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To be sure, the feelings were mutual. Rather than trying to understand the new sounds of rock and perhaps co-opt it with their own messages, early on anyway, most ministers instead chose to embrace elaborate conspiratorial theories of rock's evil origins in the drums of Africa. Others ventured that the whole genre was a Marxist plot to indoctrinate America's youth. Whatever the complex sociological reasons, white rock stars distanced themselves from Christianity and, if they did have any connection to it, either hid it or else embraced Old Scratch to the point that nobody would think to ask what church they attended. But rock headquarters apparently forgot to send the memo to Jason Wade, of the band Lifehouse. For Lifehouse, which the 22-year-old singer leads, has more than just a Christian heritage. Wade has been an active member of his church, the Malibu Vineyard, and is still known to take the stage to lead its congregation in worshipping God. Wade's Christian heritage took him around the world to distant outposts like Hong Kong, where his parents once served as missionaries. Upon returning to the United States, the teenager's parents broke up, and the young Wade — who had grown up listening to his mother's Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith records — discovered Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. It's an open secret that mainstream rock is now flooded with devout Christians. From Lenny Kravitz (who sports a tattoo that declares "My Heart Belongs To Jesus Christ") to rap-rockers P.O.D. to the crowd-pleasing Creed — as well as a new generation of artists like Sixpence None the Richer, Dashboard Confessional, Nickel Creek, Blindside, Chevelle, and Pedro the Lion — young and devout Christians who once had politely confined themselves to the Christian rock industry have now joined the cultural mainstream. (When Lifehouse's "Hanging On A Moment" became 2001's hottest single, most fans probably didn't realize they were listening to a song that had first been played at the Malibu Vineyard.) Wade is not from Seattle, but it's impossible to listen to the band's sophomore record, Stanley Climbfall, and not think of the enormous cultural impact Kurt Cobain has had. Cobain died when Wade was in his early teens; nevertheless, musically anyway, he is Cobain-haunted. Which is a nice counter-balance — since, lyrically, he is clearly Christ-haunted. One could do worse than to have one's music described as a cross between Jesus Christ and Kurt Cobain. Wade's voice is often compared to those of Scott Stapp of Creed or Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam. But it is Cobain that truly informs his music. The growl is unmistakably Cobain, and so are the flashes of rage, which seem to leap off the record. Both certainly had things to be angry about. Cobain had had a Ritalin-ridden, rootless childhood, and faced a hopeless future. Wade had to face hypocrisy — in the form of both the divorce of his missionary parents and the reactions of fellow believers to his father's fall from grace. Still, listening to Stanley Climbfall, one can't help wishing Cobain had tapped into the power Wade has found in his faith in God. That faith is no guarantee that bad things will never happen, of course. But listening to Lifehouse's music, one realizes that, while never fully erasing the pain of life, it nonetheless can help to soothe the wounded and allow them to go on. Yes, Stanley Climbfall is about pain — but it's a pain that has been enveloped in the kind of hope Cobain never found. It would be simplistic to suggest that only by embracing God can one produce music that is hopeful. After all, Dave Grohl — though a fellow member of Nirvana and not apparently devout — has produced an array of upbeat and spiritual songs like "Learn To Fly." Still, Grohl seems to have a naturally sunny disposition, whereas Wade more resembles a younger brother to Cobain — a younger brother who, in embracing God, found a reason to go on with life. All of which makes Lifehouse's second record a great listen. There are things to be angry about in the world, and Wade's voice betrays his anger. But it's an anger leavened by the hope that the wrongs will one day be righted, that marriages will be made whole, and that the wounds will be not just bound up, but actually healed. Wade may be angry but he is never consumed by his anger. From the hook-laden opening track "Spin" to the worshipful "Rain," Wade & co. serve up a brand of compelling, pop-influenced rock that makes the listener want whatever amazing grace Wade is selling. The only downside to Stanley Climbfall is what isn't on the album, but is apparently coming soon: Wade has reportedly saved some of his more overt spiritual material (the ones that mention the Deity by name, no doubt) for a so-called "worship record" which he intends to release under a different band moniker. There are many reasons why this should be reconsidered — not least of which is that it can and often does kill otherwise flourishing careers (country superstar Garth Brooks ham-handedly released a pop/rock record under the name Chris Gaines). More importantly, though, now that bands like King's X, Lenny Kravitz, and Stryper have by sheer force of will torn down the ridiculous wall that separated rock and religion, any move by Lifehouse to keep more explicit material off its records could only be seen as a concession to critics — like Nick Tosches and Edna Gunderson — who have a history of sneering at the very notion that rock and orthodox Christianity can coexist artfully. Release Lifehouse records with vague but comforting messages to the unknown God, while sending explicit songs that name the Name to fellow Christians under a different name? For fans who prefer their rock and their religion all mixed up, this smacks of a frightening return to the schizophrenic dualism that would leave the world divided into "sacred" and "secular." Somebody should tell Wade that though artists like Sam Cooke and Aretha Franklin once were forced to release separate records — one for believers, chock full of annoying Christian doctrine, and one for the pagans, with groovy shout-outs to love and sex — those days are long gone. Rock fans deserve to hear Wade's unvarnished spiritual longings on a Lifehouse record. With any luck, two or three of these will show up on the next Lifehouse record. Until then, fans can still enjoy Stanley Climbfall, and get a small taste of what might have been had Kurt Cobain touched the face of God and found just one reason to live. — Mark Joseph is the author of The Rock & Roll Rebellion: Why People of Faith Abandoned Rock Music and Why They're Coming Back. His next book, Rock Gets Religion: How People Of Faith Are Transforming American Popular Music, will be published in summer 2003. |
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at least the past 30 years, it has been largely taboo for rock musicians
to claim roots in an orthodox church of any kind. (Anyone who doubts this
should ask Ed and Dean Roland of Collective Soul, who have spent their
entire careers downplaying the fact that their father is a Baptist minister.)
While R&B artists typically played up their roots in church —
where many of them had first learned to perform — and were unashamed
of that heritage, rock has not taken kindly to such associations. From
John Lennon to Mick Jagger, Elton John to Nirvana, rock has long been
dominated by people who, when not expressing utter contempt for the Christian
faith, were in no mood to embrace or associate with it in any way. Even
when they had a past in a church, they were certainly not going to announce
it.
