NOW THE TRUTH CAN BE TOLD - 1994 (2 discs)
|1.||I Want To Be A Clone|
|2.||Whatcha Gonna Do When Your Number's Up?|
|3.||Whatever Happened To Sin?|
|4.||Bad Rap (Who You Tryin' To Kid, Kid?)|
|5.||Meltdown (At Madame Tussaud's)|
|6.||Sin For A Season|
|7.||Guilty By Association|
|9.||Am I In Sync?|
|11.||This Disco (Used To Be A Cute Cathedral)|
|13.||Drive, He Said|
|14.||I Just Wanna Know|
|15.||On The Fritz|
|17.||We Don't Need No Colour Code (live)|
|18.||You Don't Owe Me Nothing (live)|
|19.||Under The Blood|
|21.||I Blew Up The Clinic Real Good|
|22.||Jim Morrison's Grave|
|24.||What Is The Measure Of Your Success?|
|25.||Since I Gave Up Hope I Feel A Lot Better|
|27.||A Principled Man|
|28.||Harder To Believe Than Not To|
|29.||Murder In The Big House (with Chagall Guevara)|
|30.||Escher's World (With Chagall Guevara)|
|31.||Violent Blue (With Chagall Guevara)|
|33.||Dream In Black & White (demo)|
|34.||Shark Sandwich (more demos I forgot to erase)|
"Two CD-set chronicles the Sparrow career of contemporary Christian music's still-reigning iconoclast, premiere lyricist, and--as this compilation amply shows--a pretty fair rock'n'roller as well. The brilliant, disturbing, biting, ironic, sometimes outright funny lyrics tend to overshadow the melodies, but classic tunes like 'This Disco,' 'On The Fritz,' and others show Taylor's true genius. Also included are tracks from Chagall Guevara, a couple of unreleased tunes, and an inventively wacky reading of 'Winter Wonderland.'" (Billboard Magazine review 10/29/94)
"The writer who emphasizes spiritual values is very likely to take the darkest
view of all of what he sees in this country today. For him, the fact
that we are the most powerful and wealthiest nation in the world doesn't
mean a thing in any positive sense. The sharper the light of faith,
the more glaring are apt to be the distortions the writer sees in the life
around him...My own feeling is that writers who see by the light of their
Christian faith will have, in these times, the sharpest eyes for the grotesque,
for the perverse, and for the unacceptable...The novelist with Christian
concerns will find in modern life distortions which are repugnant to him,
and his problem will be to make these appear as distortions to an audience
which is used to seeing them as natural."
"Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh."
"So, Steve, what's this song about?"
-Disc Jockey Raymond Bannister, of alternative rock station KROG-FM in Los Angeles, asking Steve Taylor to explain his song "I Manipulate" in 20 seconds or less to a listening audience full of teenaged Adam Ant fans.
Genuinely pious, and agreeably peevish, too (at least on record), Steve Taylor
has proven an important missing link between the King David and David Letterman
generations: A highly visible Christian artist and unabashed ethicist full
of conviction, candor and, perhaps, most definingly, cheek. It's a
dirty job, but somebody had to get to it.
If Steve Taylor didn't exist, as figurative theorists like to say, the gospel music industry would have had to invent him. Grudgingly and belatedly, most likely, would this invention have happened - with all the joy of childbirth or passing a kidney stone, probably - but surely someone would've eventually caught sight of the Taylor-shaped hole in music and taken on the unseemly task of filling it for us. Thank God Taylor came along first and saved them the trouble. It may be hard to remember at this late date just how brash his belly flop into the then-stagnant pool of Christian rock seemed more than a decade ago when, decked out in new-wave duds and armed with a purposeful absurdism, he more or less single-handedly brought "alternative" sensibilities to an earnest but essentially unprogressive movement. Nowadays, no one bats a wary eyelash when a musician of faith deigns to pull an irony from the fire and stab westward in search of some extra-Edenic truth. Few would recently find radical the notion that satire is simply part of the shared aesthetic language which allows contemporary Christian culture to interface with a changing world that has lost much of its semiotic innocence in the last generation. Do not presume it was always so, young traveler.
Prior to Taylor's arrival on the scene in the early 1980's, with certain visionary exceptions, the great mass of so-called Christian rock music could charitably have been considered to be well on its way toward a legacy as an 8-track genre in a digital world. Prophets were few, unblinking positives were many, and Norman Vincent Peale's unspoken position as poet laureate for the movement appeared all to secure. Our boy was by no means the first fellow to bring intellectual chutzpah to evangelical pop, but certainly he was among the most influential singer-songwriter types to come down the pike informed by that artistically liberating, classically Christian Weltanschauung which would have it that, before the Gospel is the famous good news, it's really, really bad news. News so terribly bad, in fact, that it's nearly funny in its awful need for grace, or unbearably sad, or possible both at once.
Enter the angry young journalist. Taylor almost instantly expanded the acceptable palette - "We Don't Need No Colour Code" indeed - so that suddenly Christian music was a broad enough little category to include topical, possibly savage songs about racism, adultery, abortion, consumerism, the pop-star system, various and sundry hypocrisies and (his seeming personal favorite target) modern America's all-invasive, excuse-making, politically boundary-crossing relativism. Some of these pet peeves were worldly wide, as it were, while others of his four-minute exercises in trenchant cultural criticism were narrow cast to bullseyes positioned comfortably in the churched world.
More of the songs than not were overtly funny - laugh-a-line novelty tunes, at times, with an approach somewhere between Spike Jones, Randy Newman, and the Wittenburg Door - yet some were sober, smirkless, and grave, even. The uniting thread was usually human frailty and failing: sin, if you will, original or otherwise. Cynical as some of these third-person vignettes may have been, though, Taylor, our tragicomic-Greek-chorus of a narrator, always revealed himself in the clinch as never less than completely idealistic, with that curious, nearly incongruous mixture of post-modern impropriety and pre-modern piety. Dreaming the impossible dream, undistorting the impossible distortion. Ah, but lest this session seem like a eulogy for someone still breathing, working and weighing in with new product in his wiry 30's, let it be noted that we come to box-set Taylor, not to bury him.
And though we could continue with talk about just how influential our honoree has been on the contemporary crop of "alternative" religious bands - so influential that, in 1994 some of them recorded their own tribute album of Taylor's songs, the first time that's happened in Gospel music "pre-mortem" - it might instead be best to go ahead and begin our back story with a look at the maverick thinkers who influenced Taylor's own formative years in a meaningful (if not all clone-like) way.
Where to begin? There would be the aforequoted Ms. O'Connor, of course. And Francis Schaeffer. And Steve's Baptist minister Dad. And The Clash. And John Davidson. And Dietrich Bonhoeffer. (Together Again, etc.)
A pivotal moment in Taylor's mind, in which style and substance came together for him in some seminal way, is the fall of 1979: "I was enrolled in a filmmaking class at Colorado University, and someone used 'Lost In The Supermarket' by The Clash for a soundtrack. When I picked up the Clash's 'London Calling' it all finally made sense. Musically, that album saved my life. It had raw passion, it had lyrics that were a slap across the face, it had everything but hope. The Clash saw the problems of the world with startling clarity, they just weren't offering much in the way of solutions. To sum it up, I'd found my mission."
Little would Joe Strummer have likely imagined that from afar he was effectively ordaining an emissary to the mission field. And certainly little in Taylor's background up to that point, by his own telling, would have marked him as a potential punk-rock aficionado.
"I'd love to tell you that I heard my first Captain Beefheart album when I was five, learned sitar in the seventh grade, and was experimenting in atonal serialism during High School," Taylor says, "but I think my earliest influences were The Chipmunks and The Cowsills. I didn't get an FM radio until I was 16. And maybe it was Denver's lack of progressive stations, but in that 'golden era' of disco and The Eagles, I couldn't figure out what the fuss was about."
Roland Stephen Taylor was born December 9, 1957 in Brawley, California, and shortly thereafter moved to Denver at the strong urging of his parents, the Rev. Roland Samuel Taylor and his wife Gayle Yvonne. Upon graduating High School in 1976 he came back to Southern California to take communications and Bible classes at the Evangelical Biola University, but after his freshman year hotfooted it back to Boulder, Colorado, where he went on to earn his BA in music (vocal emphasis) at CU. Not without some strain on his part and the faculty's.
"I decided I wanted to be a music major, but that required me to do things I wasn't very capable of, the main one being piano proficiency. I tested out of all my theory classes, because I was pretty good at theory and composition, but I couldn't play the piano to save my life. I became a voice major because there wasn't anything else I could do."
Our next scene resembled the moving climax of "Flashdance," with a slightly less bravura capper. "At the end of my sophomore year I had to sing for the faculty 'jury.' There was this swirl of activity in the back of the room when I was finished. They were all wondering how I had made it past their screening process without getting weeded out early on. The only reason I didn't get kicked out of music school was that my teacher was the head of the department and she told them not to be too rash."
Taylor's ultimate triumph in the aftermath of such chagrined evaluations is a classic he-showed-them! story in the making. But as with any heroic saga, the journeyman of record must first sink to some form of dregs before making his phoenix-like ascent. what dregs be these: "I got through three years of college and actually started feeling a bit desperate: 'I'm a music major. I can't play any instrument. I can't sing opera. What do I do now?' So I did what anyone else would do in the same circumstances - I auditioned for John Davidson's Singers' Summer Camp."
Davidson - a Las Vegas icon best known to us baby boomers as the toothy, perfectly coffed star of such Disney flix as "The Happiest Millionaire" - had mentioned this dream of holding forth a Tommy-like summer camp during an appearance on "The Tonight Show." Taylor was one of 100 young impressionables chosen from 20,000 hopefuls to spend a month on California's Cataline Island learning the tools of the showroom trade from the likes of Tony Orlando, Florence Henderson, and, of course, the master himself. "I actually had a blast," Steve confesses, shameless to the end. "I even learned how to tap dance. The thought of going to a camp to learn how to play the big rooms in Vegas - it's like going to Pope school. Even then we all recognized the absurdity of it all, and not in my weakest moment did the thought of being a professional lounge lizard sound appealing. The frightening thing was, I was actually quite good at it, and Davidson was very encouraging. I came home more confused than ever. I really desired to do something that had my Christian faith as its core inspiration, but I couldn't find a musical expression that meant anything to me."
Shortly after this no-so-faithful brush with fame, Taylor heard his first aforementioned Clash song, which provided the budding artist just a slightly better musical paradigm to work from than the multiple versions of "Everything Is Beautiful" that'd filled his ears at the lounge wanna-be workshop.
After a year of writing his own songs, he penned "Whatcha Gonna Do When Your Number's Up?" as well as his early hallmark "I Want To Be A Clone." The demos for those songs were recorded during his last year of college. While working as a youth pastor and as a janitor at his father's church, and while recording in his spare time, Steve was preparing for a career that would explode a lot sooner than he thought. "If I hadn't been a youth pastor, I doubt I would have done this. My generation didn't listen to politicians or sport heroes. We got our world view, for better or worse, from our music. The trick was discovering how to communicate my Christian world view in a medium that mattered."
Upon completion of those early demos, Taylor went to California to try to get a deal, taking fruitless meetings with labels and publishers mostly on the mainstream side of the business. "I met with as many as I could get to talk to me," he recalls. "The response from the pop people was that they liked the music, but they were afraid the lyrics might offend their listeners. And I couldn't even get past the receptionists at the Gospel labels."
Taylor did meet a fellow named Jim Chaffee in California, who was enthused by the young comer's tape. But, in a Davidson-like twist of irony, before helping usher Taylor on to his eventual career as the rock demagogue we know him as today, Chafee first enlisted Steve's services as assistant director of The Continentals, and evangelistic singing troupe that was then about to head to Poland. This stint with The Continentals, while not exactly reflecting Taylor's own taste (think Up With People or The Mike Curb Congregation, those older of you readers), did provide a source of trivia questions and unending amusement and what-if speculations among Taylor cultists to come. Not long after, Chaffee also helped get Taylor a gig as director of Chuck Bolte's Jeremiah People, a Christian musical comedy troupe "whose satire strongly influenced me while I was growing up," Taylor says.
Chaffee and wife Janice continued to beat the drums, as it were, for Taylor's own music, and finally convinced Cam Floria, the founder of The Continentals, to give the young singer a small slot at Floria's annual Christian Artists Conference in Estes Park, Colorado. It was Taylor's first genuine live set - two songs backed by a hastily arranged band. But the crowd's reaction impressed Sparrow president Billy Ray Hearn so much that he was literally waiting when Taylor got off the stage. The deal quickly followed.
Sparrow decided to debut their chancy signing via an EP "I Want To Be A Clone," released in early 1983. The six songs were musically informed by what would've been considered the sonically edgier secular bands of the time, from The Damned to The Cars, but lyrically were directed almost exclusively toward the evangelical world, addressing such sometimes insular issues as church-hopping, judgmentalism, Christian complacency, and spiritual deceit in the most overtly satirical tones. Amid religious store shelves stocked mostly with the mellow likes of The Imperials, Glad, Evie and John Michael Talbot, "Clone" sold an impressive 85,000 units. Taylor may not have been the first "new-wave" influenced rocker to release an album on the Christian label, but he was the first to make the Gospel industry stand up, pay attention and pony - pogo? - on over to the position that this jumpy stuff represented a significant niche, not a novelty.
It wasn't jut record label folks impressed by the breakthrough. In an encouraging letter to Taylor following a visit to L'Abri in Switzerland, popular theologian and author Francis Schaeffer said of the "Clone" record: "The combination of music and lyrics really works on a very high level, and the message, therefore, comes across with real clarity...in the light of the gifts that the Lord has so obviously given you, and which you obviously developed with care and hard work, I do urge you with all my heart to press on. You are really doing something marvelously worthwhile. I must say the words really cut a wide swath in the need in the church today." Considering that he had studied Schaeffer's works scrupulously, the rabble-rouser-in-training took this seminal exhortation preciously to heart.
The success of "Clone" caused him to assemble some of his studio musicians into a live band that would long thereafter be billed with typical Taylor-esque grandeur as Some Band. In 1984 came the first real album, "Meltdown," produced, like its predecessor, by Jonathan David Brown. Like "Clone," some of its electronic textures may seem dated in retrospect, some of the targets a bit easy. Yet there's no doubting that "Meltdown" qualifies easily as one of the handful of most influential Christian rock albums ever recorded: a wide-ranging, take-no-prisoners assault on anything that might fall under the vast umbrella of culture, with verve and sass. Subject matter ranged from the topics as specific as the racist policies of a famous Fundamentalist college (in "We Don't Need No Colour Code," long to be a concert favorite), media bashing ("Meat The Press"), infant euthenasia ("Baby Doe"), and the plight of believers behind the Iron Curtain ("Over My Dead Body"), to less moment-specific anthems like the unnerving relativism in "Sin For A Season" and the values-nastolgic wistfulness of "Hero."
"Meltdown" sold a very considerable 135,000 units, and also produced what is considered the first real concept video from a Christian label artist, for the wax-museum-set title track, relaunching in semi-earnest the filmmaking career begun by Taylor back in the Clash-filled halls of C.U.
That year Taylor played at his first Cornerstone Festival in Illinois, a performance which crescendoed to a literally lame climax earlier than intended, as our man spontaneously jumped off the six-foot stage and busted his ankle. He limped and hopped his way through the remainder of the show on the surviving foot before heading to the local hospital for surgery the following morning. (The next night, in Detroit, he performed his entire set in an electric wheelchair, which ran out of juice halfway through the performance.) The bad news was that Taylor's miscalculated hop forced cancellation of the trip he'd planned to Ireland to devote a few month's worth of undivided attention to writing his next project. The better news was that, while waylaid at home in Los Angeles, he happened to meet Debbie, the future (a scant nine months future, in fact) Mrs Taylor...ankle schmankle: he loves L.A.
The break was well-healed by the time Taylor trotted down the aisle, but this more consumptive affliction, love, had precluded his getting much new songwriting accomplished by the time he ventured to New York to start recording his third album "On The Fritz." This time, he was looking toward making a significant musical change, with assists from English Producer Ian McDonald (former member of King Crimson, Foreigner) and a host of well-known session players, but without much preordination of what exactly would replace the stylish touches he was shedding. "In the past, I'd always come in extremely well-prepared, but with 'Fritz' we did a lot more experimenting in the studio. I even dipped into my failed classical background, messing around on three or four songs with a vocal style the Germans called sprechstimme, which is somewhere between singing and talking."
The on-the-spot nature of "On The Fritz" produced surprisingly fine results, marking a real maturation and move toward subtlety in Taylor's writing style and a more refined, less self-consciously herky-jerky instrumentation, though the sound remained lively enough. It's very much a transitional album in that some songs suggest a more serious and reflective introspection ("To Forgive," the stirring "I Just Wanna Know"), while some others seem like left overs from his orientation toward message-heavy, comedic novelty tunes (the most out-of-place being "Lifeboat," which, despite Taylor's later regret at having recorded it, proved inordinately popular among fans.
Sales of "Fritz" were strong, and took a leap in newly receptive European markets, though falling a little behind "Meltdown" domestically. Taylor's next project was an interim one: the "Limelight" live EP and home video, recorded at Castle Ashby, England with Some Band during the 1985 Greenbelt Festival before an audience of 20,000.
It was the next album that marked a real turning point. Changing direction toward an even more guitar-based sound, and adding the production prowess of Dave Perkins, Taylor began work on "I Predict 1990," what was to be his most controversial - and, by critical standards, certainly best to date - record. Increasingly legendary for what some would call attention to detail and others might label perfectionism, Taylor ended up going over-budget and over-schedule on his archly prophetic magnum opus (as in: way over.) Sparrow, while supportive, wearied of the series of delays that had trade ads periodically appearing to trumpet a non-existent album. Moreover, the new material seemed to be darker and perhaps a bit more arcane in tone, which didn't entirely jibe with the direction the company was taking toward servicing the church market. In an example of true cooperation between artist and label, Sparrow allowed one of their premiere talents to negotiate a new deal for the still-unfinished album with Myrrh Records via his friend Lynn Nichols (who was VP of A&R).
That the album's intentions were slightly less outrightly stated than before helped lead to minor controversy. Some paranoiacs feared or assumed that the "I Predict" cover art, which was designed by Steve's wife, contained demonic tarot card images, and idea fueled by alarmist Fundamentalist conspiracy theorists like Tex Marrs. Not-yet-discredited televangelist Jimmy Swaggart took aim at Taylor and dedicated an entire chapter to him in one of his anti-rock books. While obviously without merit and even good for some inadvertent amusement, these attacks did nag at Taylor. On top of all that, the satire of the album's opening cut, "I Blew Up The Clinic Real Good," was taken literally by some as advocating abortion clinic bombing. Despite critical success and a strong tour (whose stops included a headlining gig at L.A.'s Universal Amphitheater), Taylor was left feeling frustrated and drained. "It got to where I was actually having to defend myself in interviews against charges of tarot-card covers and even new age hidden messages. It was all pretty depressing. I was spending more time defending myself than talking about either my faith or my music."
Still, there were triumphs during this time: The "I Predict 1990 Video Album," featuring concept videos for eight of the 10 new songs, made history as the first full-length home video companion to an album in the Christian marketplace, and is still widely considered the best of its kind(and most sought-after, being out of print and all). The Taylor-directed "Jim Morrison's Grave" video showed up on MTV's "120 Minutes," boosting the track onto college radio playlists, as Myrrh's secular distributor at the time, A&M, did some promotion for the song.
But, as dissapointing sales figures for "Predict" came in and the ironic juxtaposition of critical and commercial success became clear, Taylor feared he'd zenithed. At one typically well-attended California concert date, he announced that he was "retiring" from the business for a while. This retirement was to end up like similar famous announcements by everyone from Frank Sinatra to David Bowie: short-lived. It was Taylor the solo artist who technically was retired, as a few months after leaving the scene he moved from his temporary London digs to Nashville, got together with four other fellow expatriates of the Christian music scene who shared much of the same frustrations, dreams, desire and sense of humor, and with them formed Chagall Guevara. After just a few months of existence this quintet signed to MCA Records and set to work on a debut album with highly valued producer Matt Wallace (Faith No More, The Replacements, John Hiatt).
There were rave reviews in places like Rolling Stone Magazine; a UK tour with pop legends Squeeze; a slot on the "Pump Up The Volume" soundtrack, and other promising breaks. But promotion was - to say the least - limited, a planned U.S. tour never materialized, and the album failed to match any of Taylor's past sales levels. After just one terrific recording, Chagall Guevara, rather than set to work on a second album and kick what appeared to be a seriously ailing horse, asked to be let out of its deal with MCA and called it quits.
Back in Nashville, where his wife continued to be successful as a painter, Taylor did a few odd jobs while deciding which way best to re-retire: he produced an album for the Newsboys and directed the occasional music video, which barely assuaged his restlessness. After several months of persuasion by longtime friend Norman Miller, followed by strong and ultimately decisive encouragement from his pastor, Taylor struck a new solo deal with Warner Alliance (Warner Bros.' Gospel label), leading to the late '93 release of "Squint," accompanied into an unsuspecting marketplace by Taylor's second home-video album, his self-directed globetrotting epic "Squint: Movies From The Soundtrack." With high-concept song titles ranging from "Smug" to "Sock Heaven" (the coded saga of Chagall Guevera) to "Jesus Is For Losers," it was quickly obvious that, true to the conspiracy theorists' worst nightmares, the friendly, cranky, topical, subversive, exhortative Steve Taylor everyone knew and loved - or, well, not - was back from the industry grave and better than ever.
Then, of course, proving true Andy Worhol's maxim that in the future everyone will have their own boxed set, comes the inevitable two-CD tribute you clutch. O'Conners Flannery and Donald can once again rest easy that their respective legacies live on in very good - but especially very long and lanky-fingered - hands. Disc jockeys can once more puzzle over what might seem to those without ears to hear like sarcastic obscurantism that has a good beat and you can dance to. And Msgrs. Davidson, Strummer and Schaeffer have just a little more to live down. Steve Taylor, the unlikely upstart, the erstwhile blip on the Christian rock radar screen, now the stuff living legends are made of? There are plenty of things that're harder to believe than not to.
(Chris Willman is a pop music critic for the Los Angeles Times. His writing has appeared in Musician, Rolling Stone, Grammy, Pulse, New York Newsday, CCM, Christianity Today, and other publications)
There are actually three things in life
that are inevitable for those of us with multi-record deals: death, taxes,
and repackaging. It is my silent fear that a compilation of this type may
cause premature again in one so young, but I thought the same when I first
caught wind of a rumoured 'Steve Taylor Tribute" album and immediately called
my doctor to see if he was keeping any secrets. If the truth can indeed by
told, I suppose the act of listening to each track and writing a remembrance
or two of things past may bring back mixed emotions: sighs of relief and
satisfaction ('My, this one's aged well'), minor embarrassments ('that snare
sound used to be hip, right?'), even morbid fascination ('whatever possessed
me to perform an entire song as a woman?'). On second thought, this could
turn out to be a lot like going to the dentist: prolonged X-Rays, muffled
voices mumbling second opinions, and the occasional sound in the background
of someone screaming. Let the drilling
Digitally remastered by Hank Williams at Mastermix
Compilations produced by Steve Taylor and John J. Thompson
Liner notes: Chris Willman
Song by song essays: Steve Taylor
Produced by Jonathan David Brown (tracks 1-10), Ian McDonald & Steve Taylor (11-16), Steve Taylor & Keith Bessey (17-18), The Beaufort Twins (19-28), Matt Wallace & Chagall Guever (29-31), Steve Taylor (32-34)
Management: Proper Management
PO Box 150888, Nashville, TN 37215
Booking: Jeff Roberts & Associates
PO Box 2437, Hendersonville, TN 37077
Fan Club (USA): PO Box 150669, Nashville, TN 37215
Fan Club (UK & Eaurope): PO Box 94, London Swiv 4PH England
Art Direction: Buddy Jackson
Design: B. Middleworth
Photography: Ben Pearson
Thanks (listed alphabetically): Herb Allison, Randy Anderson, Bob Angelotti, David Benware, Holly Benyousky, Richard Bickersteth, Chuck and Soozi Bolte, Kent Talmadge Bowers, Steve Bowlby, Steve Brallier, Michael Brown, Tammy Brown, David and Sara Bruce, Terl and Juliet Bryant, Tony Campolo, Jim and Janice Chaffee, The Choir, Cora Cluver, Kerry and Julie Conner, Wayne Cook, Jonathan Cooke, Meredith Cork, Jeff Cowen, Kevin and Jan Craig, Crossroads Baptist Church, Roberta Croteau, Chuck Cummings, Tony Dummings, Debi Daniels, Bob Darden, John Davidson, Michael Dixon, Devlin Donaldson, Larry DuPont, Frank Edmondson, Paul Emery, Teresa Ensenat, Dave Etzen, Dale Fenton, Joey Fiamingo, Jimmy Fields, Cam Floria, Paul Franklin, Tex Frossard, Jacque Gibb, Steve Gilreath, Frank Gironda, Steve and Debbie Goomas, Thom Granger, Wally Grant, Richard Green, Tom Green, Greenbelt, Mary Gross, Os Guiness, Ian Hamilton, Jim Hancock, Malcolm Harper, Chet Harter, Chris Hauser, Jay Healy, Bill Hearn, Billy Ray Hearn, Michael Hodgson, Jim Hodson, Mark Hollingsworth, Glen Golmen, Dennis and Debbie Holt, Dave Huff, John Huie, Scott Huie, Chuck Hurewitz, I.M.S., JPUSA, Buddy Jackson, Wade Jaynes, Grank Jenks, Jack Kelly, Jim and Elma Krieg, Nancy Knox, Paul Kremen, Nancy Kronemann, Amy Kyker, Leen and Ria La Riviere, Tim Landis, Don Lawrence, Jenny Lockwald, Jim Long, Russ Long, Tic Long, Bob Ludwig, Roland Lundy, Philip Mangano, Rob Marshall, Brian Martin, Terry Mattingly, Simon and Hilary Mayo, Annie McCaig, Gary McCartie, Mark McCoin, Ian McDonald, Josh McDowell, Casey McGinty, Danny McGuffey, Glenda McNalley, Mike Mead, Al Menconi, DeAnne Meyer, Beth Middleworth, Norman Miller, Dave and Debbie Milligan, Don Milligan, Montrose First Baptist Youth Group, Cactus and Ellen Moser, Gerd Muller, the entire staff of Myrrh Records, Mike Nachtigal, Brian Quincy Newcomb, Jeff Quistad, Newsboys, Lynn Nichols, Gym Nicholson, David and Rebecca Nickel, Millie Paul, Shannon O'Shea, Lasse Olson, Stuart Ongley, Dave Parker, Ben Pearson, Victoria Pearson, Dave Perkins, Phil Perkins, Steve and Laurel Peters, Lars Peterson, Phil & John, Tim Philibosian, Dan Posthuma, Joey Powers, David Raven, Rez, Dan Rhodes, Steve Rice, Chris Richards, Dennis Rider, Jon Robberson, Dave Roberts, Jeff Roberts & Associates, Dan Russell, Ian Santiago, Francis Schaeffer, Dave Schiedt, David Schober, Roland Simmons, David Smallbone, Chuck Smith Jr., John Smith, Scott Smith, The Somervilles, the entire staff of Sparrow Records, Dona Spangler, Gary Stamler, Thom Starkey, Tim Stedman, Jeff and Kim Stone, Norman Stone, John Styll, Marlin Summers, John Sundberg, Tim Swift, Greg Szabo, Marek Szpendowski, The Taylor Clan, Harry Thomas, John J. Thompson, Dave and Debbie Thrush, John Tinker, Treff, Steve Turner, James Tweed, Lynn Van Matre, Rich Van Pelt, Barb Voorhees, Woody Waddell, Matt Wallace, Sheila Walsh, Ed Wannebo, Ray Ware, the entire staff of Warner Alliance, Alan Weed, Whitecross, Greg Wigler, Tom Willett, Chris Willman, Bobbi Wilson, Pip Wilson, Rob Woolsey, Word U.K., Paula Wright, John and Joe Wroe, Martin and Meg Wroe, Mike and Karla Yaconelli, Peter York, Steve Zeoli, and, always, Debbie.