Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed (10 page)

Days after wrapping guitars I find myself unnaturally at ease when recording my vocal parts. Our first album saw respectable success, and by all accounts I should be nervous. A band’s sophomore album is typically the time when the group either turns the corner toward success, or they stall, like an old used car. By that measure I should be concerned, but I’m not. I’m confident not only in my personal abilities but in the band as well. We’re playing and singing as a group. We’re on a spiritual high and surrounded by love, support and encouragement. Even the last minute changes I make to the lyrics don’t seem to affect me. With each scribble of my pen, each lyric marked through to be slightly revised, I remain confident that God has His hand on this band and a definitive plan for our future.

Throughout the making of
Soldiers
, I’m present for every aspect of tracking and although I’m a member of the band, I feel as much like a fledgling producer eager to soak up all I can about the recording process.

Despite having recorded many times before, this was my first project on a big label with a highly respected producer. I hang on Michael Wagener’s every word, learning all I can about his reasons why he does what he does in the studio. Mic placement. His opinions on guitar and drum tones. Performance techniques to get the best out of each musician. I soak in all these details and don’t dare to miss a second of it for fear that I’ll miss something important. If I could have, I would have slept there every night. But instead, each morning, as I drive North on the 5 to the 101, the anticipation of learning more about the recording process excites me almost as much as the process of being a musician making the album.

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 manager, 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 22
^nd
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.