The wholesale lineup changes that Audio Adrenaline has foisted on their fan base in the last few years are frustrating and contribute to the cynicism that many feel towards the music industry (Christian and secular branches alike). It’s been done too many times and a line has to be drawn here.
Now, the common critique of letters like this is that there are so many other things in our world that are much more worthy of our outrage, our time and our efforts. I agree. That’s why I’m also going to spend the exact amount of time I’ve spent crafting this letter into writing one to my state’s governor about the lack of options for the homeless here in New Hampshire, and then another extra hour or two working with the outreach team from my church. (Something I already do.) But cynicism is a problem. I feel it encroaching on my life day by day. And it’s a battle to keep it at bay, to let the Lord soften my heart and open my eyes to all that He wants to do through me in this world.
I was once a wide-eyed, hopeful kid, and your music was very much the soundtrack to those times. During my Junior year of high school I spent the wee hours of a youth group lock-in discussing “Scum Sweetheart” with a friend, and being honest about how tough the pull of the world was feeling to us. This conversation convinced both of us commit to helping each other navigate the tricky teen waters of hormones and identities. A guy at summer camp taught me the chords to “Rest Easy” and I sang that song at the top of my lungs around a campfire with little campers singing along. The summer I graduated, I went on a road trip on a brilliant month in July and took Bloom along with me. “See Through” and “Man Of God” sparked amazing conversations with my fellow travelers, and I still quote “See Through” to my daughters, urging them to look at Jesus as the perfect one, and dad as the one who, on his best days, points to the Savior. (“Don’t you know that God loves you, don’t you know that I try to? I’ve been known to miss my cue, but don’t look at me, I’m see through.”) “Bag Lady” helped to convince me to break out of my comfort zone and strike up a relationship with the homeless lady who camped out near my college in Philly. Later, as a youth pastor, I sat around a campfire at a music fest with a retired pastor friend who was battling cancer and the feeling of uselessness to God. Though he was decidedly out of your demographic, he had been moved to tears by “Hands And Feet”, and your challenge from the stage that there was no one out there who God couldn’t use. Another kid in my youth group (the pastor’s son) loved “Chevette” because, to him, it was the story of his dad and his family.
These stories matter to me, and many other fans out there, and the cynicism builds in our hearts when we are presented with a new product that has the old name on it. It makes us suspicious that there is an ulterior motive at work, and that we are seen as mere lemmings, mindless consumers who will greet this new version of something we once loved with a Pavlovian response to simply accept this new change with open arms; like there is no history, no collection of stories built up in our hearts. When I hear new music from an artist I once loved, it’s like being visited by an old friend.
And, you already did this once before!
I even enjoyed the last incarnation of the band. I enjoyed seeing Will bouncing around up on stage. I enjoyed hearing your voice on “King Of The Comebacks.” I enjoyed the album, and the attention it was bringing to the Hands And Feet Project. I cried a bit when I saw the “Kings And Queens” video, and I enjoyed introducing my daughters to the music and bringing them to your shows. They love “Big House” and “Ocean Floor” and I was happy to share a memory with them.
But a third time? A third time in just over two years?
That frustrates me, and appeals to the cynic in me that says that it’s all about the money; all about capitalizing on a “brand” instead of an actual band full of people with chemistry (the kind it takes time to develop) and a shared history. We live in such a manufactured world. But art can’t be assembled like an automobile. It’s an intangible thing that doesn’t have interchangeable parts the way my computer does. It’s organic and can’t be assembled in a studio.
I fully recognize that there is much more behind the scenes than I could ever realize, and that there are many considerations, not to mention the projects and ministries that benefit from what you are trying to do. It’s just that we haven’t heard any explanations, just a “here’s your new version of the band!” It’s hard not to be dubious.
So please, call off this continuation of Audio Adrenaline and start something new. Start something for the kid out there to fall in love with, to take on a road trip, to listen to late at night and consider a new truth. Do something original, something new for that kid and the wide-eyed, arms-wide-open kid that I once was. Art matters, authenticity matters. Thanks for the great memories, and may all of our lives have an impact on those around us for the sake of the Kingdom.
Tilton, New Hampshire