Mahalia Jackson - I Believe

They say that music affects over the borders. I agree. I have experienced it often and sometimes in a strange way. Like with this great singer Mahalia Jackson.

There are some certain touching musical figures in the American music genre, with which I somehow feel an odd connection. Well, some of them are not moving me anymore except by the homey, rasping noise on my vinyl records. Ashes to ashes, stone engraved, hymns now faded.

I can't explain this connection. I live in Finland, the country with a short summer and a long and mostly cold and snowy winter. They are a thousands of miles from here, laying on their hot sandy beaches and enjoying sunny afternoons. But when I start to play these vinyl treasure albums, it seems like the distance completely fades away. They perform their best and right on my living room. A special concert.

People I'm talking about here are the Best Ones, of course. Like John Fogerty, Janis and Bruce. And then this amazing spritual lady, Mahalia Jackson.

I have to say I'm not a religious person myself. At least, not in an American way. No church rapture for me, thank you. That's why the gospel music has never touched me very much. However, I was aware of Jackson, surely. They sometimes played her music in the Finnish radio, but I never had any albums. Not even songs recorded on C-cassettes. No nothing.

It's all changed now. I've had this album for some six months now. At first I felt nothing, but as time went on I started to listen to it more and more. I just had to. Mostly in the still of the night when there's dark and quiet. Very private silence.

This is so amazing album. They don't do these kind of records any more. For instance, backgrounds are done with a very polished way. Only some melancholic organ or a tiny, distance piano chords with a nice electric guitar slicks and a soulful choir sighing here and there. Very impressive. The songs are not that great, I mean if you like to play some with your acoustic guitar. They ain't nothing like britneyspears. Names tells something about it: I Believe, In My Home Over There, I Have a Friend and I’m Going to Tell God.

But then there is this VOICE.

When she starts to sing I get a very mysterious feeling. It's like she's shining straight to his God; like there's an open window to somewhere up there. And it also feels like some very wonderful peace in the air—that she's comfortable with herself, with her God, with the world, and like she's heading to the stars or even beyond. She feels no troubles and she has no rush. She knows.

But perhaps the oddest thing is that I mostly get the same feeling. I feel peaceful and I forget my troubles. And sometimes, when I'm in a sensitive mood I almost burst to tears. Just because she so obviously likes to tell me.

This album is recorded 1955. I bought it from the local secondhand store, and it cost $2. Two bucks and a whole amazing and mysterious world. I'm so affected.

How can anyone listen to those birtneypops? :-(