Honestly: My Life and Stryper Revealed (24 page)

We decided the best thing for us to do was to sell the house for what we could get and move back east to my mother-in-law’s home in Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts. We sold the house for a loss and moved back into Kyle’s childhood home on Cape Cod. Her mother was still living in the house, so Kyle, Lena, Mikey and I all moved in with Marion. It was not quite the rock-star set up, but I’ll admit it felt good to be out of Southern California and on the path to a new life.

By this time, grunge music had consumed the world for a couple of years, and it was making me nervous about the next album I was contracted to record for Benson. I decided on doing something completely different from my previous album, or really any album I had ever released. I went for more of a stripped down, acoustic sound.

The album was called
Real
and it was released in October 1995. By industry standards, it didn’t do nearly as well, but I did manage to squeeze three #1 songs out for Christian Radio, including a video for the title track. I only toured for about three weeks around the release of this album, mostly festivals and clubs.

Soon after that I got the news that Benson was going under, and they eventually sold to Provident Music Group. Yes, yet another financial disaster in my life.

I was starting to feel a bit deflated musically as 1996 rolled around.
Real
didn’t meet my or the label’s, expectations in terms of sales. Shortly after its release, I would find myself without a record label once again. And it wasn’t as if Buzzards Bay was the hotbed for music. I was as far away from my comfort zone of Los Angeles as I possibly could be, and I was faced with the harsh reality that this might be the end of the line for my musical journey.

THIRTY-THREE

With no record deal in place, I found myself 32 years old and feeling like this might be the end of my life as a musician. But some interesting things were happening in 1996—most notably, the Internet. It seems strange to talk about an era with no Internet, but I lived through the commercialization of this technology.

Thanks to the Internet and a handful of faithful Stryper fans, I would eventually jumpstart things again, but prior to that happening, I honestly thought that maybe God just didn’t want me to do this any longer.

After Benson had shut their doors, I started recording some demos at home. I had a few digital 8 track machines synched together and a drum machine that I programmed and I started recording basic ideas and sending them out to all the labels and people that I knew in the industry. I seemed to keep hearing the same exact phrase when I’d follow up with people I had sent music to—“Sorry Michael, we’re not interested.” This went on for months on end.

Danny Goldberg, Stryper’s manager during the
Against The Law
period, had gone on to form Artemis Records. He politely passed when I sent him some material. Eddie DeGarmo was running Forefront Records, and he also passed. I don’t have a favorable memory of Eddie’s “pass”, however. In our initial phone conversation, he asked me how old I was. I told him I was 32, and Eddie proceeded to explain that they were only signing artists a lot younger than me. Ouch.

Yeah, right Eddie. You’re never “too old,” buddy....

After hearing “No thanks” many times, eventually I packed up all my gear and put it in a large storage area in the basement.
“Maybe I’m just not supposed to do this anymore,”
I thought as I packed my guitars and equipment neatly behind the closed doors.

Soon afterward, I threw myself into working the family cranberry and camping business. I was making a whopping $250 a week, if that. Kyle worked in the office and made a little more than me, but not much more. During harvest season, I worked in the bogs, wearing waste-high hip waders. And during the camping season, I was known as “Ranger Mike.” My duties involved driving around in a jeep, showing guests to their campsites and making sure all the campfires were out at midnight. I promise I’m not making this up.

This was all documented in a show on VH1 called “Where Are They Now?” That’s right, my life now consists of hip waders, campfire curfews, and cameos on “Where Are They Now.”

Several times during my stint as Ranger Mike, I would on occasion run into Stryper fans. One guy in particular was blasting “To Hell With The Devil” as I walked up to tell him and his 20 some odd guests that they would have to put the fire out. He glared at me with frustration and then began to recognize me. “Aren’t you Michael Sweet?” he asked. “Who’s Michael Sweet?” I responded and then confessed to the accusation. I wound up letting them burn the fire for another hour because I took a seat and hung with them for that hour. It was humbling but always interesting, and I was okay with it. My walk with God was stronger than ever, and I was learning to be happy with my place in life and accept the path that I was on.

I was focusing on keeping my priorities straight—God and family. For a while it felt great not having the pressures of the music business hanging over my head. At the end of the day, I’d come home tired and dirty from working outside, but it felt great to work hard and then spend time with my family in the evenings. Somehow it felt good to be physically exhausted at the end of the day.

My life was in God’s hands and if this is what He wanted me to do, I was going to make the best of it. I wanted to give my best, no matter what I was doing. It also felt good to not have record executives telling me they were going to “pass” or that the single wasn’t charting, or that sales were declining and they might not be able to work the album much longer. The pressure was off, in the corporate sense anyway.

No more suits telling me whether or not my music was good enough or marketable enough. I knew that as long as I was working hard, honoring God, and providing for my family, things would work out.

But as I drove around in the Jeep all day, worked in the bogs or cleaned out campsite cesspools, inevitably song ideas would creep into my head. After almost two years of working in the family business, I had dozens of songs in my head but nothing to do with them. I had no outlet for them to be heard.

In 1997, though, some interesting doors began to open. For years the unofficial band historian had been a guy by the name of Brett Christensen. Brett knew Jeff Wollschlager who, for a school project, had developed The Michael Sweet website. I, along with a large majority of the world, was still not Internet savvy, but Brett told me about this website Jeff had developed and I eventually took at look at it. I was really impressed with what I saw, and I contacted Jeff about making MichaelSweet.com official. On my $250 a week salary, I certainly had no money to hire a webmaster, but Jeff offered his services for free and launched MichaelSweet.com in 1997.

I had been attending a home church that I and a few other people had formed called Cornerstone. Pastor David Johnson led the church, and we met in different homes each week, ours being one of those homes. I led the music. I felt better about my faith than I had in years and I looked forward to church every week. A couple by the name of Russ and Ria Berg were also members. They owned a business that supplied home-schooling curriculum, and eventually they helped in getting Mikey and Lena what they needed. It was an amazing group of eclectic and exciting people, including my dear friends—actor, director and writer David Wall and his wife, Kerry. The Bergs and the Walls were from California as well and we instantly bonded. It was a small group, but we had the energy and passion of a mega-church.

On New Year’s Eve of 1997, the Bergs invited Kyle and me to their house for dinner. Also at that party were brothers Justin and Joel Christian and Rob Graves. Justin would ultimately help in writing many of the lyrics for my next album. They told me about a guy they knew, Kenny Lewis, who had a small recording studio in Middleton, Massachusetts. I was intrigued. I had all these songs in my head from working at the campground and had no way of recording them.

A few days later I met with Kenny and he offered to record my songs for free. He was a believer as well and just wanted to help me out. Kenny and I have remained lifelong friends, and Kenny has also been instrumental in helping to launch not only my career but Stryper’s career as well. Kenny was an incredibly positive turning point in my life.

Whenever time permitted, I would drive to Kenny’s (90 miles each way) and record, all the while learning of growing interest in my music from around the world through the website Jeff Wollschlager had set up. Fans were contacting Jeff through the website asking about me. This gave me an incredible passion to continue recording with the hopes of one day sharing my music again.

Still, I continued to shop songs to labels, and I continued to get turned down. So in 1998, with no help from a label at all but with all the power of the Internet, I self-released the songs recorded at Kenny’s under the title
Truth
. Shockingly, I sold almost 25,000 copies on my own, stuffing packages from the basement each day and night for months on end.

Every time I hear musicians complain about the Internet, and sometimes being one of those musicians, I try to remind myself of 1998 when it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I no longer needed the validation of a record label. I no longer needed a label to say,
“Yes, we will release your music.”
I, for the first time ever, had the ability to reach the fans directly and bypass the labels completely, and I have to say it felt awesome!

Up until this point, I had so many doors slammed in my face I was almost beginning to believe myself that possibly nobody cared if I ever made music again. But thanks to Jeff’s website and Kenny’s recording studio and both of them willing to offer their services for free, I was able to release music directly to the fans. For that, I will forever be grateful, and to the 25,000-plus fans that purchased that CD.

I continued working part-time at the campground, and in 1999 I self-released
Unstryped
, the demo I had recorded back in ’92. I put it out mostly as a means to subsidize my income, as I never have been particularly fond of those recordings.

That same year I reconnected with Bill Hein, from the Enigma days, now with Restless Records. He heard the album and loved it and ultimately signed me to a deal to re-make
Truth
. Bill was behind the project 100 percent. We got Bob Marlette to produce it and Kenny Aronoff to track drums. Rob Graves co-produced part of the original record, and has since gone on to produce many albums as well, including RED and Pillar. I even brought in Oz to do a solo on the song “The Ever After.”

That recording came together perfectly. To this day, it’s one of the records that I’m most proud of as an artist. I poured my heart and soul into the making of those songs.

Within what felt like days after the album being released, Restless Records’ parent company, Regency Films, pulled the plug on funding for the label.
Truth
was released on October 10, 2000 with all the power and force of a Kleenex being tossed across the room. It was basically dead upon release, which is sad because I feel it was some of my most artistic work ever recorded.

I’m beginning to see a pattern here. I got signed to Enigma, and they closed. I got signed to Benson, and they disappeared. I got signed to Restless—they went under. Most artists can go their entire life and never get a record deal. I, on the other hand, by the age of 37 had somehow managed to successfully help three labels close their doors.

Truth
having never seen the light of day is one of the saddest moments, if not
the
saddest moment in my career. I put everything I had into making that record and artistically it was unlike anything I had ever made. I wrote those songs working in the bogs—out in the cold with blisters on my feet and hands. I had tearful crying sessions with the packing and unpacking of my musical equipment. So much incredible work and patience had gone into the making of this album, only to have it fall by the wayside in what seemed like an instant. It was heartbreaking, and I couldn’t believe it was happening. Recovering from this would not come easy.

THIRTY-FOUR

I did not get into music for the money. And, I’m still not in it for the money. But I need money to live, just like anyone else. Yet with me there has always been this awkward dance, a fine line I’ve had to walk, between needing money and being mindful to not do something
for
the money.

Because I’m a Christian this can get even more awkward than it might for other musicians. The general public would likely be shocked to see the incredibly high number of requests we get from people asking to send them free music or to perform for free. The sometimes stated and sometimes presumed assumption is that because we are Christians, we should do things for free. And when we’re unable to do so, it’s equally as alarming the backlash and cries of outrage we receive. “
You should not charge us for a performance. You’re a ministry, and we’re trying to raise money for our church. Shame on you!”
is a typical response when we politely explain our inability to travel across the country and perform for free at the Main Street Christian Church of Home-Town USA.

This has always fascinated me. I won’t say that it angers me because it doesn’t. I completely understand their intentions. It’s just a little baffling.

They are asking
us
to perform for free, to raise money for
their
organization. And why do they need the money? To pay for the contractors, plumbers, and electricians that of course will not work for free to build their new Sunday school wing at their church.

So why not just ask the contractors and plumbers to work for free? Well, because they won’t. They too have families to feed. They too have mortgages and utility bills to pay. So instead, they ask, and often expect, us to perform for free to raise money for whatever expense-of-the-month might be on their budget calendar. Why is this? Why do people so easily ask us to perform for free but rarely ask the builders to work for free? Are our skills as musicians less difficult or less valuable than those of the contractors and plumbers? Because we’re in ministry we should perform for free, but the contractors shouldn’t work for free?