Later, when Larry dropped me off at home, I went immediately up to my room to be alone. I had my room to myself again as Larry recently married and moved out. I then knelt by my bed and wept. I wasn’t necessarily a person who ever cried and that felt strange enough to me. But the reason I was crying was not out of joy. I didn’t feel joy at all that night. I thought to myself, “What have I done? I’ve given my life to Jesus and what if he demands I quit my band? I can’t go back now.” That was foremost on my mind.
What an ungrateful twit I was. The God of the Universe saved my soul just hours before, gave me the gift of eternal life, and I was so completely self-centered I couldn’t even be thankful for just a moment of time. I felt awful immediately as the truth of who I was covered me like pond scum and my selfishness became apparent to me. Exhausted, I then asked God to forgive me, and I tried to sleep.
SIX
Go Tell Them
The next day was a Monday. I awoke early, half excited and half frightened about my mysterious encounter with God the night before. I had to go to school. I jumped in my van, started it, and hit the road without talking to anyone at home.
There was a ritual of sorts that happened every day before school in the parking lot. The students who had cars parked, visited, smoked cigarettes, ate junk food for breakfast, and traded stories from the weekend. It was like tailgating at 7:00 a.m.
Graduation was just six weeks away and it was a main topic. That particular morning, I was quiet. I was so quiet, in fact, my friends asked me what was up. I didn’t know what to say about what happened the night before. I stayed awkwardly silent, waiting for the bell to ring.
I was a fairly popular kid in school, mainly because of our band’s local notoriety. I didn’t play sports and was working most weekend nights somewhere with the band. My circle of friends was tight. Outside the band, my main social scene in high school was camaraderie with a wild fraternity that I was a member of. We even had a frat house—in high school! We didn’t practice Christian behavior, or even intelligent behavior in that lion’s den. It was just a hang out where we would get into all kinds of mischief.
During my initiation and hazing the year before, the other pledges and I were made to streak naked on Highway 51 in front of Graceland at 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday night. There we were, in our full glory, prancing by the front of the most famous house in Memphis, in nothing but our birthday suits. Traffic was heavy so we had quite an audience. Some cars followed us with their high beams on while others honked their horns and hollered. I still can’t believe I did it. It didn’t seem like too big of a deal back then. People should be arrested for streaking right past Elvis and Graceland.
But that Monday morning I didn’t even want to see my fraternity brothers. I just didn’t know what to say to anyone. I walked into the school, on my way to my first class, and immediately ran into Dana. I believe it was Providence. He strutted up to me and asked why I left so early from the concert at Overton Park the day before.
“I found Jesus,” I blurted uncontrollably.
Dana smirked. “I didn’t know he was missing.”
“I’m serious, Dana,” I said. “We need to talk.” I suggested we skip class and Dana agreed.
Let the record show, it did not occur to me that Christians weren’t supposed to skip class. I was in the flock for less than twenty-four hours at that point. We ended up ducking into a janitor’s closet off one of the classrooms. Fortunately, there was a light bulb in there hanging from the ceiling by a wire. I picked a Bible up from our chorus teacher’s desk on the way to the janitor’s closet. I remembered that Mrs. Tyler always kept it lying there on her desk. It’s funny how God shows you things as you go along.
Once we got situated in the closet, on mop buckets and boxes, I explained to Dana what happened to me the day and night before in great detail. I told him about how my eyes were opened when I saw him stoned at the park. I explained how I asked Jesus to forgive me of my sins, how I committed my life to him forever, and how I didn’t really understand what it all meant or how it would play out. I simply told him I felt like it was right, and I was changed. I opened the Bible to a random place and began to read. I didn’t have a clue what I was reading.
Dana stopped me mid-sentence and exclaimed, “Stop! I want what you have. I have been going through the same weird confusion and nothing makes any sense in my life. I want to give my life to Jesus too.”
In that janitor’s closet at Hillcrest High School, in March 1972, Dana Key committed his life to Christ. Nothing would ever be the same for either of us ever again.
Coincidentally, we had band practice on Monday nights. We practiced downtown at Lewis’s studio. Being a recording studio, it was the perfect practice room. Dana and I got there early that night to set up. As the rest of the band began to arrive, the air in the room got pretty thick. You could cut it with a knife. Maybe I was nervous because I planned to share what had happened to me the same way I did with Dana.
After everyone was set up I asked if I could say a couple of things. That probably really freaked them out, as I had never asked to do that before. I went on to explain the journey I was on and where it ended the night before. I explained I made a decision to follow Jesus. I also shared about Dana’s decision to follow Jesus in the closet at school.
They looked at me with complete dumbfounded confusion. It was as if I had just said I joined the French Foreign Legion and was going to Africa to find Tarzan and Jane.
“Wow. That’s great, Eddie. Awesome for you. And you too, Dana—now, can you play that new song by Yes?—or somebody? Just play anything by anybody—quickly!” Those were the kind of comments I got back. Some couldn’t even find words. They offered no response but blank stares.
That was an important moment for me. To stand in front of my peers and share Christ with them was a big, big deal. You see, our band was known for its somewhat loose and risqué attitudes, songs, and performances on stage. So, for me to drop this bomb on them might as well have been like saying I was an alien from space beamed in from Mars or Pluto.
I’ve thought about that moment many times. I wonder whether it was wise for me to say that stuff in a group setting, or if it would have been better to explain it to them individually. Sharing with the group like that did have a galvanizing effect on me, though it also had a dividing effect amongst us as well.
I call that entire day my third epiphany because God suddenly invaded my life like a majestic force. It was also clear to me things had changed forever in the band. The train was off the track. The cat was out of the bag, and no one knew how to get it back in. There was definitely no turning back.
Over the next few weeks, the differences between the other members’ point of view and ours became painfully clear. We had conversations about what songs were appropriate to play, what was appropriate to wear, and what we should, or should not, say from stage. It was weird, to say the least. I never imagined I would suddenly feel so dramatically different about so many things and would feel the need to vocalize those feelings. I’m sure it blew their minds. One day I was this, and the next day I was that. It blew my mind as well. I also shared the Gospel with many of my friends at school during that time. I was a man on a mission.
A couple of months after that fateful band practice, we had a gig at the Enlisted Men’s Club on the large naval base in Millington, just north of Memphis. We played there many times so I didn’t think much about it. Larry called that afternoon and said he had a free evening and wondered if we needed any help.
“Sure!” I said, enthusiastically.
Anyone who has moved a Hammond B3 organ and all the amplifiers, speakers, and rest of the machinery of rock ‘n’ roll knows help is always needed. We got set up that night at the club and, as usual, noticed and remarked about the male to female ratio in the place. There were probably three hundred men and ten women in the club.
For the most part the guys would clown around, drink a little too much, and occasionally dance with so
mebody. It was mostly harmless, but I forgot about an important ritual that happened every time we played there. About mid-way through our second set, the sailors cleared the area in front of the stage to create a roughly sixty foot wide semi-circle of chairs right in front of the band. The soldiers sat in the chairs and a series of scantily clad girls appeared from backstage, shimmy around each guy, and do what was basically a soft-porn exotic dance and tease in front of them. If a guy “got lucky,” she might sit in his lap, or slip off a little piece of clothing.
We always played a long sultry instrumental for about ten or fifteen minutes while the girls did their version of private table dances for each guy. This night was no different. We decided to play “Green Onions” by Booker T. and the MG’s because it was easy to stretch out. As the song started and the girls came out, I glanced over at Larry, sitting to my right about six or eight feet away. Oh my gosh, was I uncomfortable. I couldn’t believe how embarrassed I was to have to do this in front of the guy who led me to the Lord.
That night I had my fourth epiphany. God revealed to me, in that moment, I was meant to leave the band. I had an immediate and profound understanding. That was the first head-on collision between my faith and the world of entertainment. It was definitely a moment of destiny. It was also far from the last such revelation.
This was hard stuff for me. I dedicated everything in my life to making it in the music biz and now I was ready to give it up. I knew as I grew in my understanding of the things of God, my relationship with the band was increasingly like the relationship between oil and water. I shared how I felt with Dana, somewhat worried about how he might react. “Man,” he said, “I never thought you’d say it. I’m so ready to quit too.”
Dana wasn’t as ready for my next step. I told him I was putting all of my keyboards and equipment up for sale. “If God sells them,” I said, “it will be a sign for me to quit music.” I was confused and needed some direction and guidance. I advertised my keyboards at good prices in several newspapers for a few weeks. Good news was, I couldn’t give the stuff away.
It actually took a few months to leave the band. We had several gigs on the books, and we didn’t want to leave the guys hanging. In the meantime, prom and graduation came. Dana and I drew really close during that time because of the bond of our new faith. We went to prom together with our dates in my dad’s full-size Lincoln Continental with suicide doors. We were a sight to see, all dressed up in tails and top hats. I even carried a cane and wore white gloves. I’m pretty sure I looked like a vampire.
After our graduation ceremony, our friends all went out to party the night away. Neither of us had any desire to do that anymore. We knew what it meant and where it could lead. So I picked Dana up at about midnight, and we drove about sixty miles south to Sardis Lake. We slept on the beach and watched the sun rise the next morning. It was kind of a bummer to spend our graduation night that way, but it was also a defining experience for both of us. We knew we were changed through Christ. We just didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves at that point. Old things passed away, and as we were being made new it was a weird feeling. It was like suddenly seeing in color for the first time after a lifetime of black and white.
Within weeks we were both starting to write songs about our new faith and what God did in our lives. This was no pre-meditated thing, mind you. We just wrote about what was important to us. That was how our generation worked. One day we’re writing songs about cars, or girls, or Vietnam, and the next we’re writing about Jesus.
We never had a discussion about what style of music we wanted to do. Rock ‘n’ roll was second nature to us. Had we grown up on country music, I’m sure that’s how our songs would have sounded. But we’d cut our teeth on Memphis rock and soul. It was our language. At that time neither of us were aware of anyone else playing rock music about Jesus. Later we discovered several other artists around the world were doing the same thing, but at that point the only Christian music either Dana or I were exposed to was hymns at church and Southern Gospel. Both our dads were fans of Southern Gospel music.
Once Dana and I were officially out of Globe I went and met with Lewis Willis and told him about the new songs we were writing together. We were still under contract with Hi Records and Hi Publishing even though we were out of the band. Lewis let us use the studio for rehearsal so we could work up a few of the songs. We rounded out the band with a drummer named Max Richardson who was a previous member of Globe. I asked him if he was interested in helping us develop this new kind of music we were calling Jesus Rock. We didn’t have any money, and no gigs to play, but we had a vision. He agreed and we got to work.
We didn’t have a bass player, so I played the bass notes with the pedals of the Hammond B3 organ the way Felix Cavaliere did in The Rascals on their hits “Good Lovin’ ” and “People Got To Be Free.” Neither Dana nor I had ever sung in Globe, but we didn’t have any other singers available so we did it ourselves. All three of us played and sang. It was pretty cool. The plan was to get the songs together and then see if Lewis, Hi Records, or their distributor London Records were at all interested in working with us.
Dana, Max, and I recently moved out of our parents’ houses and got a cheap, one-bedroom apartment in a ramshackle mid-town building. We lined up our three twin beds like an army barracks along the wall in the bedroom. The neighborhood was funky. The apartment was tiny. We were loving life.
There was a fellow that lived primarily on the street who went by the name of Dancing Jimmy. The thing was, Jimmy only had one leg. He had another spare leg he would wear occasionally. You could always tell when Jimmy was down and out. He would take off his prosthetic leg and sit on the street corner and beg with one pant leg rolled up. When he would raise enough money to buy cigarettes, wine, or maybe a sandwich, he would fetch his other leg he had hidden close by in the bushes and put it on quickly to make a beeline for the liquor store around the corner. We guys would go visit him in the afternoons and hear his stories of war, lost romance, and just how screwed up politics was in the world.
Across the hallway from our apartment lived an old gal who wore what looked like a Beatle mop-top black wig she bought from a dime store. Sometimes she would wear it backwards. She was always sweet to us boys. It was an interesting neighborhood. We would leave our front door unlocked at night so if anyone needed a place to sleep they could come in and find a couch or the floor. Sometimes, we would wake up to find two or three young folks we didn’t know from Adam sleeping in the living room. People just dropped in to crash late in the night after carousing at the music clubs down the street in Overton Square. It was the Jesus Movement, and there was ample good ministry going on.
Dana and I had started to hear that there was a tiny support system for “Jesus Music” coming together around the country, but we still knew nothing about it. Dana came in to the apartment one summer afternoon clutching an LP called Only Visiting This Planet by Larry Norman. He was visibly excited and said, “You are not going to believe this!” He proceeded to play the entire album on the turntable. I was truly amazed. It was the first time I realized that there were other artists besides us making this kind of music. I also noticed that the record was released on Capitol Records, a major label. Maybe that meant they saw potential in Jesus Rock. I thought maybe there was a way we could someday commercially release an album as well.
Truth be known, I was a rebel without a clue. I didn’t have any idea if I could actually make a living in this new genre of music or not. I just knew that I felt compelled to do it. It was my calling, and I was just naïve enough to think God would make a way.
SEVEN
Emmanuel
After that summer I started as a music major at Memphis State University. That didn’t work out so well, but we’ll get to that later. There were no classes for what I needed to learn. I was going to have to figure it out as I went. I met a guitar player named Tony Pilcher, who was in one of my music classes. Tony and I had a lot in common and hit it o
ff from the start. He grew up playing in rock bands like ours and gave his life to Christ about the same time as Dana and I. In fact, as the phenomenon known as the Jesus Movement took root in the U.S. and the UK, millions of longhaired kids like us were coming to faith. Turned out there were lots of other rock-n-roll Jesus freaks out there, we just hadn’t met them yet.
I invited Tony to come jam with us at the studio. He was a great addition to the band and came and went several times over the next few years. We became a four piece; two guitars, keys and drums. I still played bass with my feet. We practiced with a vengeance, two or three times a week for the next month or so. It was finally decided we needed to find a place to play publically.
Every band needs to gig. You really learn what works and what doesn’t when you play in front of an audience. The only venues we knew of, however, were clubs, frat houses, corporate parties, dances, and bars. Churches, in the South anyway, didn’t host Jesus rock bands. So, we tried a few gigs at bars. We found out quickly folks didn’t usually come to bars to listen to Jesus rock bands. They were especially turned off by what we had to say between the songs. We were evangelists. That didn’t go over so well. I’ve carried that lesson with me my entire career.
Later in life as a music executive, I’ve met with countless artists who are confused about whether they wanted to be known as a “mainstream” or a “Christian” artist. That really comes down to whom you plan to perform for. Each audience has its own needs and expectations and there are certain rules about how you reach each one. It’s not that one is better, or even more spiritual, than the other. I’ve known many excellent and highly effective artists in both Christian and mainstream spaces. It’s also true those audiences often cross-pollinate. There are plenty of Christians out listening to mainstream music, and every so often a Christian song breaks into the mainstream, but by and large they are separate worlds with different rules.
Rebel for God Page 6
