And in keeping with the topic...
(please note the Styx tie in-LOL)
http://www.weeklydig.com/index.cfm/fuse ... fcac799fcd
STRYPER, FANS ARE REBORN
God-loving shredders transcend metal norms, spell check
JED GOTTLIEB
It’s Thursday, October 27, and House of Heroes is ripping through a great set at the Paradise. The guitarist pounds out power chords, the bassist noodles in the feedback, and the drummer is banging on those bongos like a chimpanzee. It’s high-concept emo; it’s muddy, massive math rock; and if the band were across the river at the Middle East, the crowd would be ecstatic. But as Stryper’s opening band, House of Heroes receives scattered cheers and polite applause.
“We were kind of nervous before this show,” Heroes’ guitarist Tim Skipper tells the crowd. “We just got off tour with MxPx and that was mostly 14-year-olds. They like anything you throw at them. But you’re a more discriminating crowd.”
But Skipper couldn’t be more wrong. Stryper fans are as average and predictable as any rock fans. They’re clapping for House of Heroes for one of two reasons: A) They’re Christians and clapping is the Christian thing to do; or B) they’re fans of ’80s metal and Heroes has a slight ‘80s-metal vibe (kinda Cheap Trick does Tool).
Most fans of Stryper (whose name stands for “Salvation Through Redemption Yielding Peace, Encouragement and Righteousness”) fit into either camp A or B, or some combination of the two. There are cute conservatives, like 30-something Jen Yates who drove up from Connecticut by herself for the show (even though she saw the band last month in Hartford); and mullet boys in Judas Priest and Mötley Crüe shirts who are here to drink a couple Buds and fondly remember their Dial MTV days.
It’s fun to think all Stryperites have a bunch of Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith CDs next to their copies of To Hell with the Devil—and some do (like Jen, who’s a big W. fan)—but most mix the sacred and satanic freely. And that’s cool with Stryper drummer Robert Sweet.
“We grew up playing with Mötley Crüe, Poison, Guns N’ Roses and everybody else,” says Sweet. “I think the first time Michael [his brother] and I played in Hollywood, I was 19 and he was 16. We played places like the Troubadour or the Roxy. The only the difference was we were throwing Bibles into the crowd. The bartenders would look at us and shake their heads.”
But Sweet wants to be clear—his band isn’t a novelty.
“Our music is just as serious as anybody’s,” he says.
Hair metal isn’t usually considered serious music, but the band’s live show backs up his boast. After 22 years, Stryper is still a talented, highly polished band. Robert Sweet’s a drummer in the Alex Van Halen vein; guitarist Oz Fox (whom fans keep calling Oz, as if that metal moniker weren’t already taken) has solid chops; and Michael Sweet sings like Styx’s Dennis DeYoung, plays guitar like Mick Mars and writes hooks like Bon Jovi.
But as serious as these guys are about their music, their main priority is JC. They praise God in song, they stop the show to toss out their Bibles covered in Stryper stickers, and—in case there’s any ambiguity—Oz tells the crowd: “We want you all to know that we love and serve Jesus Christ and we’ll never stop telling people about that.”
There are clear advantages to wooing both the secular and the spiritual. You double your following by attracting both Christians who usually find rock & roll threatening and metalheads who just wanna see a good twin-guitar attack. You bring together people who wouldn’t normally cross paths, people who happen to come from two of the world’s most blindly devoted fan bases. Scores of Stryperites gladly opened their wallets for $20 tickets, $20 CDs and a $15 post-show meet-and-greet. Holy cha-ching!
Scott “The Sickest Stryper Fan in the World” Dunbar (and just to clear up any doubt in case you think you’re the sickest Stryper fan in the world, Dunbar has seen the band a few dozen times, flew to Costa Rica for a single show, raked leaves “for like five hours” to save enough money to buy To Hell with the Devil, and has an insurance policy on his Stryper memorabilia collection) knows the scene intimately and says there’s never any friction between camps A and B.
“Everyone gets along really well,” says Dunbar, resplendent in his Stryper cap and yellow-and-black-striped tie. “Everyone just minds their own business and is real respectful of the other fans. People just agree to disagree. We’re all just into the band. All that matters is that they rock.”
And Stryper does rock—but it’s an atypical kind of rock.
“It’s not going to hurt the kids to hear it,” says David Wilson, who brought his wife and three junior-high-aged kids down from Beverly. “It’s different, because the types of people that go are very outgoing and clean-cut. I met a pastor and his wife at the last show. It’s just a different experience.”
Yes, it is. And just like back in ‘80s Hollywood, the bored bartenders are keenly aware of this. As the show winds down around midnight, the bartender closest to a church group of 13-year-old girls and their dads looks exasperated. When asked if that was a Shirley Temple he just made, he replies coolly:
“Man, I’ve been making them all night.”