The Sound of Selling Out?

I must confess I get just a wee bit giddy when I hear Christian music on secular radio--particularly if the Christian music I'm hearing on secular radio is not the kind that sucks. I remember a DJ on a Chicago station shouting to his audience something along the lines of "This is Jars of Clay. They're a Christian band and they rock!" I remember hearing Tommy Lee (of Motley Crue and more recently Rock Star: Supernova) saying "Oh yeah, I love Switchfoot." I remember looking up when the aptly named online Radio Paradise started playing the latest track from Sara Groves. I remember thinking in each instance that these folks had earned their place in the mainstream, that they were practicing their faith without sacrificing their art, that they were practicing their art without sacrificing their faith.

My unbridled enthusiasm hit a bumpy patch recently, however, when I heard Sara Groves on TV. Normally that would be great; when Relient K played on the Tonight Show and when POD played on the Late Show I celebrated the open-mindedness of the booking agents and the validation of the performers' craft. But I didn't hear Sara Groves on the late night talk shows; I heard her on a commercial. For furniture.

"All Right Here" is a thoroughly human, relational song--Sara Groves at her best. It's a guitar-driven pop song that affirms the complexity of the human soul and the sacredness of soul-to-soul relationships. In the Chicago market at least, the song has been adapted by a furniture dealer to declare "Find it all right here!" References to "every loss and every love, . . . what I know and what I'm guessing, half truths and full confessions" are redirected to ottomans and armoirs, futons and fitted sheets. To quote the unfurnished Sara Groves, "It makes me wince."

I count Sara Groves among the top ten Christian recording artists ever--which may not sound like much of an accomplishment if you're as skeptical about the quality of music coming out of the gospel music association, but she ranks so highly because her lyrics and music fit comfortably alongside some of the great songwriters of her era. She's consistently clever and constantly evolving as a songwriter. And now she's joined some of her fellow songwriters in another exclusive club: she's sold out.

Groves is not at all the first great songwriter to allow her songs to be sublicensed for commercial purposes. The Beatles (via the interloping rights-owner Michael Jackson) did it famously with "Revolution" for Nike. Sting did it for Jaguar, and fellow chanteuse Shawn Colvin did it many times over. I'm fans of all of them, and I swallowed hard each time I heard of each betrayal.

But I'm still a fan, so I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. Shawn Colvin was explicit in her own discomfort about sublicensing songs, but pointed to the reality of the shrinking music industry. It's a hard industry to maintain a career in, with even Grammy winners like Sting and Colvin regularly overlooked by broadcast outlets as the most recent flavors of mediocrity on the music scene are mass-marketed like some Phil Spector-esque wall of sound and fury.

So Sara Groves sold out. Her music is being used to great effect to hawk end tables and recliners in the Chicago area. As long as it keeps her recording and touring, I guess I'm OK with it. I repent of my pettiness and affirm Sara Groves by quoting another great songwriter, Tom Petty: "You're all right, for now."

Take a Great Song and Make It Better

I know I should be posting something spiritually reflective about my time at the 2006 Urbana Student Missions Convention, but right now I'm distracted by what may well be my favorite Christmas gift this season. The thing is, it was a gift that my wife got.

Perhaps you've heard of the Beatles, the single-most important band in the history of rock music. They broke up in 1970, and only two of them are still living, but every couple of years they reassert themselves as possibly the best band ever. In recent years they've released a three-volume anthology of rare recordings that revealed the craft of their songwriting, and they've licensed their songs for repurposing by the best and brightest contemporary artists in films such as I Am Sam. But in 2006 they outdid themselves by approving a Las Vegas Cirque du Soleil show built around their music. I haven't seen the show, but thanks to the largesse of my lovely wife, I've now heard the soundtrack, and it may well be the thing that finally gets me to Vegas.

On the surface of things you wouldn't expect anything particularly novel out of this CD. It appears to be a relatively standard mix of Beatles songs throughout their near-decade of recording. But then you put it in the player, and you're shocked out of your anticipated singalong adventure when the Beatles wait an extra two or three beats between singing "Because the world is round, it turns me on" and the repeat: "Because the world is round." All the instrumentation is mixed out of the vocal track, and we're left with a haunting intro that gradually gives way to an incredibly potent mashup of seemingly random Beatles samples turning "Get Back" into a musical car chase.

The music on "The Beatles 'Love'" disk is infused with a new energy and poignancy that shows the debt that today's most promising musicians owe these guys and defines longevity and timelessness by example. Songs that were innovative in their day are made even more innovative by the respectful, visionary efforts of producer George Martin and his son Giles. If you know the Beatles' music, download "Because" and "Gnik Nus"--an experiment in backmasking that reveals a great new melody. If you don't know the Beatles music well, download the tout sweet "Get Back" and "Lady Madonna," which borrows from "Hey Bulldog" to add a new grittiness to one of Paul McCartney's funkiest songs.

OK. Next time I'll post something spiritual. I promise.