighter Girl” – a volcano erupted six miles away from Chalten, blanketing the town with its sooty fallout. Virtually the entire town -- including the people Jennings stayed with and who fed him -- have since evacuated, probably never to return. “The ash falls and then it could fall for another two months,” Jennings says, “and then it hardens with the rain.” And it ruins everything.
Jennings tells the story from his tour bus on the morning of May 22. He just woke up somewhere in Utah. His band is on the way to Salt Lake City, on the day after Brushfire Records released his new album In the Ever. But the volcano still looms in Jennings’ thoughts. “It’s been like 9,000 years since it went off,” he says.
Being touched, however remotely, by Mother Nature’s wrath has been heavy for Jennings, a deep thinking guy who sings about seeing God in the mountains and tries to keep his career as environmentally friendly as possible. In a May 15 blog entry on MySpace, Jennings compares what Chalten must be like now to a scene in an apocalyptic book by Cormac McCarthy. “There’s [sic] is a quiet gray world. Imagine it,” Jennings writes of the few stragglers who remain in the Chilean village. “My heart and my thoughts are with them.”
May God be with them, too – or however someone would choose to express that. The concept of a higher power comes up a lot on In the Ever. Some songs border on gospel, like the foot stomping opener “Never Knew Your Name,” in which Jennings sings about a great love that persists through war, peace and pills. Here and elsewhere on the acoustic recording, in the language of evangelicals, Jennings sings about being “in love” in a way that suggests he’s not talking about a woman. But he could be. “That’s where it started from for sure,” he says, “But I try to keep it open so that it can be about whatever the listener is feeling.” That tolerant outlook makes Jennings a perfect fit for Brushfire Records, incidentally the label of his good friend Jack Johnson.
Although he occasionally name checks Jesus directly, Jennings is no missionary rocker. That’s never more apparent than on “I Love You and Buddha Too,” a jovial, piano-driven explanation of Jennings’ inclusive personal faith. It’s the kind of hooky song that’ll have you humming all day after just one listen. It may also get you contemplating the mysteries of the universe, which is a lot for one little pop song. Jennings sings: “Why do some people say/that there is just one way/to love you God and come to you/We are all a part of you/You are unnameable/You are unknowable/All we have is metaphor/That’s what time and space are for.” Maybe preachers should buy this guy’s record.
“We’re all part of one thing,” Jennings says. It’s a realization that took the 33-year-old many years of spiritual odyssey. “I read a bunch of different religious texts and went to all kinds of church services,” he explains. “Every specific religion kept talking about an outgroup. And I always felt excluded, no matter how much my heart was in it. If you’re a loving person, then there’s no way you would put somebody in an outgroup.” Ultimately, Jennings says he hopes his work helps people realize that there’s something bigger out there – and that the knowledge of that should be a comfort. “Some of the stuff I touch on will make people feel like they’re not alone in the world,” he says. “That’s kind of a goal for me.”
But he’s not a religious philosopher all of the time. “Fighter Girl” is a sexy strummer about stolen moments with somebody else’s fast-driving girl. And “Your New Man” is a raucous drinking song – recorded live at the Troubadour in Los Angeles – about how much it sucks when your ex moves on. The simple guitar song casts Jennings as a jealous man who’s full of regret. It’s honest but funny in the way that Hank Williams songs can be. In a twang, Jennings finds a place to touch on religion even here. “Got to get religion to just to ease the pain,” he sings.
Jennings’ wife of six years inspired the song. But she didn’t take up with another man – not in real life. “My wife woke up and she’d had a dream that she’d been married to a different guy,” he says. “She said, ‘It was a really cool dream,’ and I was like, ‘It’s not that cool of a dream.’” Jennings and his wife live in south Minneapolis and have two sons – age 2 and 5. Ambitiously, even while he’s on tour, he tries to see the boys once a week. “I try to go home every week, just for a night,” he says. “They’re so little, it’s hard to have them on the road.”
And he should be around them as much as possible. He needs to impart on his sons that sublime sense of what’s important that comes through so clear in his songs. But Jennings knows better than to preach at his sons. “I just try to let them answer their own questions,” Jennings says. “I’ll just ask them what they think.” For instance: “My son will be like, ‘What’s above space, Dad?’ And I’ll say, ‘What do you think’s above space?’ And he’ll say, ‘Probably tornadoes.’”
And maybe volcanoes.
Chalten was a town at the southern tip of Chile. Well, technically, it’s still a town – a quiet, gray ghost of a town that’s buried in ash. On May 3 – a few months after Jennings was there to film the playful love song “Fighter Girl” – a volcano erupted six miles away from Chalten, blanketing the town with its sooty fallout. Virtually the entire town -- including the people Jennings stayed with and who fed him -- have since evacuated, probably never to return. “The ash falls and then it could fall for another two months,” Jennings says, “and then it hardens with the rain.” And it ruins everything.
Jennings tells the story from his tour bus on the morning of May 22. He just woke up somewhere in Utah. His band is on the way to Salt Lake City, on the day after Brushfire Records released his new album In the Ever. But the volcano still looms in Jennings’ thoughts. “It’s been like 9,000 years since it went off,” he says.
Being touched, however remotely, by Mother Nature’s wrath has been heavy for Jennings, a deep thinking guy who sings about seeing God in the mountains and tries to keep his career as environmentally friendly as possible. In a May 15 blog entry on MySpace, Jennings compares what Chalten must be like now to a scene in an apocalyptic book by Cormac McCarthy. “There’s [sic] is a quiet gray world. Imagine it,” Jennings writes of the few stragglers who remain in the Chilean village. “My heart and my thoughts are with them.”
May God be with them, too – or however someone would choose to express that. The concept of a higher power comes up a lot on In the Ever. Some songs border on gospel, like the foot stomping opener “Never Knew Your Name,” in which Jennings sings about a great love that persists through war, peace and pills. Here and elsewhere on the acoustic recording, in the language of evangelicals, Jennings sings about being “in love” in a way that suggests he’s not talking about a woman. But he could be. “That’s where it started from for sure,” he says, “But I try to keep it open so that it can be about whatever the listener is feeling.” That tolerant outlook makes Jennings a perfect fit for Brushfire Records, incidentally the label of his good friend Jack Johnson.
Although he occasionally name checks Jesus directly, Jennings is no missionary rocker. That’s never more apparent than on “I Love You and Buddha Too,” a jovial, piano-driven explanation of Jennings’ inclusive personal faith. It’s the kind of hooky song that’ll have you humming all day after just one listen. It may also get you contemplating the mysteries of the universe, which is a lot for one little pop song. Jennings sings: “Why do some people say/that there is just one way/to love you God and come to you/We are all a part of you/You are unnameable/You are unknowable/All we have is metaphor/That’s what time and space are for.” Maybe preachers should buy this guy’s record.
“We’re all part of one thing,” Jennings says. It’s a realization that took the 33-year-old many years of spiritual odyssey. “I read a bunch of different religious texts and went to all kinds of church services,” he explains. “Every specific religion kept talking about an outgroup. And I always felt excluded, no matter how much my heart was in it. If you’re a loving person, then there’s no way you would put somebody in an outgroup.” Ultimately, Jennings says he hopes his work helps people realize that there’s something bigger out there – and that the knowledge of that should be a comfort. “Some of the stuff I touch on will make people feel like they’re not alone in the world,” he says. “That’s kind of a goal for me.”
But he’s not a religious philosopher all of the time. “Fighter Girl” is a sexy strummer about stolen moments with somebody else’s fast-driving girl. And “Your New Man” is a raucous drinking song – recorded live at the Troubadour in Los Angeles – about how much it sucks when your ex moves on. The simple guitar song casts Jennings as a jealous man who’s full of regret. It’s honest but funny in the way that Hank Williams songs can be. In a twang, Jennings finds a place to touch on religion even here. “Got to get religion to just to ease the pain,” he sings.
Jennings’ wife of six years inspired the song. But she didn’t take up with another man – not in real life. “My wife woke up and she’d had a dream that she’d been married to a different guy,” he says. “She said, ‘It was a really cool dream,’ and I was like, ‘It’s not that cool of a dream.’” Jennings and his wife live in south Minneapolis and have two sons – age 2 and 5. Ambitiously, even while he’s on tour, he tries to see the boys once a week. “I try to go home every week, just for a night,” he says. “They’re so little, it’s hard to have them on the road.”
And he should be around them as much as possible. He needs to impart on his sons that sublime sense of what’s important that comes through so clear in his songs. But Jennings knows better than to preach at his sons. “I just try to let them answer their own questions,” Jennings says. “I’ll just ask them what they think.” For instance: “My son will be like, ‘What’s above space, Dad?’ And I’ll say, ‘What do you think’s above space?’ And he’ll say, ‘Probably tornadoes.’”
And maybe volcanoes.
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