Stanger In A Strange Land

Larry Norman wrecked me. When I was just a toddler or so I heard my mother singing his songs “Sweet Sweet Song of Salvation” and “I Am a Servant.” I remember being vaguely freaked out well before my seventh birthday when the apocalyptic lyrics of “I Wish We’d All Been Ready” settled in my young, troubled ears. Other than the dark tinged fear that I might be left in a field some day when everyone else around me disappeared to be with Jesus, my early exposure to Norman’s songs were the mellow ones; the nice ones.

But sometime around the age of thirteen I discovered an underground world of edgy rock and alternative music being made by Christians. I was enthralled by the music of Resurrection Band, DeGarmo and Key, The 77s, Daniel Amos and Servant. One night, while listening to a barely tuned in radio station broadcasting a live concert by Swedish rockers Jerusalem and Canadian metal band Daniel Band, I was re-introduced to Larry Norman’s wiry and oddly compelling music. He was on stage somewhere near Chicago, those heavier bands opening for him, and I immediately wished that I was at that show. My aunt Marnie got me a Larry Norman record shortly thereafter. It was called “In Another Land” and as I let the needle scrape the wax that’s exactly where I was; another land.

In my world of alternative Christian music Larry was the odd ringleader. I read every article I could find, joined the fan club and started gathering his records wherever I could find them. I obsessed over the songs; the lyrics and even the packaging. I reveled in the secret codes and embedded messages. When he sang “The marionette grabbed my leg and said exactly eighty-nine words to me. Count ‘em,” I did. I counted them over and over. There were NINETY NINE words in that dream. What did it all mean?

In his music, and his street life, Larry was the outsider. He was the hippie in the new-wave 1980s. He was the Jesus Freak on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. He was the believer who seemed ready to take Jesus at his word when it came to the poor, the homeless and the forgotten. He was a student of Rock and Roll, often quoting the best licks and tricks of bands like The Rolling Stones, The Beatles and Neil Young and Crazy Horse. His records sounded like real-for-live rock, not watered down Christianized elevator music. Beyond it all, he seemed very human. He was paranoid; a constant victim of anti-Christian and anti-rock forces. He was misunderstood and neglected. He was a pebble in the shoe of the Church and the boot of Rock.

I wanted to be just like him.

Seriously… I wanted to be so radical in my faith that heathens and Pharisees both wanted to take me out. I wanted to write songs so deep and oblique that listeners would listen a thousand times and still wonder what I was talking about. I wanted to lay my wounds, fears and faith right out there in the light for everyone to experience. I wanted to get sideways glances on the street. I wanted people to misunderstand me. I wanted to be a legend.

Larry, along with the other bands and solo artists I had plugged into, led me down a rabbit hole into a world of faith and art that I would choose never to leave. Shortly thereafter I discovered U2 (and found out they were Larry fans too.) I followed Larry’s footprints to artists like Randy Stonehill, Mark Heard and Tom Howard. I started a band, learning Larry’s songs “Watch What You’re Doing” and “Be Careful What You Sign” before I was legal to drive. I wrote songs that were direct rip-offs of Larry’s style. I even got a job at a Christian bookstore so I could be around the music all day. I was gone.

Then I actually met him.

It’s a dangerous thing meeting your heroes. For the most part I would not recommend it. They rarely live up to our imaginations. By the time I got to meet Larry I was 19. It was Cornerstone ’89 and I was launching a magazine, mail-order company and record store devoted to nothing but the music I was baptized into. I called the place True Tunes, in no small way influenced by Larry’s concept project The Tune I had recently discovered. I wanted to sell Larry’s extremely hard to find music through my business. I approached him about it, and he forwarded me to his manager. I thanked him and then walked over to an older gentleman working Larry’s table. I told him of my undying fan-ness and asked him about some of the codes I thought I had figured out. “There’s one guy I know of that’s figured out more of that stuff than you have, kid,” Joe Norman (Larry’s father) told me. “And that guy’s sitting in jail in California.” I was creeped out and honored. Larry’s dad was his manager. He told me about his basement, a veritable treasure trove of obscure Norman rarities. I really wanted to move into that basement.

But Larry had another manager too. This guy told me he would sell me Larry’s tapes and LPs, but there was a catch; I had to buy 36 pairs of Larry Norman / Solid Rock running shorts too! Yes, running shorts. Larry autographed every pair. I still can’t believe I went along with that. I ended up donating most of the shorts to a local homeless shelter. But I made sure True Tunes had the best selection of Larry Norman music in the world. Larry was a bit aloof.

The following year Larry showed up at Cornerstone even though he wasn’t booked to play. He actually started selling his records in my True Tunes booth when I was out catching a band’s set. He was drawing the album covers with a Sharpie. I’ll admit, I was irritated.

As I got closer it became clear that Larry was, as I had previously refused to believe, a messed up human being just like me. He struggled in his interpersonal relationships and often seemed to hurt the people he wanted most to help. He had been married, and divorced twice. He seemed to get facts mixed up sometimes. He could be extremely funny one moment, and capricious the next. He was weird, but his records still spoke to me. Some people really disliked him, still smarting from bad business dealings with the iconoclast decades before. For some reason I never lost my soft spot for him. I was growing up around off-beat Christians who were artists and most of them were a bit ‘off.” I felt right at home.

As I developed as a writer and aspiring Christian Music Historian I really wanted to do a massive tell-all interview with Larry. I wanted him to have an unedited shot to explain away all the rumors. I wanted to get to the bottom of his feud with Randy Stonehill and help to bring peace there. I asked Larry several times for that interview and he always said “Sure,” but never showed up.

In 2000, back at the Cornerstone Festival where I had first met him more than a decade earlier, Larry walked into the Hotel lobby as I was checking in. We chatted for a bit and then he said “John. That interview… let’s do it. Today.” I grabbed my friend Jeremy (the engineer) and we met Larry in his darkened hotel room where we talked, and talked, and talked. The interview lasted for hours, and the conversation for weeks and months. Something had changed in Larry. It seemed he wanted out from under the weight of his own legend. He admitted to non-specific failures and expressed his deep desire to be forgiven by all those he had wounded. It was a day I will never forget.

When my book came out Larry called me and told me how much he appreciated it. He gave me a glowing endorsement and review to his fans. It meant so much to me. He called me several times, always late at night. He talked to me about writing a biography on his life.

A couple years later I was approached by Christian Musician Magazine to do the first joint interview with Larry and Randy in some twenty-one years. Both men were ready to open up as they had recently reconnected via telephone. The interview was interesting, to be sure. Larry faxed me pages upon pages of type-written quotes. He actually emailed me once to tell me he was faxing me right then. Wild stuff. I am as proud of that story as anything I have ever written.

Then there was the concert. Cornerstone wanted Larry to play the Mainstage with a full band. He did not have a full band, so I volunteered my band, The Wayside, to back him up. Somehow I talked him into it. The show was unbelievable. It was unbearably hot, “God’s Sauna” as Larry put it, and he was struggling. He had already been struggling with his heart ailments. But the band was tight and the crowd loved it. There I was, on stage with my band, my good friend Dan Michaels on sax and a few extras Larry had picked up on the road. I was Larry’s guitar player. He used my acoustic guitar to play “Song for a Small Circle of Friends.” I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing. Larry sounded great, and looked like he was having the time of his life. From what I understand, that was Larry’s last full band, full length set in the US. Larry asked if The Wayside would tour with him. “Maybe just five or ten dates” he suggested. I told him I’d think about it, but it was doubtful I could afford the time off. We talked about just doing a few shows around Chicago. Those shows never happened.

I’ve always had a high threshold for high maintenance artist types. Maybe because I hope to receive that same amount of Grace from others. What I do know is that Larry taught me a lot about God; namely that God uses the most sullied losers to accomplish His will in the world. Larry had many faults, and yet God used him in an historic way. He was a flawed vessel, a true clay pot. You could see his cracks a mile away. But despite all that, and maybe because of it, God used him.

I still believe his Big Three albums (Only Visiting This Planet, So Long Ago the Garden and In Another Land) rank as some of the most amazing music ever recorded. His indie record Something New under the Son is as raw and real and tripped out as anything I’ve ever heard. His earliest underground projects Bootleg and Street Level serve as fascinating time capsules back to the Jesus Movement of the late sixties. He never got the Rick Rubin / Johnny Cash treatment he deserved, but his music definitely stands the test of time. If you haven’t heard it you need to.

Thank you Lord for Larry Norman.

-JJT