The sophomore project
Don’t, please don’t ask why my second Christian rock band was called ‘Lawman.’ That would presume that I knew what I was doing… and as will be the theme throughout, until very recently I, in fact, did not know what I was doing.
The late 80’s was a dark time for rock-n-roll. Thanks to Mtv and the beginnings of the corporatization of radio, most pop and rock music caught a very nasty virus. The internet had yet to roll out for everyday households. So music discovery was in the hands of a small number of old white men with dollar signs in their eyes.
Gone were the days of extended intros, dynamic sections in songs, guitar solos with feeling that actually sing while the lead singer sways with the crowd.
A format had taken shape. There must be a hook in the first 10 seconds of a song. The recipe = intro, verse, pre-chorus, chorus, verse, bridge, searing guitar solos apparently judged by the number of notes per second, chorus, out. And you better have the look, which is either GQ or Vogue cover material, or lean hard into weirdness. Or both.
Without being able to articulate why back then, I was becoming disillusioned by the status quo of what those old white millionaires were curating for the general public. I found incredible bands that were bucking the equation. Tesla, for example. Jeans. Jean jackets. Long hair, but not styled like a runway model. No hairspray. Attitude. A “fuck you” quality to their messaging, which is what drew me to rock-n-roll in the first place. Grit. Genuine machisimo.
7th Angel had made a mark in the central Illinois region. We played a lot of shows and recorded a few songs in a real studio (the only kind that existed then). We opened for bands that were big in the Christian rock and metal genre (meaning not “big” but popular amongst that audience).
But we were young, and as life starts to happen, decisions get made (girlfriends instead of your loyal band? WTF!), and projects go by the way.
I had been introduced to a dude that was a flaming guitarist with a great rock-n-roll voice. At some point we decided to join forces, and Lawman was born. This dude was the real deal. Incredible, tasty guitar licks and solos, interesting and pro song writing, and beyond the hairspray and spandex cock rock phase.
Perfect.
My good friends filled in on bass and drums. We had a member change here and there, but the main drive was this new friend and myself.
Lawman gained even more traction than 7th Angel. We recorded some songs, and now the music was starting to sound like the music in our cassette and cd players, and in our own dreams.
I can’t recall why Lawman broke up. But it was an excellent sophomore experience for me, solidifying the notion that I have the stuff, the chops, what it takes to actually make music that people want to hear. And, like before, the music was a vehicle for something weightier than sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. There was a message in every song. No music was created or played just to fill time. It was all steeped in intention.
The intention, of course, was tied directly to the directives of the dogma we had all elected to ingest with the tantalizing Kool-aid. But that attribute–weaving something sacred into art–I’ve never been able to shake.
And it continues on with SAGRADOSE.
