Facing the Music Read online

  “Let’s finish off my schedule and start integrating me into the daily operations of Alabaster,” I hoped aloud. “I really want to be a part of Katy’s journey, but I can’t do both the road and the office.”

  We couldn’t get on the same page. Worse than that, our personal relationship had fractured and we no longer trusted in one another. In our negotiations, it was clear that Steve had a limited view of my ability to take on the professional workings at Alabaster, and thought it best for me to go on my way by supporting the organization solely as an artist. That revelation crushed me. For the final time, he moved the finish line, and I had no strength left to carry on.

  At a time when I needed to call on our friendship for utter support and care, Steve retreated to attacking my character on an almost daily basis. He accused me of failing my Christian witness. He took the line that if I took a break from music that my career would be over, the general idea being that if an entertainer isn’t out actively entertaining, they risk falling off the treadmill and never getting up to the same speed again. According to Steve, the marketplace wouldn’t wait for me to get my head on straight. If I didn’t serve God the way He intended, I would lose my voice.

  He wasn’t alone. Just about every mentor and Christian friend I spoke to about trying to resolve my discord with Steve, with Christian music, and my own vision of my future seemed to come back at me with the same ideas. That I was giving up. That I was failing because I wasn’t in harmony with God’s plan for my life.

  “What is your spiritual life like? Are you praying enough?” were among the many comments.

  “Lean on Jesus. Go to God with all this. Pray. Read your Bible. Listen to your elders . . .” And so on and so forth. But it all seemed so facile and incomplete.

  “Isn’t anybody listening? I can’t do this anymore.” I had to bail. I wanted out, effective immediately.

  When I broke the news to Steve, tempers flared.

  The whole thing was awful. I realized that I was not only saying goodbye to my business, but it was clear that I had lost a friend in Steve as well. After a year of haggling between lawyers, all my shares in Alabaster were reverted to Steve. You might say that he got everything in the divorce, and alimony to boot. My financial investment in the company was disregarded and the balance of what was left of my career in CCM was spent paying commissions from income back to the company I had created and lost.

  Now, I was on my own. I had no manager, another year of concerts on the books, and a deep desire to jump off a bridge. The fallout with Steve and Alabaster had left me in a very dark place. I was beside myself with sorrow. I wept uncontrollably during the following months. The Way I Am was soon to be released and I didn’t care. I felt obliged to follow through with the commitments I had scheduled, but there would be no more.

  I sat down with my record company president Joey Elwood over sweet tea and broke the news.

  “I’m done, Joey. I just can’t do this anymore.” I shook at the insanity of it all. What was I doing? A CCM artist couldn’t ask for a better career than the one I had and now, I was going to just walk away? I was committing career suicide.

  “I know I’ve got two more records on my contract and I want to honor it however I can, but after September 2002, I’m out.”

  We talked at length. I offered to do whatever work he asked of me in the time frame I had given; he countered with his soft voice of compassion.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, but in a manner unlike so many others who offered their opinions. He was sincere, loving, and fatherly. Professionally, he had every cause to hold me to my promise of fulfilling my contract, but he approached me, instead, as a much needed, trusted friend. He reminded me of all the good that came from the giving of my heart. That what I saw as personal failure wasn’t a waste. He saw that I was battle weary, as any mortal might expect to be. He didn’t go on about what my Christian duties were or what demands from CCM that I needed to honor, he tried to encourage me to not give up faith in the music that I clearly had a gift for.

  However, at the time, there was no difference between my faith, my music, or my profession. They were all inexorably fused together. Freeing myself from one meant freeing myself from all of it. I was terrified at the thought of what my future was to be, and could say nothing but, “I’m tired. I’m tired.”

  Of all the people in the world, I could have told Joey the deepest fears of my heart, but I didn’t know how to say them aloud. I thought what was happening was that I’d lost the favor of God. That I was a purely evil, awful, unworthy human being, and that no part of my attempts to be a Christian could change any of it. Surely, if Joey knew who I really was, he wouldn’t be so kind.

  To add to the string of misery, my behavior on the road was coming under fire and causing rumors. Not only was I not bringing the expected bubbly joy and light to my Christian fans, rumors were afoot that I was gay. (I had always traveled with a female road manager and was accustomed to such rumors. However, due to the obvious close friendship I was developing with my latest road ­manager, Karen, this time the rumors appeared to have legs.)

  Joey dared touch on the taboo subject, “You know, you’re not the first artist that’s been accused of being gay. . . .”

  I’m being accused?

  “You know, people are always going to talk. . . .” He tried to sound sympathetic.

  I wanted to throw up as blood came rushing into my head. I was embarrassed and feeling defensive, with no good reason to. Nothing had happened between Karen and me. Nothing yet ­anyway. I did have strong feelings for her, but I couldn’t dream of ­defining them as gay. What did any of it matter anymore anyway? I was getting out.

  “I’m not well enough to keep fighting these kinds of battles. I shouldn’t have to. Besides which, I haven’t had enough space in years to consider falling in love anyway.”

  Of all the dramas on my plate, contemplating the truth of my sexual orientation was far from the top. For now, I needed to make good my escape.

  “There are just too many voices in my head, Joey. I’m gonna need some time to sort them out.”

  Of all those voices, Joey’s was the one of only a handful that offered unquestionable support for me to find my way.

  The other would be that of my trusted friend and blooming love, Karen.

  fifteen

  I met Karen working in the Christian music scene. As an artist, I’d played many festivals and youth conferences that featured multiple acts. These festivals might go on for several days, with each day having a single stage host a cavalcade of the latest and greatest Christian stars, and I was fortunate enough to be one of them.

  Festivals are basically an exercise in controlling chaos, and Karen was a standout when it came to managing it. In a world that was often filled with part-time or volunteer production staff, Karen was a first-rate professional production manager. Her excellent skills were so rare, and so greatly appreciated whenever we would cross paths, it didn’t take many meetings before I decided to get on her good side. Getting in rhythm with the way she managed her stage always meant having an excellent performance. With so many artists running around, each accustomed to having their own equipment, production crew, and staging, it can be a nightmare getting multiple acts adequately prepared to perform back to back and on schedule. On a normal day on tour with your own production staff and staging, a sound check can take a leisurely hour or so but, at some festivals, you may only get fifteen minutes. In these fast-paced settings, each player in the group has a very limited amount of time to make certain their equipment is set up properly, and that they can adequately hear the other players. Failure to get these things right can be the difference between a successful and a catastrophic performance. It can be a very stressful experience for everyone involved without a skilled person to coordinate all that needs to happen behind the scenes, but whenever we realized that Karen was working the event, everyone
in the band would take a deep breath and know that we were going to have a relatively easy day.

  She was definitely good at her job, which I appreciated professionally, but I found her memorable in many other ways as well. Her Australian accent was the first thing I noticed and found intriguing, but it was her personality as well. I loved that she walked across a room exactly the way that she spoke—direct and energetic. She never seemed to waste time in letting you know what she wanted to say. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she fascinated me. She didn’t clamor to be my friend by gushing on about how great an artist she thought I was. She didn’t do what so many in the entertainment industry seem to do, which is measure the value of an artist by their perceived popularity. She treated each musician with respect regardless of their commercial status or self-perceived stardom. She spoke to me with candor and never treated me as though I was different from any other human being. Talking with her seemed to put my crazy artist life into a state of restful suspension, where I could be a normal human being for a moment. I didn’t feel like I had to impress her with how great a Christian I was or hoped to be. We could just have a normal conversation, then get on with the job. When and if she ever offered a compliment after I made my way from the stage, it was a shock to my system. You could tell she didn’t suffer fools, nor hand out gratuitous flattery. In fact, if I’d had a rough set, it was more than likely she’d offer a wry smile and say, “Well, that was interesting,” and we’d find ourselves chuckling. I really liked her.

  As the years working in the Christian music industry went on, I usually wanted to do nothing but hide on my tour bus until I had to perform, but whenever I learned that Karen was on the scene, I was eager to take a walk to see if she had a moment or two to hang out and chat. I tried to play it cool, but I would be so keen to catch her attention that I would get butterflies in my stomach. I felt like a little kid who wanted to be noticed by someone they admired. I might only be around for a few hours before I’d have to travel on to the next show, but I would always want to get a moment to connect with her. We might only see each other when it came time for my sound check, then perhaps a few minutes around show time, but they would be moments of peaceful delight. Being around her did something to soothe my spirit. Personally, I felt alive and refreshed, but I was also pleasantly surprised that I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know that she was doing well. I was motivated to hear about what was going on in her life.

  It would take years before I would realize that these are the kinds of feelings that happen when you find the person you will fall in love with. Maybe it was because I had been celibate for so long, and had essentially shut down the part of my heart that longed for companionship, that it had never occurred to me in those times that I might actually be attracted to a woman. All I knew is that when we met, she was a cool hang and a consummate professional.

  On every occasion I found myself on her stage, I wanted to please her. If my set was to be finished by 10:00 P.M., I’d plan my set list to end at 9:59:30. If her stage was running behind schedule because other bands went over, I’d offer to buy the time back and cut my set, so that she could get back on course. I wanted her to think I was the bee’s knees. Getting her to smile and offer her praise at how I made her job easier made me swell with happiness. There were days when I hated tripping in and out for the Christian festival scene but, when Karen was in the mix, I discovered reserves of joy that I didn’t know I had.

  After I had been acquainted with Karen for a couple of years it came about that I needed to hire a new road manager. As a solo female Christian artist, this is a hard spot to fill. For reasons that I will explain in moment, the position of road manager in my staff had to be a female, and Karen was by far and away the most qualified candidate I had ever come across. It was clear that she could be a reliable road manager capable to act as a body man for me as an artist, as well as excel in the day-to-day operations of a professional entertainment production. I can’t speak for the mainstream entertainment industry as much as I can for CCM, but there aren’t many female roadies.

  To understand the importance of my traveling specifically with a female road manager, one has to appreciate the significance of sexual purity in Christian culture. At the most fundamentalist level, there should be no sex outside of marriage. None.

  The most faithful of Christians are virgins until their wedding night, and die having only known their one partner. Any missteps along the way and problems can arise. For the most conservative religious communities, sexual impurity of any kind can lead to social stigma and scandal. (We all remember what happened to Jimmy Swaggart!)

  Whether it’s a teenager falling into temptation or a wandering spouse, sexual misconduct is not tolerated. For those in leadership positions in faith community, any discovered or confessed sin in this arena almost always ruins careers. Adultery and promiscuity are among the absolute integrity killers for Christians. If you want to stay out of trouble, you have to be willing to honor the most conservative common denominators.

  From the beginning, I chose to reveal my sexual experience to the church. It was common knowledge that I was not a virgin and, on those grounds alone, there was cause for many to be openly suspicious of my moral code.

  Once, while attending a behind-the-scenes industry convention full of CCM music buyers, I was approached by a man responsible for filling the music shelves of an entire national chain. He had discovered that I was not a virgin and openly expressed his concern. “I don’t know if I can put your music in my store. Girls need good Christian role models.”

  I tried not to take his comments personally, but they stung. “Sir, where I’ve been and what I’ve done in my life . . . I can’t take any of it back.” I tried my best to speak in his language. “Jesus has forgiven me, so maybe you could too?”

  Christianity is no different from the rest of the world, and sex-fueled gossip is titillating. The only difference in CCM is that religious missteps quite often prove socially devastating.

  Remarkably, I learned early on to manage those trolling for juicy tidbits by closing up shop. I stopped dating entirely and tried to keep from developing any relationships beyond my trusted friends. I attempted to keep a safe distance between my male friends and me on the road, and always made certain I was accompanied by a woman who could act as witness to my whereabouts. I did my best not to give the seeds of wickedness any fertile soil from which to grow.

  None of this ever silenced the scuttlebutt, however. There was always a rumor floating about. One day it would be about a guy on the crew, the next it would be that I was too sweet on the merch girl. No friendship, male or female, was immune to scrutiny. To me, it was the price of being a Christian working in the public realm.

  In 1992, when I first became a Christian, I made the choice to abstain from sex. That included with it any idea of establishing a relationship that might lead to sex. I put my head down and did my very best to be as asexual as I possibly could. Over the years, it had all worked according to plan. I was alone and celibate. To make things easier, there had never really been any person that tempted me to act otherwise. So far as I could see, hiring and working with Karen wasn’t going to be an exception. There was a role to fill, and she seemed the most qualified candidate.

  Karen signed on for the summer of 2000 at a time when our entire crew needed her most. We had been touring extensively throughout the previous year and were showing no signs of stopping. I had released Lay It Down in February, and had just completed a grueling fifty-city tour with Third Day. Fifty dates wasn’t much by our usual standard but, despite appearances, the tour was operating on a shoestring budget. Third Day and I had agreed to jointly share their acting road manager for the duration of the tour, but this proved disastrous. It was a move that basically left my crew without a primary advocate for our daily needs. Little things like needing to find places to do laundry consistently turned into major dramas, to say nothing of the fac
t that we had a borderline narcoleptic bus driver that nobody seemed to believe needed to be relieved of duty. We spent much of the tour terrified of going to sleep out of fear that the bus driver was going to pass out at the wheel. Eventually, members of the band decided to take turns sitting up front with our driver to keep him company. It was an exhausting, sleep-deprived, stressful three months, without a single champion for our cause. With the chaos of the summer festival season on the horizon, my band was threatening mutiny if I didn’t put a decent road manager at the helm. Personally, I was starting to wear thin as well. I had been on the road for hundreds of days in the last year and couldn’t remember the last time that I’d spent more than a few nights in my own bed. I was starting to question whether I needed to take a decent break from the touring business or if hiring some professional staff would ease the pressure.

  Karen was a godsend for all of us. We were a mess. Before her, we were so strapped for time, organization, and quality communication that we were barely recognizable as human beings. We were a malnourished, pale, and mentally fatigued band of punks but, by the end of the summer, we were turning into a well-oiled machine. Our performances improved as well as our spirits, which was a good thing. For a while, thanks to Karen, I thought maybe I was going to survive. Though she had only signed on for the one summer, I practically begged her to stay. The months that were ahead looked terrifying.

  When Gotee came to me saying they wanted to put out my third release, The Way I Am, in 2001, the task looked positively impossible to achieve. I was signed on for yet another tour in the fall of 2000, with Christian phenoms Jars of Clay, Steve and I were on the verge of imploding, and the only person in the world that seemed capable of keeping my head in the game was Karen.