A different kind of music echoed through the vast hall of pews and white walls in McDaniel College's Baker Memorial Chapel.
Sure, the traditional spiritual soared to the high ceiling every now and then. But there were also hip-hop beats and syncopated stomps on the floor. Guitar melodies punctuated with taps on a gourd and a fair amount of hands slapping the wooden benches. Flowing rivers of recited words about war, about relationships, about life.
And between each number, plenty of claps and cheers.
The improvised lyrics and memorized verses sprang from the creative minds in Jonathan Gilmore's urban folk workshop last week at Common Ground on the Hill. The annual event, which celebrates the traditional arts, will continue through next week. In Gilmore's class, silence doesn't exist for long. But he doesn't set any limits on what form student expression takes. The only rule: everyone must perform -- at least once. Maybe twice.
"If all you know is 'Yankee Doodle Dandy,' then come sing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy,' " Gilmore said by way of introduction. "But flip it." Mix it up. Embellish and improvise.
"When you get up here, you have to kill it," Gilmore said, as he encouraged his students to embrace open-mike culture and enjoy the show.
"The thing is," he added, "you are the show."
Once they received their marching orders, members of the class didn't hesitate -- much. They stepped up front to recite their poems and share their songs. They spit out rap lyrics. They tapped into musicians they appreciated, such as Ani DiFranco and Chaka Khan.
Andrew Sartorius kicked off one class with a poem he called "Legacy." An excerpt:
The songs of the ancients die away,
Driven back to the howling winds
By the sounds of interstates, 18-wheelers and Humvees.
No longer waist-deep in wild wonder, I'm standing in stock-market hell,
The language of my time buzzing around me
Bells bang and whistles sing
And something that sounds like the combined efforts
Of 10,000 angry fire engines and Godzilla is shrieking and shaking...
My only escape: ascension.
Laughter and the occasional clap peppered the reading, an audience commentary that finally erupted in applause when Sartorius finished.
Gilmore's class was one of several new offerings this year. A Common Ground regular, Gilmore, 23, has attended since he was 14. In afternoons last week, he led his class in discussions about contemporary black music -- hip-hop and soul -- and open-mike culture.
Although masked in a different sound, they tell the same old stories as blues and other styles, Gilmore said.
"It's just all music, and it started from the same place," he said.
To help convey that message, Gilmore turned to Baltimore hip-hop artist Jamma* Wun and his aunt, Karen Gilmore, who is also a poet.
"When y'all think 'hip-hop,' what comes to mind?" Jamma* Wun asked the class.
"Beats," said Dan Collins, who also teaches a film course at Common Ground.
"Everything," chimed in Lee Francis, another teacher-student. "Music. art, dance, poetry. Movement."
Many people, including famous rappers such as Eminem, focus on the battle, Jamma* Wun said. But the Baltimore artist said he preferred to focus on the song-writing, something difficult to do amid today's MTV and radio hip-hop culture.
After pacing across the stage in silence for a few seconds, he launched into one piece inspired by his teenage years called "Beat."
Yo! I never hustled 'cause I didn't want to hurt my mother
The last thing you want to do is make a single mother
Feel like a failure. Too many black boys do that --
I didn't want to be that black boy....
I had a little brother who looked up and relied on Jam
So, for dough, Burger King would suffice ...
My days get lonely, but I found my beat.
As the words flowed out rhythmically, students chimed in, slapping their laps in time to his rap.
The hip-hop session slid back into poetry when Karen Gilmore took to the stage. Gilmore described how she used the spoken word as therapy -- and the freedom students in the workshop should feel in their own compositions.
"It doesn't have to rhyme," Karen Gilmore said. "Anybody can write about anything."
arin.gencer@baltsun.com