ABSTRACT
I hear Fred Hammond’s voice urging the choir into a harmonic chant. “Blessed (blessed) blessed (blessed)” over and over before the verse or the chorus even begins. When he starts, they fall into a seamless call and response, bringing their voices into a rhythm and melody that moves through muscle memory. Their dialogical exchange of one word bears multiple meanings: Can you say blessed? Yes. Is everyone blessed? Yes. How blessed are you? Blessed. Full stop. The chants become the backbone of the song—a harmonious percussion that moves it forward. Eventually, the chorus emerges, answering a question embedded in Fred Hammond’s series of calls: We’re blessed in the city/we’re blessed in the fields/we’re blessed when we come and when we go…
