I recently spent a weekend at a nice cottage in Northern Michiagn, where I encountered the aforementioned magazine, which must have been left there by a previous resident, and which I eventually stole, having found it so unintentionally interesting/hilarious and delightfully over-written.  Here are a few things I learned 

Page 17:  “You never actually own a Patek Phillipe (ed. note: This is a watch.) You merely look after it for the next generation.”  The ad features a black and white image of a middle aged white male, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit/tie, smiling wanly as if to say “I buy and sell people for a living.  I could buy and sell you.”  The man is joined in the ad by his son (suit, no tie, no wan smile() who looks like he is the kind of kid who’s probably busy playing his first season of polo at Oxford, when he’s not busy wielding his dad’s influence to change course grades or overturn suspensions. 

Page 47:  “As your fingers reach into a coin-tray, door pocket, or storage compartment, they will encounter nothing but pure leather lining the base, instead of the ubiquitous flock lining.  Why? Because leather is more pleasing to the touch.”

Aside:  I really felt, at times, that my own ordinary fingers weren’t up to the task of caressing the creamy, gently glossed pages of this fine magazine. 

Page 54:  “Terme di Saturnia (this is a resort/spa) treats you with a really exclusive feeling.  The feeling of being unique.”  The ad features an image of another impeccably dressed middle aged white guy in a tuxedo, bending down to dust of a golf ball that rests on the fairway.    The implication here is that this particular man will be at your beck and call for the duration of your stay, and won’t begin to openly hate you until his shift is over.

Page 59:  “Superyachts are for sale, for charter, for fun.”

Page 65: (on exclusive London members’ only clubs)  “At such traditional clubs, laptops are viewed with utter disdain, mobile phones are the craft of the devil and if you even try to take a blackberry out of its holster, you’ll be stopped dead.”    The implication here is that if you can afford to belong to one of these clubs, you probably employ an army of people whose job it is to do things like open your laptop and un-holster your Blackberry.

As you may or may not know, I’m in the throes of writing a book for Moody Publishers – part of which involves me listening to only Christian music for a whole year.  As such, part of that commitment includes only going to Christian concerts.

I went to one last night, with my Christian Music Sherpa, Zach, called Winter Blast (which sounds to me like a chewing gum brand…ex: Try Dentyne’s WINTER BLAST! Not to be confused with Winter Jam, which is another Christian music festival)…but is actually a multi-act show-slash-shill for World Vision.  I went to Winter Blast largely because it was only ten dollars, I had heard of one of the bands (Building 429) and it was at a local megachurch near my house (Mt. Hope Church) that I was really curious to see the inside of (which ended up looking, surprisingly, a lot like a church).

Editor’s Note:  I sound like a jerk in this post.  The book will be tamer.

Bits of Dialogue, Exchanged with Zach, Before the Show Started:

- Upon seeing a banner with pictures of the Mt. Hope pastors, Zach pointed to one and said “Have you read his book called ‘Ten Ways to Survive if You Miss the Rapture’?”  I hadn’t.  He went on to explain that one of the ten ways to survive involved stocking up on a lot of batteries and listening to the radio.

- Me, upon entering the venue and scanning the crowd:  “I feel like we’re chaperones at a youth group lock-in.”

It would get way, way weirder.  The show started with a band called Echoing Angels, who actually ended up being the most talented group on the entire bill.  To picture Echoing Angels, imagine the five coolest kids in your high school youth group.  Now imagine them a few years older, with guitars in their hands.  From where we sat, the front man looked a lot like a puffier Luke Wilson – come to think of it, a lot like Luke Wilson looks in the cell phone ads he’s doing now.

Me: “I wonder what Christian college these guys led worship at before they started doing this?”

Zach: “I wonder what mid-sized megachurch these guys are the house band for, currently?”

Echoing Angels, like I said, was the highlight of the night.  They were actually quite talented and played a tight set that was too short.  After Echoing Angels, Zach and I took a spin through the concourse/narthex past the merch tables, where we realized that kind of urbany/willowy font that Relevant Magazine made cool six years ago had been utilized on absolutely every piece of merchandise (shirts, CD’s, hats, wristbands, keychains, glossy band photos, etc.) available for purchase.

One Immutable Law of the Universe:  Lead guitar players are always tall/willowy/attractive, while bass players are always squatty, with a low center of gravity – like the kid who played offensive guard on your high school’s football team.  Why is this?

We both felt very creepy/old when we both walked by Britt Nicole’s merch table and both noticed a very unintentionally(?) seductivey glossy photo of her in a sun dress on a bike.  We both thought of Debbie Gibson, on whom we both had crushes as middle schoolers.  We both felt weird.  Herein lies the dilemma with young, Christian pop divas vis a vis unintentionally(?) selling their sexuality.  More on that later.

Between sets a guy who looked like Carson Daly (note: everybody who spoke/sang onstage looked like Carson Daly…if looking like Carson Daly means wearing skinny jeans, some kind of leather jacket, and some kind of overly-contrived disheveled hairdo)…came up on stage and let us know that for $30, we would receive a Building 429 poster, a CD, a t-shirt, and “the opportunity to come backstage and pray with the band.”  I seriously considered doing this, for research purposes but then cooler heads prevailed.

After offering the opportunity to pay-to-pray, Carson tried to give away some free Building 429 CD’s to audience members.  He tried to engage them by asking if anyone knew the name of Building 429’s new hit single.  A couple of kids raised their hands but failed to come up with the name.  At which point, Carson exclaimed “You’re not devoted,” and left the stage.  Seriously, this happened.  At which point I turned to Zach and said “That was worth the ten dollars.”

Next was a set by a band called Mike’s Chair.  Here’s what I remember about Mike’s Chair:  Two of the four members of the band wore yellow scarves over their sweaters.  That was enough to make me want to leave the room before they even started playing.   (disclaimer: I’m sure they’re great guys and good musicians).  One and a half songs into their set I asked Zach if he wanted to go back out into the hallway.  He did.  In the hallway we found a larger-than-life-sized banner of Mike’s Chair in all of their affluent/suburban/sexy/Christian glory.

Zach: “Mike’s Chair looks like the kind of band that scheduled a photo shoot on the first day they form as a band.”

Me:  “Mike’s Chair = Dad’s Money.”

The highlight of the Mike’s Chair set, according to Zach, was that they played a DC Talk song from the mid 1990’s, which we could hear from the plush leather divans we were sitting in, in the Mt. Hope narthex.  In those divans, we had a long conversation about the type of hairdo rocked by Mike, the Mike’s Chair frontman (also rocked by many of the other guys onstage throughout the night).  It’s a sort of moppy, blonde look not unlike, we decided, the kid on the Dutch Boy paint can, or He-Man from the He-Man cartoons in the 1980’s.

We figured we would have a few minutes between Mike’s Chair and Britt Nicole, but she started playing almost immediately so we went back in.  She was wearing an 80’s throwback outfit featuring a black t-shirt, a sort of Madonna material-girl esque puffy black skirt, and leggings.  She jumped around onstage a lot and appeared to have a lot of energy.  At one point she asked the members of the audience to put their hands in the air, which I did, because for a minute I felt like it was Debbie Gibson asking me to do it.  (note: Being reformed, I’ve never put my hands in the air for any reason, up to this point).

Britt Nicole was actually much more interesting between songs.  After her first song she told the story of how she got “discovered” by Building 429 and ended up on tour with them.  “I was standing in line at a concert to get my CD signed, just like you guys do,” she said (implication: I used to be regular, just like you).  “I gave them my demo and figured they never listened to it…but they did and now I’m on stage with them!  That’s what God wants to do for you!”

Cue: squeals from the audience.

Other things said by Britt Nicole:  “Let me see your spirit fingers!” Zach and I, in the spirit of participation, showed her our spirit fingers (see also: things I never thought I’d do).

That (the fact that God can/wants to make all of your dreams come true) was a common theme throughout the night.  A sort of prosperity-follow-your-dreams message.

We make it three songs into Britt Nicole’s set before once again retiring to the divans in the hall, where we realized it had been 20 years since Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was released.  Nothing like a nubile Christian girl in a Debbie Gibson outfit to make you realize how old you are.

It occurred to us that for a rock show to really be a rock show, there had to be some element of danger involved.  Even if it isn’t real danger…there has to be something about the music, or the environment, that puts the viewer on edge a little bit.  I felt this way at the Metallica show…the Rolling Stones show…even Stryper to a certain degree.    Zach then told the story of getting mugged at a Michael W. Smith/Amy Grant concert at the Palace of Auburn Hills when he was ten years old.  “A fat guy pushed me up behind a stairwell and asked me if I had any money,” he recalled.  “I said yes and he took it all.  I cried all the way home.”  That, friends, is danger.

The weirdest part of the night would happen after the Britt Nicole set and before Building 429.

Jason Roy, the front guy for Building 429, took the stage immediately after Britt Nicole.  Growing up evangelical taught me one thing:  If there’s a tinkling piano in the background, there’s going to be some sort of heartstring-pulling talk, followed immediately by an appeal for money and/or an appeal to come up front and get saved.  Roy began by telling the audience about a trip he took to “Central America.”  Behind him, on a giant screen, flashed giant photos of impoverished children – the kind you always see photographed standing around emergent guys on emergent guys’ blogs.

We figured the talk would be short…and have no problem with World Vision raising money at a World Vision sponsored event (note: I like World Vision and think they do good work…that doesn’t make what follows any less weird-feeling…but I want to acknowledge now that it may be my problem).  They have to make the money back somehow.  But the talk went on.  And on.

Roy spoke about driving past shanties, and asking the cabbie, “What do they store in there?”  To which the cabbie replied, “People live in there, Jason.”  And then, finally, came the appeal to sponsor children, except that Roy sort of made it clear that the band wouldn’t start playing until the packets for the ten children he was holding in his hand were sponsored.  People were told to raise their hands to accept a child.

“Your gift will help these kids go to schools with computers, so that they can move to the city and have a better life,” he said.  This was a recurring theme throughout – computers, and the city, equaling a better life.  Piano keys still tinkling in the background.  The poor pianist had to play for about 45 minutes straight.  It occurred to me that after spending most of my adult life in thinky Reformed-ish churches, it had been a long time (college?) since I had experienced one of these super-emotional appeals. We also realized that to be a Christian rock star/band today means linking up with one of these fundraising/help the children/social justice organizations.  To be a Christian rock band without a social conscience is to be the worst kind of heel.  Though I feel like a heel for writing what I’ve written (and am about to write).

Me: “I feel weird.  Let’s go to the hallway.”

Zach:  “This is like sitting through the time share talk, so that you can stay in the condo for free.”

Me: “I’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars adopting children in Ukraine…why do I feel like a jerk for not spending $35 on one of these children?”

Zach: “That means it (the appeal) is working. Also, your kids are white. I feel like sponsoring the last five children just so we can hear the band.”

Finally, it was over and there was yet another fifteen minute break before the Building 429 set.  Back out in the narthex/concourse we saw Britt Nicole signing autographs for lots of 9-15 year old girls.  Near her table was a group of giddy, emo-looking college guys deep into the process of not having the courage to ask for Britt Nicole’s number.   The Mike’s Chair guys were standing in front of the giant photo of themselves.  We were losing steam, rapidly, for Winter Blast.  I’d never wanted to leave a place more in my life, yet I couldn’t really identify why.  We decided to lean against the back wall of the auditorium, where we could see the stage but be close to one of the doors to make an early exit, if necessary (hint: necessary).

We were approached by a matronly woman in a shirt that said “usher.”

“Do you guys see what you’re doing to the blinds,” she asked.  I didn’t see what we were doing to the blinds (note: there were these weird windows with vertical venetian blinds behind us, which our backs brushed up against, occasionally).  “Maybe you can go sit in a seat or something.”  (Translation: Go get your cynical, non-child-sponsoring expletives into a seat.  Pronto.)

Dear TED WINS. Army – Below is a review of “Looking Back,” by Chris Gillette. Chris was a teammate of mine on the Battle Creek Crunch, at which time I had no idea he was capable of writing sensitive-guy piano music!

Battle Creek Renaissance Man Looks Back
by Ted Kluck

The last time I saw Chris Gillette, he was picking me up off a piece of threadbare astroturf on the floor of Kellog Arena in Battle Creek. We were both aging football players nearing the end of a failing enterprise – a professional indoor football experiment called the Battle Creek Crunch. In a sense we were both looking back, in the moment.

It has been said that the best music makes its listeners feel – that it transports the listener to other times, places, people and memories. Chris Gillette’s new album, “Looking Back,” does exactly that. This collection of quiet, introspective piano arrangements and vocals is most interesting in its incongruities – the fact that it is rare for a fairly young person to look back at all, and the fact that it is even rarer for such reflection to come from a giant man whose previous life was spent not creating melodies but creating havoc on the football field.

Gillette distinguished himself as a Michigan high school football star before playing collegiately at Toledo, and then professionally in Battle Creek. He has worked as a candy confectioner and entrepreneur, and is now a family man and composer.

In a sense the electronic media has de-valued all art. That is, it’s tougher to find real quality in the midst of all the quantity. But this album is full of real quality – the artistic kind, and the honest, emotional kind.

Gillette is the best kind of tough man – the kind with a soft, reflective heart. A heart that comes through in this album, allowing listeners music to relax, reflect, and look back to. Hear more and buy the record at www.chrisgillette.com.

The fact that I am the last remaining evangelical on earth who hasn’t blogged about the Manhattan Declaration is weighing heavily on me. Hence, this post (note: long time, no write TED WINS. Army – it’s good to be back in the saddle).

Aside: In a phone conversation (note: I still have these) with a friend the other day I mistakenly called it “The Manhattan Project” which went over, as you might imagine, like the proverbial lead balloon.

The Manhattan Declaration, as far as I can tell, is a very good document that basically gives people the opportunity to say “I’m with ________ (insert name of famous evangelical).” This is to say that declarations are the kind of things you sign, feel good about signing (until, perhaps, you read the blogs about not feeling good about signing them) and then sort of forget about. That’s not to say that I think they’re bad (I think this one is quite good, actually), but I also don’t think anyone will be talking about it after a while (it has that in common with almost everything that gets thought about and then written down…thinking specifically here about most of my books).

Though it occurred to me that this dynamic (consuming something, and then liking it, and then wanting to be officially aligned with it) happens many times a day on facebook in a way more efficient way. If the declaration is good/interesting, it gets lots of comments and hangs around in the News Feed for a long time. If it’s boring/bad it goes away. If only real life were this efficient.

Think about it: On facebook, people are constantly declaring things (like: ‘I’m making a sandwich and my lettuce is limp’, or ‘I’m so busy’ or ‘buy my books’ or ‘I love power ballads’ or ‘check out what Justin Taylor just put on his blog’). Depending on the famousness of the poster, and/or the actual quality of the post, he or she then waits for a bunch of people to sign-off on their declaration. When Mark Driscoll or the aforementioned JT put anything in their subject line they immediately get at least 178 people immediately signing off on whatever they’ve said (and in Driscoll’s case perhaps a handful of people who still hate him).

That is to say that you have the opportunity to like (with a button), dislike (in your comment), or be indifferent to thousands of little (or big) declarations every day. Facebook gives you an opportunity to sit at the Cool Kids Table in high school and do so several times a day. And if marketing/being-in-the-book-business has taught me anything, it’s that being at the Cool Kids Table in High School (the High School of life) is still very important.

When you friend someone on facebook, you’re basically signing a declaration that says: I want to be friends with Phil Anselmo, former lead singer of Pantera (note: I’m friends with him, which I think is awesome). And from that point on you have the option of making lots of other mini-declarations in favor or disagreement re: that person (and many others).

So is all of this just a thin, shameless ploy to get you to join my fan page on facebook? Maybe. You can do so here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/AuthorTedKluck?ref=ts

When you think of youth work, what do you think of?  An aging white guy with a Jesus-fish tattooed on his ankle, listening to Johnny Cash and U2, trying to reclaim lost youth? Maybe you think of the myriad of “postmodern ministry” books out there, full of super-terrific ideas for reaching young people which (ideas) usually involve some combination of coffee, movies, doubt, theological uncertainty, the blogosphere, and the aforementioned J. Cash.

For me, I think of my dad, who worked in youth ministry for a decade or so, and still has his “kids” (who are now in their forties) calling to chat and connect.  I think of the hours those kids spent in our home…and the relationships that developed.  I think of my dad sitting at the breakfast table every morning reading his Bible when it was still dark out.

I know Paul Santhouse and Don Pearson, the authors of YOUthwork: Let Got Use Your Influence personally, and I’m glad I do.  We live in a culture of excessive coolness, where that quality (coolness) is used to sell us anything from disposable razors, to cars, to underwear, to Christian Books.  What I appreciate about Don and Paul is their humility, their passion for the cross of Jesus Christ, and their longevity in youth work.  This book wasn’t written by some 20-something hipster with dreadlocks and a soul patch who lived under a bridge for Jesus for a year and then wrote about his experiences.

But here’s the thing:  without trying, Don and Paul are actually very cool.  They’ve written a book that’s imminently readable and relentlessly practical, yet filled with the kind of gospel truth that young people (and old people) desperately need to hear.  It’s a book that gives laypeople – like parents and volunteers – as well as non-Jesus-fish-tattoo sporting youth workers permission to NOT be cool, but in doing so, includes scores of ideas that will help regular joes like us connect with the kids in our churches.

From Spiritual Maturity (p.20) to the value of making T-Shirts (p.101), this book is chock-full of practical ways to grow your youth ministry the right way.  So put down the U2 boxed-set, set aside the commentary on “Finding Spirituality in The Matrix,” and grab a few copies of this book for yourself and the parents in your church.  You’ll be glad you did.

For more information, visit:  www.youthworkuniversity.com

So I’ve got a book coming out in June called Hello, I Love You: Adventures in Adoptive Fatherhood that tells the stories of our two international adoptions.  There are tall tales of adventure and intrigue, which includes stories of two near-death experiences (one involving some cops in Ukraine, another involving some bad wiring in an apartment, also in Ukraine), but also some great stories of God’s faithfulness in bringing our sweet boys home.   Click on the book and pre-order a bunch of them for the adoptive parents, people interested in being adoptive parents, and just fans of fun stories in your life!

Greetings TED WINS Army.  Long-time no-write.  Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book on Christian music, to be published sometime next year by Moody.

It’s October 21 and I just fell off the wagon.  Hard.  If this were a movie I would be Tony Montana falling face-first into a giant pile of blow in Scarface. It’s taken me almost three months into my fast, but I’ve discovered a very troubling, simple truth:  Christian artists can’t write love songs.  There are a few who get close (like Anberlin, “A Day Late,” and Paramore, “crushcrushcruch” and even Stryper, “Honestly”) but for the most part, Christian bands either suck at ballad writing or don’t even try (more likely).  And perhaps the fact that it’s more exciting to hear Sebastian Bach (Skid Row, not the other one) sing about lost love in “I Remember You” than my church’s praise band singing about “Amazing Love,” (about Jesus) says something incriminating about me.  Check that, I know it does.

But here’s the thing:  When I hear “I Remember You,” I think about things, places and people that I actually remember.  I do remember yesterday, walking hand in hand, love letters in the sand, and all of the stuff that Bach sings about.  It’s cheesy, yes, but it’s also the kind of thing that evokes – that makes a person feel.  Ditto for Warrant’s ballad, Heaven, which they probably intended to be less about the real heaven, and more about sleeping with some chick.  (Keep in mind, this is the band that brought us such lyrical poetry as “Cherry Pie.”)  But still, I love it.  It reminds me of driving my tan GMC pickup truck around Hartford City in 1993, wishing I had the courage to talk to girls.  Is there much that’s more romantic than having a “picture of your house, and you’re standing by the door, it’s black and white and faded, and it’s looking pretty worn”…and later, “I’ve got nowhere left to go, and no-one really cares…I don’t know what to do (cue guitar riff), but I’m never giving up on you.”

So I spent the majority of the day in my office with huge, cushy headphones on, belting out the lyrics to ballads that I should have waited until next year to dust off.  And it’s as good as I’ve felt in a long time.  Here’s a detailed account of my rock bender:

Skid Row, “I Remember You.”  (see above re: walking hand in hand, love letters in sand.)  This, or “Heaven,” is the undisputed king of all 80’s ballads.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivFYVAntpw0

Warrant, “Heaven.”  “I don’t need to be the king of the world, as long as I’m the hero of this little girl.”  This song makes me want to grab my girl and go climb a mountain together – a mountain of love and rock and roll that may eventually lead to the real heaven.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikFU0rkzneg

Bad English, “The Price of Love.”  “And through the good and bad times, you have always been there, We hold each other close, you tell me it’s alright…your eyes will always see through me, and bring me to my knees, and I will always turn to you, you’re everything I need.”  This song deserves a place in the Greatest Ballad Ever playoffs, along with the aforementioned.  See also: “When I See You Smile.”  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDgkg7lbMgg

Bad English, “When I See You Smile.”  “Sometimes I wonder, if I’ll ever make it through, through this world without having you, I just wouldn’t have a clue.  Sometimes it seems like this world’s closing in on me, and there’s no way of breaking free, but then I see you reach for me.  Sometimes I want to give up, want to give in, want to quit the fight, but then I see you baby, and everything’s all right.”  Let’s slow dance right now, seriously.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugTPZeo3Lps

Kiss, “Forever.” “This time I know and there’s no doubt in my mind.  Forever.  Until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever.”  These could be wedding vows, preceded directly by the love passage from 1 Cor. 13.  Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone in KISS actually lived up to these lyrics (re: loving one girl forever).  Maybe Peter Criss?  “I see my future when I look in your eyes, it took your love to make my heart come alive.”  (note: This was one of the first, and last, songs I learned to play on the acoustic guitar.)  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBhrYvOGlGo

Counting Crows, “Anna Begins.”  “Every time she sneezes I believe it’s love and Oh, Lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”  These may be perhaps the most romantic words ever penned, and they appeared on the B-side of a truly great album (”August and Everything After”) that has been largely forgotten since the 1990’s.  Startling admission:  As a creatine-loaded college defensive end, I used to sit in my dorm room and listen to this sentimental song on repeat all afternoon.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv3p-yLC1Ps

Peter Cetera, “Glory of Love.”  Peter Cetera, in addition to being an awesome balladeer, has hair that looks just like prosperity slinger Joyce Meyer’s blonde coif.  Also, I just went out and rented Karate Kid II because of this song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5TIJcmy6qg

Journey, “Faithfully.”  “Through space and time, always another shore.  Wonderin’ where I am, lost without you.”

Kenny Loggins, “Meet Me Halfway.” I realize this song will forever be linked with one of Sly Stallone’s most unfortunate movies, a paen to competitive arm-wrestling called “Over the Top.”  Says one of my good friends, Russell (movie spoiler alert):  “This song makes me want to break my illegitimate child out of his swanky, east coast boarding school and take him on a road trip in my big rig.”  The road trip will eventually end in Vegas where you (Stallone) will take part in an arm wrestling competition which has, inexplicably, become America’s most popular spectator sport, surpassing both the NFL and Major League Baseball.  Still, all movie issues aside, who wouldn’t want to meet someone (especially their lover) halfway across the sky.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVKTB_4kwOw

Patty Smyth and Scandal, “The Warrior.” “I don’t want to tame your animal style, you won’t be caged, from the call of the wild.” Two random facts about this song:  When I trained as a professional wrestler for another book project, this was my ring-walk music.  Also, it’s about “shooting at the walls of heartache,” and whatever that means, it’s awesome-sounding.  Also, the video features a bunch of people in Halloween costumes dancing angrily and dance-fighting.

Styx, “Show Me the Way.”  “Every night I say a prayer, in the hopes that there’s a heaven.  Bring me tonight, to the mountain and take my illusions away.”   This brings up an interesting point/debate:  The idea that many of our modern day praise/worship songs could be construed as love songs if you just substituted a girl for Jesus (stay with me, seriously) and many of our 80’s hair-ballads could be praise songs, potentially.  There’s a very thin line of difference between the two, me thinks.  Though it could just be the ballads talking…I’m not thinking clearly right now.

Cheap Trick, “Surrender.”  A ballad? No.  Awesome? Yes.

Van Halen, “Why Can’t This Be Love.”  “Oh here it comes again That funny feelin again winding me up inside Every time we touch Hey I don’t know Just tell me where to begin cause I never ever felt so much. And I can’t recall, any love at all, oh baby this blows them all away.”

Van Halen, “Love Walks In.”  “There she stands, in a silken gown, silver lights come shinin’ down.”

Verve Pipe, “The Freshmen.” Admittedly not 80’s but still, I defy anyone who was in high school or college in the mid-1990’s not to belt out the lyrics to this song on command.)

Daughtry, “Home.”  “I don’t regret this life you chose for me.”  Also not 80’s, but has very reformed-sounding lyrics, I have to say.

The Hayloft – a rock club – is located is a northern outskirt of Detroit, MI.   I was there with Ben, another thirty-something dad, and our friend Nathan, a mid-twenties graduate student in theoretical mathematics who is a.) wicked-smart, in the vein of the Will Hunting character in Good Will Hunting b.) much more well-adjusted than that character and c.) not the type of guy who would normally go to a Stryper show.   (Case in point:  Ben asked Nathan, “What’s your type, girl-wise?”  Nathan’s response: “I don’t think I’ll find her here.”)

Random Conversations Had in Car, Pre-Show:

1. Nathan noticed while perusing the liner notes for the cassette version of To Hell With the Devil, that Stryper’s bass player chose the following ensemble for his androgynous, spandex-clad cover shot:  black and yellow tights, no shirt, clerical collar.  We also found it odd that the band went to great hair-removal lengths on their faces, even utilizing heavy blush and eyeliner, but left their chests totally hairy.
2. Debbie Gibson vs. Tiffany  (me: Debbie Gibson, Ben: Tiffany, Nathan: no comment)
3. Glen Danzig vs. Henry Rollins in a fight (me: Danzig, Ben: Danzig, Nathan: no comment)

Which led to a series of pre-show predictions:

1. I predicted that there would be fewer than twelve women, in total, at the show – a number that turned out to be a little low, but not all that far off.
2. That the evangelical subculture being the proverbial Small World that it is,  one of us would run into someone we knew pre-show (Ben did).
3. That Nathan would get into a fistfight before the end of the night.  (This one was completely implausible, mostly because he just isn’t that type of guy…but still, it would have been interesting…he shared in the car that he had never punched anyone or been punched.  See also: Danzig/Rollins conversation)

We stood in line for a half hour or so before the show, which gave us a chance to hear Ben’s story of meeting Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins, Zwan) backstage after a Zwan show, where he (Ben) had a really awkward moment with Corgan that involved him asking Corgan about his birthmark, and ended with Corgan sort of shaking his head and walking away.  Shortly before going in, a large man approached us and asked if we needed tickets (Nathan did).  He peeled a ticket off a wad of credit cards and cash, and handed it to Nathan, gratis.  “Just buy me a drink inside,” he said.   This will come into play later.

Once inside we realized:

1. We were among the youngest people in the crowd, besides a few grade-school aged kids who had come with their parents.
2. That Nathan had worn a t-shirt that he picked up at Goodwill, with a picture of a wolf air-brushed on it.
3. That we would be standing in back, by the pool tables and games, which included air-hockey, pop-a-shot, and a boxing game (this will come into play later).
4. That the televisions inside The Hayloft, would continue to play the Detroit Tigers game even while all of the bands continued to play (thank you Hayloft).

At some point during the first of three opening acts – a band called Stage 3 Overbite (or Three Finger Overbite…we’re not quite sure) – we had the urge to play pop-a-shot, and Nathan started feeding dollars into the machine like his life depended on it.  This led to the weird sensation of shooting basketballs while the crowd cheered for someone else in the background…but imaging, maybe, that they were cheering for us shooting basketballs.  Either way it was fun.

The second opening act was a band called Flight Patterns.  They were a collection of young-looking kids, two of whom were wearing tank-tops, and one of whom really looked a lot like Rivers Cuomo (Weezer).  Though we decided that it would be more likely that Mario Cuomo would play The Hayloft.  At any rate, the guitar player for Flight Patterns turned out to be Michael Sweet Jr., son of Stryper frontman Michael Sweet.  Flight Patterns was great – they sounded like many of the current Fallout-Boy-inspired pop/punk acts on the market and could really play.

After Flight Patterns was a band called Machines of Grace that seemed to be a sort of collection of Christian metal names who had been assembled from other bands.  All I remember about Machines of Grace is that they were loud, and Ben wondered aloud if they had any relation to the Christian girl-band Point of Grace.  I think he was joking.  I spent most of the Machines of Grace set outside breathing fresh air…but from my outside vantage point I could see Nathan locked into a furious game of air hockey with the large man who had given him the ticket.

It turns out the guy was a contractor with the Marines, who had been in the Gulf War in the early 90’s.  Apparently, he had a bullet lodged in his abdomen, and encouraged us to feel around on his midsection to feel the bullet.  We looked at each other, terrified, before Ben bravely stuck out his hand, full of the realization that the guy wasn’t going to be satisfied until one of us pushed on his stomach.  “Push harder,” he said.  Ben pushed harder, as Nathan and I struggled mightily to maintain a straight face, thinking of the field day that Ben’s therapist will have with this story.

Aside:  I overheard a 60-something guy in the bathroom, refer to a 40-something guy as “dude.”

Aside: Nathan had a Zippo lighter ap on his iPhone, that looks just like a real Zippo lighter when held aloft at a rock show.

At around 10:30 PM, Stryper took the stage, and here’s the thing:  They were good.  In a totally not-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.  As much as I wanted to crack jokes about aging rock stars, I enjoyed them.   It occurred to me that this band used to fill arenas, and you don’t fill arenas because you’re lucky, you fill them because at some point you knew how to entertain a lot of people, and that you don’t necessarily lose that ability/desire to entertain.  When you’re a rock and roll star, this is essentially what you do – whether it’s in front of 20,000 people at the Palace, or 500 people at The Hayloft.

It occurred to me, watching Stryper play song after song, seamlessly, and watching fathers and young sons enjoying the music in the audience; that there’s nothing pitiable about a father touring with his son’s band.  And that there’s nothing wrong with playing rock and roll at nearly 50 years of age, and if I could pull it off I’d probably be doing it too.

Newly minted Chicago Bears quarterback Jay Cutler threw four interceptions last night, in a Week One loss to Green Bay on NBC’s Sunday Night Football. He could have easily thrown six. He also bobbled the first center/quarterback exchange of the game, before sailing a pass over the head of intended target Greg Olson. It occured to me that if this had been former maligned Bears QB Rex Grossman making similar mistakes (which he certainly made some of during his tenure in Chicago), he would have immediately been ravaged by Chicago media and fans. Time will tell, of course, for Cutler, about whom (as I Bears fan) I am still very excited. Although we (Bears) would have been pleased to let the defense win the game last night (they were great), letting Kyle Orton throw for 120 yards and no picks, managing the game.

Aside: This telecast also featured probably the most awkward televised interview in the history of awkward televised interviews, between Bob Costas and Jay Leno, who both wore expressions which communicated something along the lines of “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

What does this have to do with Loving the Church. Nothing, of course. Except that I’m speaking at West Cannon Baptist Church next week at a conference appropriately titled “Don’t Stop Loving the Church.” I’m on a bill with Kevin DeYoung and Mike Wittmer, who are both great authors, great bloggers, and great guys. Follow this link to register!
http://www.westcannon.org/seminars/lovingthechurch/index.html

Warning: Okay, so against my best wishes and sensibilities, this post is going to resume one of those Chrisitian-Culture-Weenie articles in which the author tries really hard to find all kinds of deeper “meaning” and “spiritual significance” in a movie that probably has none of the above.  There, I said it. It’s not you it’s me. 

Pre-Article Definitions: The Tarantino Knock-Off. A Tarantino Knock-Off, to me, is any film that deals with gratuitous violence and combines it with wittier-than-normal banter.  Tarantino (and his knock-offs) usually deal heavily with dregs-of-humanity type characters, often to the extent to which those characters are so dreggy that you (the audience) don’t care whether they live or die.  This is apparently entertaining and insightful. 

Which brings me to what made In Bruges (2008) so great.  I’m skeptical of films that promise both “action and laughs,” knowing almost certainly that I’m going to be subjected to the kind of Tarantino picture described above.  The film stars Colin Farrell, Ralph Fiennes, and Brendan Gleeson – all as Irish hitmen/gangster types.  The Farrell and Gleeson characters are hiding out in Bruges (pronounced Broozh), waiting for a call from their boss (Fiennes). Farrell is young, cocky, and a jerk (evidenced, apparently, by the fact that he makes fun of both little people and obese Americans).  And he hates Bruges.  Gleeson’s character, on the other hand, is older, gentler (for a hitman) and, one gets the idea, a little wiser.  He wants to take gondola rides and look at medieval architecture. 

We find out that Farrell’s character accidentally killed a child during his first job as a hitman, and that he is borderline suicidal over this, which has a lot to do with his bad attitude toward Bruges.  And that after a lot of truly funny banter (funnier than Tarantino-style banter, which is also funny but in a different way) and bonding time in Bruges, Gleeson’s character will eventually be chosen to kill him for it.  Moral dilemmas and value-of-life issues ensue. 

Aside:  This movie made me want to go to Bruges.  Lots of pretty buildings, sidewalk cafes, and gondola rides. 

Other Things That Work About In Bruges:  Lots of great female characters.  Most of these action/laugh movies are so heavily male-oriented that women only get onscreen for the purposes of removing their clothing or laughing at the wittiness of the male characters.  Not so in this film.  Clemence Poesy (love interest) and Thekla Reuten (hotel owner) are both fabulous.  As is the soundtrack.  As is, in particular, Brendan Gleeson as Ken, the older sidekick/hitman-with-heart-of-partial-gold. 

The Christians-And-Culture-Weenie-Part:  The thing that made this film so compelling, to me, was the fact that even though it dealt primarily with Bad Guys (even the love-interest was a drug dealer), it went to great lengths to show the heart and, I daresay, the spark of the divine, that resided in each of these men, despite the utter darkness of their lives/vocations.  They all, at one point or another, felt remorse/guilt that they didn’t ignore.  They all had a moral code, albeit skewed in some cases.  They all seemed to value the lives of children – their own and others.  All of which points to the fact that despite our inherent sin-nature and fallenness, portrayed so vividly in most Tarantino-type flicks, we’re all still created in God’s image.  This film did justice to that aspect of our lives in creative ways - ways that weren’t at all cheesy or heavy-handed or contrived-feeling. 

So (disclaimer coming) be warned that this film is rated R for a reason – language galore (they’re Irish), some violence (they’re hitmen), and an “art house” ending (you know what I’m talking about).  But if you’re okay with that, give it a look and let me know what you think.