When I was a kid in grade school, I met a guy named Eddie. You may know him by Ed, Jay, or J. Edward, but it’s the same guy regardless of what you call him. Music was a common bond for us, right from the start. While many kids our age wanted to be great rock soloists, Eddie wanted to sing harmony. When we’d listen to the soaring solos of Paul McCartney or Frankie Valli, Eddie was listening to The Beatles or The Four Seasons – almost the same thing the rest of us were doing, but not quite. He would even buy Lettermen albums (remember The Lettermen? remember albums?) because they were the greatest harmony singers around. What was it about harmony that got to him? After he and I started singing together, it all began to make sense to me.

Eddie and I had voices with similar ranges. We were pretty good singers, but not amazing. I could sing lead or he could sing lead, and we could make a pleasant sound. But when we sang harmony it was special. I could recognize Eddie’s voice a mile away; it has a fairly distinct quality. And, of course, I’m very familiar with my own voice. But when we sang harmony, I could hear three things – his voice, my voice, and the blend, which seemed to have a life of its own. Sometimes his voice would carry the melody, sometimes mine would. At times, he would have the high part, then we might switch in the span of a musical beat. All the while, the blend carried on as a unique and inviting sound, like an ever-curving vine following an invisible thread.

I remember a song by Paul Stookey that we used to sing together:

Sunday morning, very bright, I read Your book by colored light
That came in through the pretty window picture.

I visited some houses where they said that You were living
And they talked a lot about You
And they spoke about Your giving.
They passed a basket with some envelopes;
I just had time to write a note
And all it said was “I believe in You.”

Passing conversations where they mentioned Your existence
And the fact that You had been replaced by Your assistants.
The discussion was theology,
And when they smiled and turned to me
All that I could say was “I believe in You.”

I visited Your house again on Christmas or Thanksgiving
And a balded man said You were dead,
But the house would go on living.
He recited poetry and as he saw me stand to leave
He shook his head and said I’d never find You.

My mother used to dress me up,
And while my dad was sleeping
We would walk down to Your house without speaking (“Hymn” by Stookey, Mason, and Gold)

By the time we had reached the closing chord, I felt like I had ridden a velvet highway through a range of nostalgic emotions. The words of the song are powerful, the melody is compelling, but the sound of the harmony we sang felt like woven honey glistening in the sun.

Eddie was the one that opened my ears, my mind, and finally my voice to harmony. Since then I have been privileged to sing harmony with some amazing vocalists — Marilyn Von Waldner, Anne Deal, Ellie Hjemmet, Darlene Hudson, Anita Kitchens, Phil Doster, Marty Corts, and Jesse Smith among them. And now Patty and I are building harmonies in Sound Traveler.

It’s been a while since Eddie and I shared the same stage. He joined me for a song at my wedding back in June, but that was the first time in a long time. Back in an earlier day we collaborated in such groups as Shalom, Sunset, Echoes and Shadows, and Crossties. Each of those groups shared at least one thing in common – uncommon harmony. Thanks, Eddie for releasing that magic for me. – Bob Tatum

Sound Traveler will be playing on the patio in front of the King Center in Melbourne before the Merle Haggard show on Wednesday, February 2. We’re the first group to do that, so we’re setting a trend. One of these days, we hope to be invited inside!

To respond, just click on the title of the post, scroll down, and share what you feel inside.

5 Comments to “SongTravelin’: 1.21.11 – When Two Voices Become More”

• January 21, 2011 at 7:05 am
  Patty says:

  I’m afraid that I can’t hold a candle to those other vocalists, but with Bob’s help I’m making progress with this mysterious thing called harmony. I have always seen myself as an instrumentalist, but Bob is showing me that my voice is also an instrument that has value. After all, I’ve always loved to sing, even though I’ve been through some “vocal obstacles” in my life. Maybe there is hope for me yet! Thanks, Bob – don’t give up on me.
• January 21, 2011 at 8:54 am
  Ed says:

  I read this about 50 minutes ago. Then I read it again. I still can’t come up with anything “clever” to say.

  While dancing with your sister at the wedding, she asked me, “What happened?” The only answer I could give was, “I broke it, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  When I hear and read about Sound Traveler Band, the emotions are always mixed. Certainly, one of them is jealousy, which I fight with all I’m worth. The other is overwhelming joy. You, with Patty, have finally found the “niche” you’ve been searching for throughout the years. The exuberance displayed in your posts here, and on Facebook, and the excitement with which you report an upcoming gig or one just past makes for an obvious confirmation.

  Thoughts riding over
  Rivers of deep, sands of gold
  In the Sunset
  Echoing Shadows of old.

  Thank you for heartfelt remembrances.
• January 21, 2011 at 1:12 pm
  Bob says:

  It’s not really broken, you know. There just had to be some time for healing. We’ll make more music.

  That is a very nice lyric of yours, and I remember it well. Also, I was just playing the Overture to Breath Like a Wind. What a nice arrangement that is.

  Take care, my friend.
• January 21, 2011 at 1:39 pm
  Ed says:

  I have a copy, somewhere, of us doing Hymn over at, was it 63rd Street apartment? I’ll have to see if I can find it.
• January 24, 2011 at 9:47 am
  Ed says:

  I found Hymn. Quality is horrific. Nobody gets to hear it