Fire in My Bones: Transcendence and the Holy Spirit in African American Gospel

9. Song: "Sing Till the Power of the Lord Comes Down"

Chapter 9 SODg "Sing Till the Power of the Lord Comes Down" "Glory to God! Glory to God!" Joining in the hosannas that close Deacon Eldridge 's prayer, Mother Eunice Nixon stands in the amen corner and moves toward the cross-aisle. Her outstretched arm receives the microphone from the deacon while murmured "Amens" still whisper through the sanctuary and the guitar still quietly weeps. Without a moment's hesitation, she addresses the church, her tone once again warm and conversational. "This next song:' she saysslowly,glancing toward the musicians, "is dedicated to the Branchettes." The guitarist and bass player are still playing the melody they had settled into during the prayer. At Mother Nixon's glance, however, they bring it to a quick close.At the same moment, saints in the pews fillthe impending silence with words of affirmation, calling out "Yes"and "Lord Jesus:' As Mother Nixon continues , her words assume the purposeful rhythms of conversation. When you get Christ in your life, and no matter how far you go, no matter whereyou go, don't let nobody turn you around! (Lord Iesusl) (So true!) (Amen!) A wave of assent ripples through the pews, the saints clearly approving Mother Nixon's choice of song. "Yeah:' they cry. "Amen!" "That's right!" The bass player, meanwhile, stillsthe subtle chording with which he had punctuated each of Mother Nixon's lines. Now he waits for her to set a new rhythm. The wait is not long. Someone in the front pew passes Mother Nixon a tambourine , and she immediately begins to sing, striking the jingling frame on the second beat. Bythe fourth, she's joined by clapping from the pews. An enthusiastic chorus of voices is already sounding the familiar spiritual, singing with an exuber- ance that testifies to the song's aptness for an anniversary. Before the third line has even begun, a sister in the amen corner is pushing the lyrics with an offbeat clap. Turn you round, TURN YOU ROUND, DON'T LET NOBODY TURN YOU ROUNDI The guitarist is the first musician to join the praises, opening the second verse with an understated, rather ragged version of the melody. A fewbars later, the bass laysa fluently voiced foundation, inspiring the guitarist to a clearer phrasing of the chorused words. The congregation, meanwhile, joyfully repeats the opening lines, preparing the way for Mother Nixon's solo lead. TURN YOU ROUND, TURN YOU ROUND, DON'T LET NOBODY TURN YOU ROUND! Mother Nixon launches the next verse by double-timing the tambourine, pushing the tempo with a driving sizzle.Her resonant voice soars above the accompaniment asshe passionately cries out the lyrics. The guitarist matches her note for note. Don't let nobody turn you around, TURN YOU ROUND Don't let nobody turn you around, TURN YOU ROUND Don't let nobody TURN YOU ROUND, KEEP YOUR FEET ON SOLID GROUND! Midway through the verse, the keyboards leap in, sounding the synthesized voicings of chorded piano. Now freed from its supportive role, an emboldened bass pushes to the melodic foreground, wrapping its warm notes around Mother Nixon's every word. Meanwhile, a second tambourine adds its sibilant pulse to the thickening rhythms. Don't let nobody turn you around, TURN YOU ROUND Don't let nobody turn you around, TURN YOU ROUND Don't let nobody TURN YOU ROUND, KEEP YOUR FEET ON SOLID GROUND! The entire church moves with the joy of jubilant praise. Old and young alike sing with a full-voiced enthusiasm that rings from the block walls and presses "Sing Till the Power of the lord ComesDown" 85 8. "Don't let nobody turn you round! Keepyour feet on solid ground!" The raised voices of the congregation push the singing to a passionate peak, transforming the song's message from sober counsel to joyful affirmation. Here members of St. Amanda Missionary Baptist Church's Gospel Choir-seated behind the kente-garbed Grace A.M.E. Mass Choir-add the sizzle of tambourines. (Photo by Roland L. Freeman) against the restraints of the song's tempo. The sharp reports of slapping palms and the resonant thrum of rapping feet further nudge the rhythm, quickening it at a pace both imperceptible and undeniable. Mother Nixon, caught up in the wave of rejoicing, closes her eyes and presses into the next set of verses. My hope is built on nothing less, DON'TLETNOBODY TURNYOUROUND...