As stated in the previous post, Part Four of the influence that the band’s women had in the repentance of the band and accepting Christ as Savior, this post features snippets where synthist Bry’s wife Mo has her say in this influence and also guitarist-producer Mick and drummer Tom discuss this issue. The snippets, also from Chapter Ten of The Prodigal Band, © 2018 Deborah Lagarde, are below.
Meanwhile, walking along Altuna Beach near Jack’s in the moonlight
“Are you still queer, Mick?” Tom asked.
“No.”
The drummer and guitarist planned to leave for their respective homes the next morning.
“We all have a lot of things we need to ask forgiveness for.” Mick stared straight ahead. “Not just me, you know.”
“I know that, but some sins are harder to deal with than others.” Looked at Mick who was still staring ahead. “And mine is thinking I’ve committed fewer sins than the rest of you.”
Pordengreau stopped. “Really, Tom? I think each of our sins are equally bad. That’s because most of our sins were against ourselves.”
“Yeh, but the greatest sin was us thinking we were gods and being idols to millions. I’ve glanced through the Bible from time to time, and the sin God really hated the most was when people worshiped other gods. I mean, whole nations were destroyed because of it.”
“You really, really think even one of our fans actually worshiped us? And even if they did, that’s their problem, not ours.”
“Mick, Mick, Mick, we promoted ourselves as ‘the greatest band ever.’ If that’s not actually promoting ourselves as gods, it’s pretty bloody close. I’d say close enough to incur the wrath of God.”
“What ‘wrath of God’? Don’t you think that would have happened by now?”
“The crisis Mick, remember?”
The other rolled his eyes. “For bloody sake, we got through that one, eh, without death and destruction. In fact,” Mick got in Tom’s face, “why would God give us a mission if he thought we were some kind of abomination?”
Tom thought a minute.
“I think we were close to becoming something close to the worst thing, but because through all the ‘greatest band ever’ shit, we kept our perspective. Every time it looked like we’d act like gods, we did something to screw that up. At the height of our fame and fortune, we went into seclusion and then everything went to hell.”
“Yeh, Tom,” Mick sighed, “but we still have a lot to answer for.”
Then Tom stopped though Mick walked straight ahead. “Yeh, but I have a question that needs answering now.”
Yet Mick, though hearing him, kept on walking, not wanting to hear it.
“And that question is,” Tom went on, “are we really doing this mission or are we just gonna go through the motions?”
No answer.
The following morning, at the McClellan ranch house, Texas
Mo McClellan strolled out of the ranch house to meet Bry, who was exiting the SUV he’d driven home from the airport.
“How was it?”
He slammed the door. “It sucked, actually. But we did get the song.” Sarcastic grunt.
Wonderful, she thought as he briskly passed her by. Followed him into the house where she saw him thrash the overnight bag onto the leather couch halfway across the thousand-square-foot living room, nearly knocking over a spittoon.
“Guess what, Mo?” he yelled out in disgust. “Now we’re gonna have to be Jesus freaks.” Another grunt. “Let’s see now,” knocking over furniture, bounding to the bag that he was preparing to toss into the nearest hallway, “we’ve gone from totally irreligious to pagan religion to heretics to ‘unless we accept Christ as our Savior we have no business doing this song that we have to do because some stupid statue gave us a mission of God and some stupid witch told us to do the song as part of the mission.”
“Bry—” Mo tried to calm him.
“And the rest of the band is in denial. They’re all thinking of ways to get on with this mission without having to become Christian. They,” turning to face Mo, “they really think that it’s okay to do a song that just might convert a few million fans to Christianity, and not do it themselves. Do you know what that makes us?”
Mo answered, half in jest, “Hypocrites?”
“Right.” Bry then stomped over to another couch and flung himself on it. “I mean, the whole trip sucked. We were hiking up this trail to Bobby’s, and the first thing you know Erik collapses from exhaustion. What a weakling! So Bobby has to bring him up in a four-wheeler—well, actually, he brought us all up!” Laughs. “There we are, six of the richest guys on the planet, and none of us in shape. None of us is healthy enough to make a one mile hike at an altitude of about six thousand feet. We might as well be Chinese Empress Dowagers being hauled around in a litter all day!” Another loud laugh as he threw his arms out to her. “We are such bloody fat cats, eh?”
She sat down opposite him, holding back a laugh of irony.
“So we get to his place, dying of thirst, and he tells us a witch—oh, and, by the way, that witch is now working for Ger.”
”Morwenna? A witch?” Mo was more shocked than surprised.
“Right. Morwenna. She told him to get his song to us any way he could do it, and that we have to perform this song as part of our so-called mission, which we agreed to do. Erik—who may have had a slight heart attack on the hike yesterday for bloody sake—says he really wants to do it, but he for one doesn’t sound like he’s converting to Christianity any time soon. And neither is anyone else in the band. I don’t want to, either, but at least I don’t think we can get by not doing it.”
All Mo could say was, “Then you do have a problem, eh?”
“Yeh,” he smirked, then went upstairs to the master bedroom, thinking. It’s gonna take an act of God to get us to believe.
The next post is undecided, and when it will be posted is also undecided, but I hope I have something to post before Easter, aka Resurrection Day, April 20.
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