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| Avery's
Campaign Journal While the big children (George and John) strut and stump around on their stages while spouting their endless streams of insults, negativity and lies, lies, lies, an evangelical rocker is shaking his Christian money maker for all it’s worth not too far away. He’s a semi-anguished quasi-rocker prowling the stage in a starched white shirt and tight dress pants. His hair is matted with the sweat of the righteous. His tie has a runny egg stain on it. He licks his religious lips, and, turning his bright, beckoning eyes to the teenage mob in the front row, starts giving them some serious genuflecting as he repeatedly chants: "Get out to the polls and affect this country!" His name is Frankie Lord, and he’s the lead singer of the Christian band, Jesus Wasn’t A Long Hair. “Can you sheep do that?” he roars to his beaming and brain-dead flock. “Yes! Yes! Yes!" they chant back in monotone. The Christian kids are doing their version of rocking. They are standing quietly and applauding politely. The room is rank with the stench of blind faith, indoctrinated beliefs and Clearasil. A boy in a ski cap sneaks a hand around his girl's waist. Then, realizing the sin he has committed, starts searching for a priest and begins to chew off his sinful paw while crying out and acknowledging that he is going to burn in Hell. If the kids were having a good time, this scene could be part of a Vote for Change concert tour, but as with everything else in the vast parallel world of Christian pop culture, it’s not hard to notice what's radically different from the secular version... First and foremost is the missing element of fun. The show takes place not in a concert hall in the city, but in the sanctuary of Gilead Friends Church on a rural road an hour north of Columbus. Aside from the sinner boy chewing off his hand, most of the couples showing any public display of affection (such as the shaking of hands) are married. The brown liquid in all those bottles is iced tea or mildewy holy water. And when a screaming girl leans over to give the guy beside her a kiss, he's likely to be her dad or a cousin. Frankie flirts with the crowd (or at least flirts in the Christian definition, which mostly involves scowling and demanding his flock read their bibles), he then steps back and flashes his Jerry Farwell smile. And when he sings "The Devil Is The Reason I’m A Jerk” the crowd nods in unspoken understanding. “The devil made me do it/ He makes me act so bad/ I’m a lowly no good sinner/ And that really makes me mad!” Driven by the statistic that 25 million evangelicals between the ages 18 and 35 sat out the last presidential election, (because they couldn’t vote for Bush and his drunk driving record, and there was no way they were going to vote for Gore) many evangelical groups (aka: Republicans!) have launched their first voter drives this year. As with other such drives, the main thrust is to sell radical rightwing messages and a few bad rock music CDs. One effort, Redeemers of the Vote, brings popular Christian rock bands to swing states to get the kids to vote and also to try and save the Non-Christian heathens. “It's the antichrist, whoops, I, err, mean the antithesis of Rock the Vote," says Tommy Savior, a smiling, dead eyed sheep who co-founded Redeemers of the Vote. "We're trying to do something just as hip and entertaining and just as well done in terms of quality. But without being fun, risqué and without the sexual innuendo... Actually when I think about it, that doesn’t sound too hip at all!” It's a fledgling effort and the rocker element still has a laughable feel, as when Democrats on the campaign trail appear with soldiers in uniform: The words “give me a break” can’t but help enter your mind. Lindsay Cracker, who came to the concert at Gilead Friends with her minister and a chaperone, is the quintessential target audience. This church is her world; she goes to school here, hangs out at a prayer group. She doesn't watch TV, much less MTV, and she claims her life seems fun and fulfilling with worship and prayer. Although she is definitely freaked out by microphone: “Stay away from, sinner!!! With your devil’s probing tongue and hoofed feet,” she says. “Remove that poisonous and foul metal snake from my face and fall to your perverted and wretched knees and beg for forgiveness!” So it’s a fun evening for these kids. But, is it getting them out to vote? Well, probably not. After all, there’s no rule that says teenaged Christians can’t be as apathetic as their teenage secular contemporaries. What’s most interesting about all of this though is the fact that – get this – everyone behind these events insist they are nonpartisan. "We don't think churches ought to be endorsing common political sinners," says Big Daddy Bronski, who runs the Southern Baptist effort, who then proceeds to tell a story about taking a "hard-core" Democrat out for “a little talk” and how the “filthy Godless liberal” was never seen again. But like its secular counterparts, the evangelical effort to register the young, hints at its preferences in code. Bronski describes the aim of the campaign this way: "We want to get them to vote their values and convictions over their economic interests. Because, let’s be honest, the economy is in the crapper. We want these malleable kids to vote Republican or go to Hell.” Lead singer, Frankie, too, insists Redeemers of the Vote doesn't favor Bush, although its founding is connected to the president. “We’re not pro-Bush,” he insists, “we’re simply anti-Kerry.” Oct 28 / 2004 |
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