Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed

by Michael Sweet

  Showtime came and I went to strike the first chord on my guitar and nothing came out. I hurried to the side stage and said to the guitar tech that I was getting no signal. He already knew it and was equally as shocked. If you see footage of that show, you can see guys frantically running around on stage trying to figure out what was wrong—why I wasn’t getting any signal.

  It was not the best way to start the show of a lifetime. “Peace of Mind” would be the first song I’d sing, and despite my guitar still not working, I was ready—nervous, but ready. I recruited the crowd to raise their hands and sing along. They did. It was magic. A sea of Boston fans, mostly there to pay tribute to the band’s recently deceased singer, were joining me, singing along to one of Boston’s biggest hits. For a moment I truly did feel at one with the audience, and as odd as it may sound, I felt Brad’s spirit among us. It was no longer as if I was singing to the crowd—it was as if I was singing with the crowd. Together we were singing for, maybe even with, Brad. We were like a group of friends gathered to pay tribute to a lost friend. My nerves went away the moment I realized that the crowd and I were in this together. Together, we were going to sing Brad’s songs.

  My dear friend to this day, Tommy DeCarlo, also had his debut with Boston that night. He sounds like Brad. Kim had discovered him through a myspace account, when Tommy was working at Home Depot. Tommy had never been on such a professional level before, so I’m sure his nerves were just as shot as mine, if not even more so. He did a great job that night and it was really cool to see a “regular guy” singing these songs so perfectly.

  After the show Tom was incredibly appreciative and excited. We talked for a while afterward, and I could sense his excitement about what had just taken place onstage. He shared with me that because it went so well, the band was considering doing more performances and that maybe this won’t be the last Boston show after all. He said my performance exceeded his expectations, and he indicated that if Boston did any more touring he would like for me to be a part of it.

  “What? Did I just hear that right? More shows and me a part of it?”

  That’s when I felt a little nudge from God. Not that it’s about being rewarded from God. It’s not. God doesn’t owe me a thing. But all my days of mowing the lawn wondering where God was and what He was thinking, this moment was as if God was tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “I haven’t gone anywhere, I’m right here by your side.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Anyone who has followed the career of Boston knows that it’s a band that doesn’t move at a swift pace. The band’s first album came out in 1976 and the guys only had a total of six studio albums spanning 35 years. They’ve never been known as a band to turn out releases in a timely manner or regular pace. So when Tom (Scholz) mentioned the idea of me possibly touring as a member of Boston, I was hopeful but not exactly optimistic. This was okay with me though, as I knew Kyle would need me to be home, not to mention I wanted to be home with her.

  While I was on tour overseas with Stryper in November of 2007, I received a call from Troy Blakely of APA (the agency for both Stryper and Boston at the time). Troy told me that Boston was going to tour in 2008 and they’d like me to be a part of it. I accepted the invitation, although I did find it odd that the phone call came from the booking agent and not directly from Tom. Regardless, I was thrilled at the possibilities. Simultaneously as I felt excitement, concern set in over how I would possibly be able to pull this off. I couldn’t leave Kyle while she was sick—the thought was just too much for me to bear. The what-ifs were racing through my head and it was overwhelming to say the least.

  Soon after I accepted the position over the phone, word had traveled fast. Boston had issued a press release, and I began getting asked about my involvement with Boston almost immediately during Stryper interviews. Being alongside my band mates while talking about possibly touring with Boston wasn’t the easiest of conversations to have and often it was uncomfortable.

  Whether it be a new band I’m producing or an opportunity to sing or play on another record, or in this case tour with another band, I don’t always talk in depth to the guys in Stryper about these moments. I’ve just never felt much of a congratulatory vibe from the guys when these types of opportunities arise. Perhaps they view my other projects, and particularly one as grandiose as touring with Boston, as a threat to the longevity and sustainability of Stryper. Speaking openly and honestly, they’re probably right. So as a result, we just don’t talk too much about this stuff when we’re together.

  Sure, they said they were happy for me, and I believe they were to some extent, but it certainly wasn’t jubilation. I can understand that.

  When I returned from the short run overseas, I spent a lot of time talking to Kyle about the idea of touring with Boston. She encouraged me to do it, as I suspected she would, but I wasn’t so sure. I was her primary caretaker, and the thought of leaving her alone was more than troublesome to me. Frankly, it consumed my every thought. I was doing all the shopping, most of the cooking, most of the chores around the house and even bathing and cleaning her when she was really weak. I also administered her medications often and helped to keep things in order there. The thought of leaving her seemed impossible due to the day-to-day details of life. But Kyle encouraged me to press on. She knew this meant a lot to me, and as a result it meant a lot to her.

  Stryper performed only one show in 2008. It was at the Dunkin’ Donuts Center in Providence, Rhode Island, as part of the Station Family Fund benefit concert. A solid line-up of notable acts played including Twisted Sister, Gretchen Wilson, Dierks Bentley, Tesla, and us. Tom and Gary Pihl sat in with us as we performed the Stryper version of “Peace of Mind.” Musically it was a sub-par performance to say the least, and even more unfortunate it was forever archived in VH1 footage as they filmed it for broadcast.

  But that night wasn’t about me, or Stryper, or any of us on stage. It was about the families of those who lost loved ones in the tragic fire at the Station Nightclub in West Warwick on February 20, 2003. I met people that night that really touched my heart. Some were children whose parents had gone to the show that night of the fire and they sadly lost both of them. Some were survivors who were horribly burned in the fire. Many were under incredible financial distress due to the lack of insurance or loss of work. It was a moving night, and I was honored to be a part of it. So Stryper’s sub-par performance didn’t seem like such a big deal in the grand scheme of it all.

  I was appreciative of Tom and Gary for sitting in with us. Like the good sports that they were, they even wore yellow-and-black attire. It wasn’t quite the leather pants and studded puffy shirts we often donned. It was more like yellow button-down oxfords and black jeans. Tom and Gary aren’t known for their fashion and I say that with the utmost respect. So to see them come out of the dressing room ready to play along with Stryper wearing their button down oxford and pale yellow sleeveless tee, black jeans, and tennis shoes—it was very cool and thoughtful of them.

  That night backstage I noticed our bass player, Tracy Ferrie, spending a lot of time rubbing elbows with Tom and Kim. He seemed to be laying it on thick attempting to get to know them better. It was embarrassing for me as Tom was there because I had asked him to participate, so to have a band member of mine hovering around him like a used car salesman made me uncomfortable. By the end of the night, Tracy had even mentioned to Tom that if he ever needed a bass player to give him a call. Really? We’re at a fundraiser event, and I’ve invited my new band mates from Boston to be a part of this show, and all that my Stryper bass player seems to be concerned with is getting himself a new gig? Funny thing is, I predicted that he would do just that on the ride up and even had a small bet going with Kyle. I won the wager, and we laughed about that on the ride home.

  Rehearsals for the Boston tour started in April of 2008, and thankfully Kyle was showing some signs of getting better. She was not as weak as she was earlier in the year, but we continued to do all we could to improve her
health. Rehearsals were exciting yet intense. Tom and I seemed to form a quick, deep bond and friendship.

  Lena and Mikey really stepped up in a big way to take care of their mom as the date of the first Boston show approached. I wanted to be there for them anytime I could, but I knew in the back of my mind that I couldn’t be of much help thousands of miles away on the road. Lena basically became her mother’s caretaker and if it weren’t for her, I’m not sure how we would have gotten through the summer of 2008.

  Kyle continued to show signs of improvement though, and this is what mentally got me through the idea of leaving. The first show of the Boston tour was outdoors in Thunder Bay, Ontario Canada on June 6, 2008. It was windy and stormy to the point where we were fearful at times that the stage or lighting truss might collapse. I hoped it wasn’t an omen for what was to come, but the show turned out just fine—more than fine. It was a pinch-myself moment knowing that I was a legitimate member of Boston and officially on tour with the band.

  I was definitely prepared musically by the time the tour started. Actually, I think I was prepared before the first rehearsal even began. When I commit to something musically, I give 110 percent, and this was no exception. Prior to the first rehearsal, I had put in hundreds of hours on my own. So by the time we got to the first show in Canada, I was as prepared as I could possibly have been. I was still nervous, but then again I’m always nervous before I go on stage. I wasn’t nervous necessarily because it was Boston—I just get nervous before going onstage period. This definitely wasn’t my first rodeo. I had played to sell out crowds in amphitheaters and large arenas many times before in the past, so this was really nothing new to me, it was just with a new band—a band I had admired as a kid.

  Nobody will ever be able to fill the shoes of Brad Delp, nor should they try. Wondering how the crowd would react to someone singing these songs other than Brad caused most of my nerves. Throughout the tour, I was relieved by the crowd’s acceptance.

  It took two of us on this tour to even come close to singing what Brad once handled by himself. Alongside me they had brought in Tommy DeCarlo to sing lead vocals on half the set as well. Tommy’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, and I really enjoyed working with him. To this day he’s still a close and dear friend. Night after night we’d stand alongside one another and sing the songs that we both grew up hearing on the radio and on our stereos.

  When you work hard at something your whole life, it feels good to be recognized and acknowledged for that work. Whether you’re a plumber, a banker or a musician, it feels good when someone notices and says, “Nice job.” I was getting those pats on the backs from within the band, but that seemed to be the only place I was getting them.

  The publicity for this tour leaned heavily toward Tommy DeCarlo and the Home Depot connection. This bothered me a little. It even bothered Tom at times because he apologized to me for that very reason. Discovered on myspace and employed by Home Depot, Tommy DeCarlo was getting a lot of attention and publicity. I understood it—a regular guy who works at Home Depot and then turns rock star makes for a great story. At times, though, I felt somewhat slighted by it all. I had worked my whole life trying to become a better singer, guitarist and performer and when I finally receive a moment to shine in one of the greatest rock bands of all time, Home Depot gets the spotlight.

  Occasionally I would find myself in a conversation with someone and the topic of what I did for a living would come up. When you have long hair and a soul patch you get the “Are you in a band?” question a lot. And I did. But when I would explain what I do, that I play and sing in the band Boston, I would regularly receive responses like “Oh, are you that dude from Home Depot?”

  Aside from feeling under-appreciated, or at least under-noticed by the public, the Home Depot publicity angle bothered me for other reasons. For starters, it felt corny. Boston doesn’t need Home Depot. Boston doesn’t need a gimmick, and to me this started to feel a little gimmicky. When we played Atlanta, hometown to the megastore, there was a sea of orange Home Depot aprons in the audience. There were many times when Tommy would get introduced as “from Home Depot.” You would have thought the company was paying Boston to endorse them—but in reality it was quite the opposite.

  From what I understand, when Tommy inquired as to whether or not he’d still have a job when he returned from the tour, they informed him that he would no longer be employed. What? Boston through its publicity and onstage mentions must have given that company millions in promotional value, and they weren’t even going to give Tommy his job back upon returning from tour? That was it for me. To this day, my stomach turns when I enter a Home Depot because of all of this. I felt bad for Tommy. It’s not like Boston tours every year and Tommy could rely on the band to make a consistent living as a musician. He needed a job when he returned. Home Depot was happy to have him strap on the orange apron to do interviews. But when it came time to give him his job back, what does he get? “You’re on your own, pal.” It just didn’t seem right: the publicity, the hypocrisy, and the goofiness of it all. After that tour I vowed to shop at Lowes and not at Home Depot. I’d be a liar if I said I haven’t been to Home Depot since, but man it was upsetting to me. Still is.

  Spiritually during this tour I felt like I was slowly coming out of a deep dark hole. For months on end I had been questioning God. But during the time in Boston I was surrounded by love and support. Kyle had begun to feel strong enough to fly, and in July she and the kids flew out to Denver to see us perform at Red Rocks—not exactly my best night, but I was happy to have her there.

  Tommy got sick at Red Rocks to where within a few songs he couldn’t even talk, much less sing. The crew and even the band turned to me hoping I could pull it off. I didn’t know the lyrics to some of the songs Tommy was singing, never mind he was partially singing them because they were songs more suited for his vocal range and style. We made it through the night with everyone stepping up to the plate the best they could, but for the first time I felt a little unprepared that night. It’s not as if they had asked me to be ready in case Tommy couldn’t sing, but I wish I would have considered this as a possibility ahead of time. Maybe I could have risen to the occasion and filled in with his parts. So on the same night that I experienced the joy of seeing my wife and kids for the first time in over a month, I also felt disappointed in myself for not being ready to take on the extra vocal parts when the band needed me most.

  The friendship between Tom and I continued to grow and strengthen. Tom had lost Brad, and I was faced with the very real possibility of losing Kyle. We had a kinship of sorts in that pain and misery. I had read the stories of Tom for years about how he was reclusive and somewhat untouchable. He didn’t let many people into his world. He even told me on occasion how few people he had let in over the years, and I was one of the few. I felt honored that he let me get so close, but it also felt very natural—I think for both of us. In many ways we’re a lot alike, particularly in our perfectionism and approach to music. It can drive those around us crazy, but we understood one another in a lot of ways. At times he would refer to me as a long lost brother, and I felt the same.

  The crew referred to me often as “Glue” on this tour. When I asked where they came up with that, they said I was the glue that held the tour together. I’ll admit, we all were often on pins and needles. Sometimes Tom wouldn’t like the way something sounded at rehearsals or sound check and he’d just walk out or off the stage. Some people on the tour would often say they’d wake up every day wondering if this would be the last day of the tour—feeling as though Tom may just cancel the whole thing I suppose. After all, he had done so before.

  I felt that way too, but for different reasons. I tried to keep the spirit of the band a little more lighthearted. I would always try to loosen things up during sound checks and crack a smile from a smile-free zone. Most of the time it worked. But Tom and I had grown so close that he began to share with me how important he felt I was to this band. On occasion he’
d tell me that he wouldn’t want to tour without me. Again, this was very flattering, but it was also nerve-racking. What if Kyle got worse and I had to go home? Would he cancel the tour? I didn’t want that sort of pressure on me. Or what if I got sick and couldn’t perform? What would happen then? I appreciated the confidence Tom bestowed upon me, but it was a bit unnerving at times not knowing what the future may hold.

  The morning of July 25, 2008, I awoke frantically as I realized Kyle’s birthday was the next day and I had done nothing to prepare. I didn’t so much as have a birthday card ready. I was a wreck. We had a show that night in St. Charles, Missouri, and I had absolutely nothing! I scrambled in putting together some gifts, and I managed to get them to the local FedEx just before they closed at 7p.m. I felt horrible. I had just done what I’m so good at doing—procrastinating and forgetting. I had known her birthday was coming up for a while, but I did nothing about it.

  The thought that this might be Kyle’s last birthday crossed my mind, and the guilt laid heavy on my heart for having allowed the time to get away from me. Time was a precious thing in 2008. I knew it was limited and for me to let the hustle and bustle of a tour get in the way of me remembering Kyle’s birthday—well, it really put me into deep depression for a few days. But again, the love and support that surrounded me, and the prayers for Kyle pulled me through one day after another.

  The tour ended on August 31, 2008 in San Juan, Puerto Rico. We had performed over 50 dates in all, and it was an experience for which I’d be forever grateful. The years of feeling as though there might be something for me outside of Stryper had come to fruition. Wanting to feel as though my hard work was appreciated outside the comforts of the yellow-and-black zone was something I had always sought. I’m eternally grateful to the Boston fans for accepting me like they did, and to the band members for being so encouraging and supportive through such a tough time.