Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed

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Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed Page 8

by Michael Sweet


  12 or so days after we first walked into Amigo, we’re wrapping the recording of Soldiers and it pains me to think about missing out on the mixing sessions soon to take place. We can’t stay for the mixing as we’re scheduled to go to Japan for the first time where we’re about to discover a world we had no idea existed. A world where Stryper fans are in the thousands, screaming as if we were The Beatles. Despite being absent for mixing, I find solace in knowing it’s not just me missing out but the entire band. I would have cancelled almost anything if it were a situation where the rest of the band could be at the mixing and I couldn’t. These are the early signs of my deeply rooted desire to be involved in every aspect of Stryper. While Michael begins the mixing process, we prepare to leave for Japan.

  And on this day, walking out into the warm evening air as the sun sets over our last day in the studio, I am completely happy with this band. I love Stryper and everything it is. What it stands for. What it has achieved and what it is about to achieve. I love my brothers in the band and we are united, with God guiding us throughout the process. The sense of fellowship and brotherhood is almost tangible. I am one of the most fortunate guys alive. Thankfully, at this moment, I have no idea that time has a funny way of changing things—my perspective on the band, my feelings toward my brothers, and at times even my feelings about God. Thankfully, tonight, I’m all smiles with no knowledge of, or worry about, what the future may hold and what lies ahead.

  SIXTEEN

  I’m afraid to fly. There was a time in history when a person may be scoffed at for admitting this fear, but ever since 9/11, and subsequent plane crashes becoming more highly publicized, people have seemingly become less judgmental on the topic. Saying “I’m afraid to fly” post-9/11, you’re likely to be met with more sympathetic eyes than you would have pre-9/11 and pre-internet. With information now traveling instantaneously, the catastrophe of a plane crash is reported on and commented about to the nth degree. Rather than hearing about a plane crash a few times on the evening news, like we would during the pre-internet era, you now hear about it hundreds and hundreds of times from multiple outlets. The crash is played and replayed through tweets, video clips, and more. The information age, and 9/11, has made a lot of people afraid to fly.

  But long before people were sympathetic to the fear of flying, I was afraid to fly. Actually, I can give you the exact date when this phobia took root. January 9, 1975. I was 11. It was a Thursday. It was a clear sunny day and not particularly cold for January, around 60 degrees I suppose. If I were to trace back my fear of flying to the very moment, it all started at about 10 minutes after 4pm on that day. The late afternoon sun was starting its decent over southern California.

  I had just arrived home from school to our Chatfield house in Whittier. Mom was home. I was actually in the bathroom doing my after-school business. If ever there were an appropriate, and literal, time to say “That scared the s**t out of me,” it would be this time. I heard a loud boom. But it was more than just a boom. It rumbled. It was an explosion. The sound had a depth and energy larger than anything I had ever heard before in my 11 years on this planet. And I’m positive I even heard voices screaming. But at the sound of that boom, I immediately knew it was something big, and likely tragic.

  I ran outside as quickly as I could. Looking around I saw an ominous cloud of dark black smoke just a few blocks away, hovering over the landscape of picturesque southern California neighborhood houses. I jumped on my red dirt-bike-style bicycle and pedaled as fast as my skinny legs would allow. I didn’t know what, if anything, I would discover but my curiosity had the best of me. What I had heard in the distance, from within the walls of my bathroom, was unlike anything I had ever known, and I was determined to find out what it was.

  The cloud of smoke seemed only steps away in a northwest direction from my house, but turns out it was a little over a mile away in the vicinity of Katherine Edwards Middle School.

  As I got closer and closer to the cloud, emergency response vehicles had already started arriving—even whizzing past me on Mines Boulevard as I headed in the direction of the school. I was pedaling as quickly as I could, but I felt like it was all happening in slow motion. As I drew closer to Katherine Edwards Middle School I started seeing large pieces of metal in people’s front yards, with smoke still emitting off the debris. In one area near the school I saw several medics and firemen frantically throwing blankets overtop of what I now know to be body parts, but at the time, I didn’t know what they were covering. I saw blood stains on the blankets.

  Nearing the school yard I saw what I felt sure to be an airplane wing lying on the ground, smoking. It was all coming together for me. That boom must have been an airplane crash. And these blankets, they were covering dead bodies, or body parts. I saw pieces of luggage scattered about. I later even saw a lone airplane seat resting on its side in someone’s front yard.

  I pulled my bicycle up as close as the authorities would allow. They had already blocked off many of the streets by the time I arrived, roughly one-mile from my house. I stopped at one of the road blocks and put my two feet on the ground straddling my bicycle and holding the handlebars. I gazed into the distance as I listened to the commotion coming from the crowds. People gathered around talking about what had just happened. I didn’t hear their words distinctly—I just knew they were discussing a tragedy. The sirens, the crying, and the tone of despair in people’s voices—I didn’t need to hear the words they were saying to know this was bad. A man stood next to me paying no attention to my presence. But I recall his look of distress and bewilderment as he held both his hands over his mouth as he gazed into the distance.

  I stayed and watched from behind police lines for another hour or so as the sun was setting and then I pedaled home, not nearly as swiftly but instead with a steady pace of slow reflection on what I had just witnessed.

  When I came home, my mother had the news on and I saw the stories of what I had just seen. Apparently two small planes had a mid-air collision and rained luggage, bodies, and debris across the schoolyard and community of Whittier California. 14 people died instantly. There was an outdoor basketball game happening at the time of the collision and over 300 people at the game witnessed the wreckage first-hand. It took me days to really process the enormity of what I had experienced, and I certainly had no idea at the time how profoundly it would affect me for the rest of my life. That collision still remains on a number of worst plane crash lists and has been discussed in much detail among those who witnessed the tragedy that day.

  From that day forward, I’ve always had a deep rooted anxiety about flying. I do it because I have to, but given the option I prefer to avoid air travel.

  So when we got word that we’d be going to Japan to perform I was a mixed bag of emotions. Fear and anxiety were coupled with excitement and hope. I certainly didn’t want to fly to Japan, but travel by boat wasn’t going to be an option given our time constraints, so I did what I’ve done most of my adult life. I sucked it up, did my best to mask my fears, and hoped that I could sleep through the majority of the trip.

  Boarding the airplane heading for Japan, I can’t help but look around and notice the excitement on everyone’s faces. I feel a little nervous inside as well. We’re performing in Japan for the very first time, and a production company has been hired to film the show in Tokyo for release through Enigma.

  Although I’ve begun to notice tension between Daryn and my mom, I ignore it. Although I’m curious how we can afford to fly massive Stryper stage equipment to Japan, I ignore it. I purposely disregard the idea of inquiring into topics that might disrupt the daily satisfaction and thrill I get from being a member of this band. Although hindsight tells me that this tour to Japan will be one of the early indications that we are a financially irresponsible band. Still, in the moment, I ignore these thoughts pushing them as far to the back of my mind as they will possibly go.

  Both my mom and Daryn have strong personalities, a great quality to have in a man
ager, but because they co-manage us together I begin to feel the first signs of disagreements over how the band should be managed. It’s nothing big, yet. At this point I’m just noticing small stuff like how to handle travel arrangements and publicity. I don’t believe the tension has anything to do with them splitting management commissions. Money doesn’t seem to be a big topic or concern at this point in our career, although in hindsight it probably should have been. There’s something else brewing between Daryn and my mom and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  Still, none of this matters to me though because I’m about to share my faith with a nation that is largely Buddhist. It’s a new chapter in my life that’s leading me into unknown territory. I’m experiencing things that most people can only dream of. It’s amazing, and nothing will stand in the way of my enthusiasm.

  I’ve also been ignoring Kyle. I’m not really sure why, but I’m noticeably keeping my distance from her. We’re not even sitting together on the plane. I’m slightly aggravated that she’s even going on this trip, although I do find comfort knowing that she is. I’m going through one of my phases where I’m doing all I can to let her know she’s in the way.

  The future is exciting and unknown. The possibilities are limitless as to what the next few months and years will hold. We’ve just made an incredible album that is in the process of being mixed.

  It’ll soon be released and I’m naively confident that this album, Soldiers Under Command, is a game changer.

  So every moment, every thought where I feel tied to Kyle makes me even more agitated. It makes me want to ignore her even more. Not so much because I want someone else. That’s not it at all. I’m days away from turning twenty-two. Do I really want to be tied down to a woman several years my senior? Do I really want to be tied down at all? As I ask myself these questions, the resounding answer is “No, absolutely not. I don’t want to be tied down.”

  So, I’m a jerk, and I ignore her. She seems to weather it well though. She is happy, not because she’s here with Stryper. Kyle is a happy person by nature. She exudes warmth and it’s contagious. People like being around Kyle, so while I’m all the more eager to ignore her, I’m somewhat annoyed that everyone else seems to enjoy having her around. Doesn’t everyone else see what I’m seeing? That she’s cramping my style? And if she’s cramping my style, why are the guys not supporting me by also making her feel like an intruder? Instead they sit next to her and laugh at her jokes. They appreciate her kindness and are eager to be in her presence.

  The tour consists of a number of shows in three cities—Osaka, Nagoya, and Tokyo. We arrive into Tokyo by plane and spend the remainder of the tour traveling by planes, trains and automobiles.

  Mark Joseph, a friend of Daryn’s, has arranged the tour. He is the son of missionaries and has lived much of his life split between Japan and America, thus speaking both English and Japanese fluently. It becomes obvious early on during this tour how well-connected Mark is in the Japanese music business so before we even play our first show, I feel at ease knowing we’re in good hands. As Japanese businessmen talk to him, it’s as if they are seeking his approval. Although I can’t understand a word they are saying, I can tell that in a room full of businessmen, all of them have a high respect for Mark.

  Later in life Mark would become an incredibly successful author and film business icon, even playing a role in the production of the Mel Gibson movie, The Passion of The Christ. But this week he is my lifeline, offering me familiarity in unfamiliar surroundings.

  As I exit the plane into the terminal, I look behind me to see if perhaps some other celebrity was on the plane with us, because the sea of screaming Japanese girls would indicate that either The Beatles or, because it’s 1985, Michael J. Fox, are traveling alongside us. But this thought fades quickly as I notice the hand-painted Stryper signs. “Wow,” I think. “All this is for us?”

  Today is my 22nd birthday, July 4, 1985, and it’s the day of our first show in Tokyo. I wish we had a warm-up show here before the concert that will be filmed, but we don’t. I’m excited but I’m nervous as well. We know that it’s being filmed, but we’re also aware that we have no creative control over the final product, something I would never allow to happen in my later years. The film company will tape, edit, and mix the audio for the video Live in Japan that would eventually become certified Multi Platinum and one of our biggest selling products of the Stryper catalog. Had I known how big this video would be, I would be more apprehensive than I am now.

  But now, today, it’s my birthday and I’ve just finished a long sound-check. All the gear and stage props are in their proper place. The “No Devil” and “No 666” signs are flashing on cue from the lighting director. The sound system is rumbling loud. My guitar sounds great and the 2000 seat Shibuya Public Hall will soon be filled with music fans that likely have no idea about the message behind our music. This makes me nervous. I carefully consider how I should relay our message between songs. “Do we pray at the end of the set?” We decide not to. “How much should we share of our message between songs?” I’m just not sure.

  We do however get together to pray after sound-check and after we’ve had our make-up applied.

  About the only words I speak to Kyle during this first part of the trip are to ask her about our make-up and wardrobe. Despite me keeping my distance, she does a great job at making us look our best. Regardless of our distance, she remains a professional, and a caring one at that.

  Make-up and wardrobe are in check. The sound and stage setting is in place. We’ve prayed as a group asking for wisdom and strength. All we have left to do is make a few statements for the fans in Japan that will haunt us for the rest of our lives.

  This feels like it’s important, so I guess we need to do this. We follow the person in charge to the stage. The hall is still empty. He walks us over to stand in front of our yellow and black amps. He assertively directs us to “Say something for people of Japan.”

  “What do you want us to say? What’s this for?” we ask.

  “Just say something for the people of Japan. Not much time. We need quickly,” he says in broken English.

  And so we did. Turns out saying something to the people of Japan should have been a little more thought out on our part. They ended up using those interview segments to close out the video as a segment they called “A Message From Stryper.” I wish I had known it would be forever etched in the video history of Stryper. All of us would have planned our speech a little better. I can’t watch those interviews without cringing. They’re embarrassing partially because they’re incongruous with our typical interview style. It’s not as if we were new to the world of being asked questions on camera. We had done dozens and dozens of on-camera interviews by this point, but because of the rushed manner in which we were thrust into these interviews, with no real understanding of who the intended audience was, it came across somewhat insincere and quite corny. But, we were young, and just doing the best we could to get our message out.

  My uncertainty on how to relate to a non-English speaking audience is evident during the show, and upon later review of the video, it’s clear I’m a young performer unsure of what to do and what not to do.

  We open the show strong coming out of a building keyboard intro going into “Makes Me Wanna Sing” and then we rip into “Loud N Clear” and “From Wrong To Right.” The show feels good at this point but I’m beginning to over-think what I will say between songs.

  Our first break comes after “From Wrong To Right” and Robert approaches the front of the stage where we toss a stack of about 50 Bibles into the audience. I can see people scrambling to get their hands on a copy. I should say something. “Keep it simple,” I think to myself.

  “Stryper rocks for Jesus Christ! You guys having a good time?”

  “Maybe that was too simple,” I second guess myself. “Should I say something else?”

  I don’t. Instead I start playing a riff on my guitar to buy some time until Robert returns
to the kit. When he does, we start in on “You Know What To Do” and then go straight into a newer song, “Surrender.” I had revised the lyrics to “Surrender” while in the studio recently. I’m still second guessing what to say and I lose focus on the lyrics. As a matter of fact, I forget them all together.

  There’s nothing more nerve racking to a singer than realizing you have no idea what the lyrics are to your song, four bars before the opening line. The more you focus on trying to remember them the harder it is to do so. 4 bars away. 3 bars away. 2 bars. 1 bar. Time to sing. Still, nothing. My mouth opens in hopes that my brain will catch up with it. No such luck. I make up lyrics on the spot having no idea what is coming out but hoping I can regain my composure. Heads in the audience are still bobbing and fists are still pumping, so whatever I’m doing must be working.

  I made it through “Surrender” and another break is coming up but I decide to let the music speak for itself, so I go straight in to announcing “Together Forever.” I forget the words again and resort to an older version of the lyrics. Thankfully, Tim moves quickly to the keyboards for “First Love” and it sounds great. I’m proud of the job he does on this tour. We considered bringing Kenny Metcalf to play keys, but it wasn’t in the budget apparently. As with most financial decisions, I don’t question it although I am curious how we can fly God knows how many pounds of signs, equipment and a drum kit the size of a tank, yet we can’t afford a keyboard player.

  As the set rolls on, I’m finally becoming more comfortable and really starting to enjoy the show. “Loving You” moves in to “Soldiers Under Command”, where I only forget a few lyrics but it no longer bothers me. We’re having fun and the crowd is responding in kind.

  In the studio weeks earlier when cutting the vocals for “Soldiers Under Command”, I attempted a ridiculously high note at the end of the song and nailed it. So as we roll through the same song on stage, I debate attempting to re-create this scream live, but given my lyric amnesia I play it safe thinking my vocal chords might too develop a case of forgetfulness. I can live with ad-lib lyrics being forever etched into history, but a sour note or botched scream I’m not so sure. So as the note approaches, I decide to take it down an octave.

 

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