How can you excuse high crime in inner cities as a product of socioeconomic barriers and institutional impediments while refusing to acknowledge that my Creed fandom was also the product of similar circumstances? I was a young boy in a religious home, I wasn't allowed to listen to the radio or watch Fresh Prince of Bel Air. The worldly affairs I did manage to obtain were done so covertly - a hidden radio under my covers at night, sneaking Baywatch on Saturdays, the Sears holiday catalog. The only time I was truly in musical bliss was at my grandma's house. My cousin was always there, and it was through him that I could listen to Nas, Biggie, Tupac, etc to my heart's content.
Eventually my appetite for music was too ravenous for me to satisfy it once every few weeks at my grandmother's house, or through the radio at night. I demanded ownership and agency. But how was I to attain it, given the barriers holding me back? My parents loomed over my musical growth like the gestapo. In the summertime they would ask me if I recognized the blaring music from passing cars. What choice did I have but to play dumb, to bury my musical intellect deep inside me next to my deepest secrets?
Finally, like Paul on the road to Damascus I was struck with the answer to my problems: Christian music. I borrowed a P.O.D. album from a friend and proceeded to convince my parents that it was indeed deeply religious music. Young Phoenix, holding court in the kitchen, bare feet on linoleum floors. Explaining why
this was acceptable despite the theologically incorrect message - after all, we were Gentiles not Jews, and Zion did not belong to us. It worked, and I had won ownership of my first piece of music.
My next victory was easier fought. I remember it like yesterday: I convinced my mom that we should go to Best Buy instead of Staples to get some paper for our printer. I confidently walked into the music section and selected Human Clay, showed it to my mom, and explained this was another Christian album. She turned the CD around and read the song titles - I could tell she was impressed. I spent some of my hard earned lawn mowing money and left the store a happy man.
So who are you to judge me? I did what I had to do to get by. I took the only path open to me. At night I still listened to the radio - I discovered metal through a Midnight Metal program, I heard underground hip hop on a college station, etc. But my Christian albums were never forgotten. I cherished them. I enjoyed going to the store to purchase Creed's debut album, and when Human Clay's follow-up came out I bought it as well. I cannot forsake Creed anymore than I could forsake my own name. It is a part of me, good or bad. As a nonbeliever now I have no prayers to send Scott Stapp's way, but I will forever be grateful for the respite he gave me, through the power of music.
