The Jesus People showed up in our neighborhood in late 1974. I was seventeen. How do I remember you ask?
Well, one of them mocked me for having the latest issue of Rolling Stone with me instead of the Bible. It would have been futile to explain that I just had to read the review of Jackson Browne's new album, Late for the Sky. (A rave, of course.)
She was the bad cop among many good cops who tried instead to inspire me to accept Jesus. How could I explain, after having gone to 8am mass every weekday from fourth through eighth grade I had probably spent more time with JC than all of them combined?
They were talking about quality time, I guess. (One's mind does wander a bit during the eucharist.) But I think we all know what an overrated concept that is, even now that it's dressed up as "mindfulness".
I promised I would think about it that night. In doing so I concluded that JC and I had already worked out a perfectly good arrangement, which was to acknowledge each other's existence with a nod and a wave when we passed each other on Fifth Avenue and pick up a round at the bar. My creed amounted to something along the lines of "Let's Just Give Each Other Some Space, Okay?".
So how was I going to explain this to the Jesus People? But that's when the Miracle happened.
I never saw them again.
The six of them had been ensconced in a loft above the A&P right across from Johnny's Pizzeria where I hung out. So I figured they'd be around for a while. But no. They dropped off the face of the earth. Did the rapture occur and I didn't know it?
Can you imagine my embarrassment if I had accepted Jesus only to find myself the lone Jesus Person in Sunset Park? I guess I assumed I would live with the cult little group in the loft. That itself would have been an issue as at the time I was spending way too much time in the bathroom trying to get my hair just right. (High school-era photos indicate I failed.)
Anyway, after listening to the record below, I realized how the Jesus People might have succeeded in converting me if they had only written some good songs.
Now that's quite the title, isn't it? Rest assured, they're talking about the record label, not the place.
As a matter of fact, Sill's first album was the first one ever put out by Asylum. It would soon be followed by ones by (well whaddya know,) Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell, and the Eagles. This two-CD set consists of her two Asylum albums plus a bunch of demos and live versions. The consistency in quality throughout is remarkable, and I have no problem playing it all the way through.
I should point out that Mrs. Jaybee - the more religious of one of us - is not on board. (Heathen!)
Now, I'm so agnostic I'm agnostic about agnosticism. As such, I'm not very into gospel music (although I'll admit I'm missing something) and not at all into "Christian Music". There's a very practical reason: listening to someone get praised is boring (except - oddly enough - "Praise You" by Fatboy Slim).
One of the few books I put down without finishing was The City of God, by St. Augustine, because it just goes on about how great god is. And since the author is speaking directly to God my BS detector went off and it smelled like one huge suck-up.
But someone who is plain-spoken in her faith and writes great melodies that span folk, country, and gospel, will always have my ear. Add to that, a good voice and clean, simple production and consistency and it's hard to resist, no matter how much I doubt.
One caveat is that her beliefs could be categorized as "old-time religion" - referencing lambs, soldiers of love, Jesus as bridegroom, and even the rapture. She'd give the Jesus People a run for their money.
A complicated person, to say the least, there are even some drug references in these songs. This would later come back to haunt her. A serious car accident got her addicted to painkillers and she died in 1979 of an overdose.
I wish I had known at that time. I would have prayed for her.
A
"Crayon Angels"
