Keep God out of popular music
Rock ’n’ roll has legacy of heresy, holds its own gateway to religion

By Jack Bullion
Skiff Staff

Throughout the music industry, I’m seeing musicians give mad props to the G-O-D. And indeed, he’s all over the pop music map. Faith Hill gets teary about Him on her “Behind the Music” special. Puff Daddy — sorry pal, that’s what you’ll always be to me — serenaded him (horrendously) on “My Best Friend.” Limp Bizkit, of all people, gave a shout-out to the “big fella” in the liner notes of their “Significant Other.” Lauryn Hill name-dropped the “man upstairs” so much he might as well have gotten a co-production credit on “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.” Scott Stapp of Creed proclaims that he loves rock blasphemer Jim Morrison almost as much as his “maker,” but his band still composes monumental weenie-rock anthems about him, however elliptical the lyrics may be. Wonder if Stapp’s ever listened to the Doors’ song “The Soft Parade,” in which the first 30 seconds consist of Jimbo screaming “you cannot petition the Lord with prayer” over and over again.

In the spirit of the Lizard King, I’ve got a message for God myself. Stay out of my popular music.

While I wait for the lightning to strike me, may I say that I have nothing against the Lord, or against people who feel inspired by him to follow careers in the music industry. Sometimes I’m just struck by the sheer unnaturalness of God’s blatant presence (or is it omnipresence?) in the things I put into my ears.

Rock ’n’ roll’s legacy is one of blasphemy and heresy. Forget rap, hip hop, R&B, techno, even “popular” music for a second, because it’s basically all rock ’n’ roll. Ever since bluesman Robert Johnson wandered a little too far past the Crossroads and traded his soul for the ability to play the blues, rock has had an ongoing working arrangement with the devil. Come on and admit it, you prude. Who do you think made Elvis Presley shake his hips so audaciously that CBS wouldn’t show it? Who was responsible for John Lennon’s “We’re bigger than Jesus” Freudian slip? Who got a little “Sympathy for the Devil” from Mick and Keith? Who else could be responsible for the continued existence of Eminem?

The answer lies below. From Jerry Lee Lewis to Marilyn Manson, rock ’n’ roll has widened generation gap after generation gap, thanks to a never-ending stream of shock and schlock. Your ma and pa are not supposed to be listening to this stuff. They’re supposed to ask you nicely to turn down the Korn, gasp at the 2pac compact disc you accidentally left in the family station wagon and perform random drug searches of your room if they see copies of “Dark Side of the Moon” or “Kid A” lying around. This music is yours, not your parents’ and especially not a certain deity’s. After all, he gets to listen to your Hail Marys and watch the Dallas Cowboys through that hole in their roof. Isn’t that enough?

Well, I’d be lying if I said it was. For all my griping at God, I have to admit that he and Satan must have something special worked out in the rock music department. Rock stars have this odd tendency to sometimes forget that their art form is based in darkness and decadence, and get downright transcendent. And when you hear it, all pretense of rebellion and revolt is cast aside. That’s when rock ’n’ roll becomes less of a tool to annoy your elders — it becomes a religious experience.

Sometimes, when my already-fragile skepticism and cynicism are stretched to their breaking points, I will sit in my recliner, the only light in the room emanating from my busy stereo, and I will hear God. I will hear God in Jimi Hendrix’s “1983,” in Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees,” in D’Angelo’s “Africa.” I will hear God in the string section of “Little Child Runnin’ Wild” by Curtis Mayfield, in the ornate guitar solo of “In Hiding” by Pearl Jam, in the soaring electric organ that climaxes the live version of Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry.” I will hear God whenever the Notorious B.I.G. opens his mouth, no matter what comes out. I will hear Him in “Shine A Light” by the Rolling Stones, in John Coltrane’s flogging of “My Favorite Things,” in “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” by the late Jeff Buckley. And he will be in every note of the Brian Wilson’s “teenage symphony to God,” the Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” album.

I admit this column is full of contradictions. But they’re not unlike the combating emotions any real fan of modern music, indeed any human being, already feels. I wish I had the confidence in myself as a writer to express this sentiment as clearly as I’d like to. But my muses, I’m afraid, all have six-strings slung around their necks or mics in their hands. So let me cite one of them, the estimable Van Morrison. On his 1979 album “Into the Music,” Morrison combines glossy musical production with unashamed spiritual rebirth, singing about God with the same poise that most rockers would reserve for that unapproachable girl standing across the room. Despite God’s palpable presence, Morrison is really celebrating the unbreakable connection between music and spirituality, especially on one song, “And the Healing Has Begun:”

“We’re gonna stay out all night long,

We’re gonna dance to the rock ’n’ roll,

When the healing has begun.”

It’s called “Into the Music,” after all. Rock ’n’ roll is dirty, raunchy, swampy, profane and immoral. It can also, through its often-flabbergasting contradictions, provide salvation. Through two disparate elements our stereos become altars.

Because it ain’t rock ’n’ roll without heaven ’n’ hell.

Jack Bullion is a junior English major from Columbia, Mo.
He can be reached at (j.w.bullion@student.tcu.edu).

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