Babylon is Every Town
When I was 12 I became a Christian. For the next 14 years I attended so many Christian concerts that I have lost count. I stood in the crowds os teenage masses singing along, hands held high. I didn't like church. I barely liked to say the name Jesus among my friends. But I did love that unity, that sound of everyone in agreement about love, singing, the sound so loud that my skull vibrated with the beat.
I'm going to date myself here, but I have a memory of Rick Florian, the lead singer for a band called White Heart, strutting through the audience, his eyes wide, sweat flying. He takes the mic away from his face and just stares at the crowd in disbelief. What a life! For a second, he looks right at me and nods his head. We are all part of something incredible at that moment. He knows it. I know it.
That's what my life was for several years. A series of incredible musical moments that I just happened upon. It helped that I became a DJ and a photographer. It helped that I dated guys in bands. I graduated from Christian concerts to mainstream ones. I've been in studios while tracks were laid down. I've chatted while CDs were mixed. I've been in writing sessions, providing my two cents. Behind the scenes, before, during and after; nearly every thing I did had some connection to the music.
I never did drugs. I never had a problem with alcohol. When my kids have asked me about this, I have said that I guess I just didn't have those addictive genetics. That may be true. But my drug was music. It was live music; those emotional highs that come with the unity that is created at concerts and intimate shows at little clubs. It doesn't happen every time. Not everyone gets it. But I remember well every time it did. No drug can match that.
When I was younger, I worried that I felt too much, was too awake. Now, at 44, I feel more awake than ever. Religion isn't a part of my life. Meaning, I don't participate in prayer or church, don't feel the same about Christianity as Christians do. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten those moments of great unity that singing songs of love and peace created. I don't believe in much these days, but I believe in that.
Music can communicate something that speaking and writing can't.
One of my favorite shows that I ever saw was the band Live and Counting Crows at Sloss Furnace in Birmingham, AL. Sloss is a really intimate venue because you basically walk down into a pit, with cement walls on both sides and no seating. I was maybe 30 years old, feeling much older and self conscious about being surrounded by college kids guzzling beer. I got a place on the wall to sit and standing next to me were these muscle head frat boys wearing trendy T's and drinking cheap beer. I was thinking Why are you here? How can you even know and appreciate these bands???
A recent show at Sloss
The show started and, though hesitant in the beginning, I finally loosened up enough to get into it. Something in me knew there wouldn't be many more shows like this. And that magical phenomenon that I know to be true, began happening. The familiar guitar starts and Ed Kowalczyk starts singing Lightning Crashes. All borders go to hell. Lighters go up. These two college guys turn to me and we sing at the top of our lungs.
"Oh now feel it, coming' back again
Like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
Forces pulling' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it"
And we sang:
"Love will lead us, alright
Love will lead us, she will lead us
Can you hear the dolphin's cry
See the road rise up to meet us
It's in the air we breathe tonight
Love will lead us, she will lead us"
And we sang:
"In a dream I had
You were standing all alone
With a dying World below
And a microphone
Singing hallelujah
I finally broke their mould"
The entire crowd was with us. Unified like some Southern Baptist choir on the last day of the revival. Better than that, because I felt no guilt, no confusion about what it meant to any of us. If that's not Love, I don't know what is.
I think about these moments a lot lately. As much, I think about these songs. In an election year, I guess most of us are looking for some peace, some unity. We are also looking for someone to stand up and lead us. Preferably someone who spends more energy inspiring the masses rather than picking apart the other party and dividing us further.
I don't care that I'm 44 and that more than half the people who knew me way back when think I am some sort of tree hugging liberal with no love for the conservatives views of my former home state. I think, if we were in the presence of a melody that moved us, we would see that common ground. We'd be family again, for a minute. We'd find our better selves.
The night at Sloss, Live left the stage and people started to go home. In fact, more than 3/4 were gone when Ed walked out onstage and sat down at the piano and started to play. My friends and I walked all the way down front and received this precious gift, this intimate solo of Ed singing Overcome. We were in the middle of a war and I felt every note. I was Overcome.
I feel that way during this election. I think we could all use a bit of love. Maybe a lot. So, this is my offering to you today. Here is my go-to fix for hope. I hope you will also share yours.
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