Last Friday night, May 19, my church held its fourth annual Battle of the Bands, a competition for Christian hard-core bands in the Fort Wayne area. Pam and I have attended all three previous incarnations as volunteer workers. In the past, we’ve had 500-plus teens and young adults. This year, it was under 300, but more than enough to swarm over our church property. And there were 12 bands. We moved all of the chairs out of the sanctuary, cleared off the worship equipment and furniture, and let the bands take over.

Last Friday, I mostly hung out in the sound booth, which is located in an upper level room overlooking the sanctuary. I spent the evening taking photos and, in between, typing out lots of observations on my laptop. So here you go.

Pam and I arrived at 5 pm, which is when the doors opened. Bands were still lugging in their equipment. The show was supposed to begin at 6 pm, but timeliness is optional at these events. Terry Leatherman, one of the worship team guitarists, was already here. He’s one of the three judges tonight. I told him, “Wanna place bets on when the show begins? I say 6:45.” Terry said, “7:30.”

Well, it started at 6:30, so they showed us.

The judges at their table.

The first band just finished what was probably two songs, maybe three; it sounded the same from beginning to end. Hard-core consists of throaty screaming. I’m told there are actual lyrics, but I’ve never detected them. Keep in mind that I’m an “old guy” who has little exposure to this style of music, just as my parents were not exactly Three Dog Night fans. But even kids will agree that it’s basically a lot of screaming.

The bands compete for free studio time with Monastic Chambers, a recording studio in nearby New Haven. The guy who runs Monastic Chambers, a neat guy, comes every year as a judge. He’s bald except from his ears back, where shoulder length hair grows but doesn’t flourish. I talked to him before things started. He said he’s a bit surprised by the popularity of hard-core music among Christian kids. He said one reason may be that it’s not particularly difficult to play (though he admitted that a good hard-core drummer was hard to fine).

The much-tattooed emcee introducing a band.

In previous years, we had much more of the Goth element–lots of black, numerous piercings, chains hanging from pants, spikey Mohawks and other strange and multicolored hair, etc. But the kids tonight are dressed more “normal.” There are still a lot of black T-shirts, which is standard attire for concerts, but also NBA jerseys, reds and yellows, and stripes. Kalvin, from my church, came up to the sound booth, and I asked him if hard-core has gone more mainstream in youth culture. He said that, yes, that’s the case. I felt proud of myself.

I’m looking down from the sound booth. The middle of the sanctuary floor has cleared out, and kids are zipping around in the hard-core version of a tame mosh pit. Nobody’s getting hurt or knocked over (though I’ve seen that before). Nobody yet. Tony, the Anchor guy who organizes these concerts, left his post at the on-stage sound controls to jump into the pit and do a strange little jig (for want of a better word), stutter-stepping sideways in a crouch while thrusting his hands out. Tony is also lead singer for Saints Never Surrender, a hardcore band that got started last year (placed near the top of the 2005 Battle of the Bands), and has since toured quite a bit in the Indiana-Michigan-Ohio area. They’ll be at this summer’s Cornerstone festival. I think very highly of Tony.

The off-duty policewoman (one of two cops hired for the night) admonishes some kids on the back entrance.

There are probably 180 kids in the sanctuary, maybe two-thirds of them paying attention to the band, the rest talking among themselves (actually, yelling among themselves, since that’s the only way to be heard above the band).

I decide to take a little tour. Turns out probably 50 kids are in our back parking lot. A group of guys are playing basketball. A bunch of kids are grouped along the steps leading up to the entrance. Scattered around are other small groupings of teens. Fellowship time. I take pictures, and some of them wonder if I’m some kind of undercover cop. At least, that’s what I deduce from their suspicious looks. One guy chats me up‚Äî”Hey there, how ya doing?” “Just fine,” I tell him. Fascinating conversation, huh?

The judges during a not-so-exciting time.

The first year, a threesome of high schoolers called Firefly Massacre won. They had played the month before at one of our concerts, and they totally wowed me. They were Jimmy Hendrix fans and loved to play stuff from the 1970s. The lead guitarist was absolutely incredible. So was the bass player, who flew across the strings, but always right with the lead and the drummer. The bass player did some singing, but mostly they just jammed. I was told that the guy from Monastic Chambers, after Firefly Massacre finished, turned to one of the other judges and said, “What was that?” Because he was just as blown away as the rest of us. Unfortunately, the group soon disbanded. I’ve seen the lead guitarist a few times since then, but I’ve never heard him play. The bass player comes to most of the concerts and I’ve heard him perform with other bands. Don’t know what happened to the drummer.

Band number three just finished. It’s 7:30, so we’re one hour into it. At this rate, the evening will last another 3 hours. Marsha Biard said they hoped to be done by 10:30. So I guess we’re on track.

Volunteers at the concession table. Marsha Biard, our part-time youth and children’s director, is on the far left. Kalvin and Lucinda, also from Anchor, are on the right

The fourth band, Sakered (pronounced “sacred”), is getting ready. They played last year. They huddled around the drummer, and I think maybe they prayed. You don’t always see that. I’m convinced that some of the groups we have are not necessarily Christian groups, but groups with some Christian members. Sakered is definitely (to me, which is a big and inexpert qualifier) better than the previous bands. Still lots of screaming, but I’ve been around hard-core enough to confidently state that this group is better. Don’t ask me to explain. A number of kids, mostly girls, are doing dance moves in the mosh area. Lots of creative stuff occurring there. Oops, now guys have taken over the mosh pit. I actually enjoy watching it. You don’t often see a girl who will get in there with the guys and mix it up.

In previous years, we brought in huge speakers, taking the sound level to the stratosphere. Tonight we’re just using the five-foot speakers which normally reside downstairs, and which provide ample sound for our basement concerts. As a result, the sound tonight is not nearly as loud as in previous years. I’m not even wearing my ear plugs. My ears will probably be numb tomorrow, but I find this more than tolerable.

Pam (orange shirt) and Renee took people’s money and gave them a wristband for the night.

There’s a barefoot blonde girl in the mosh pits, wearing bluejeans and a denim vest, who is really going to town. She did her thing, a flurry of activity, and then moved to the side of the circle. As guys clear out space, she moves back in, flinging her arms and legs wildly. Her moves remind me, oddly, of Elaine’s much-maligned dance moves on Seinfeld. I guess you can’t consider that a compliment.

The sanctuary is much fuller than before. Kalvin told me that some of the weaker bands were on first, and that the place would fill up as the better bands played. Guess he was right. It’s still plenty light outside, and will remain so for a couple more hours.

Kids in the sanctuary.

Band Number 5 is on. I didn’t catch their name. So far, every band has been similarly configured: two lead guitarists, a bass player, drummer, and lead singer. Not a whole lot of variety in hard-core. This particular band is so loud with the instruments that I can barely hear the singer screeching. But actually, the guitarists are pretty good, in a everything-blends-together-chaotically kind of way.

Well, here’s something new: a rapper. Haven’t had that before. The crowd really likes it. It’s just one guy up front with a beat track; no band. He’s a heavyset white guy with a short Mohawk, a red shirt, and camouflage shorts (camouflage is in style again, for about the fourth time in my lifetime). The kids are crowded around the singer in front. There are actual words, and he interacts with them, getting them to repeat words back to him. This is fun. I like it. Now he’s got the kids repeating words back to him and throwing their arms in the air, while he takes a short break to swig water from a plastic bottle. They are definitely having fun. Kalvin told me that the hard-core crowd has become much more open to other genres of music, including hip-hop and rap (there’s a difference).

Kids in the sanctuary.

Earlier this evening, I noticed two girls in the foyer sitting on the couch together, legs draped over each other. “Are they gay?” I wondered. I was just down there again. The girls had moved to a different chair, but were still entwined. Yeah, they’re gay. Cute girls, too.

Not too many kids are outside smoking. Very few, in fact. Maybe they’ve been spending all of their allowance on gas.

The next band is up. This one is doing some great guitar work. Still screaming–that’s, a constant–but they are rocking in a way to which I feel a slight kindred spirit. The mosh pit is now a huge circle in the middle of the sanctuary. The kids rimming the circle watch those inside; some occasionally leave the fringe to venture into the middle, where they do their thing with unbridled flurry and then melt back into the crowd. Occasionally, all the kids will begin running counter-clockwise around the circle, running furiously, bumping into each other, pushing each other. Legs and arms flailing.

The way many kids wear their hair–long and shaggy–it could be the 1970s. Replace the black t-shirts with tie-dyed t-shirts, and there you go.

We’re now on our third rapper, this one a heavyset white guy who goes by the name King (left). The crowd’s not really into him. Pretty boring. People trickle away. This guy came up to the sound booth/balcony earlier in the evening, asking if I could turn on the stage lights. I told him I didn’t know how (which was true), figuring that would solve it. But he hung around, found the light controls, got them turned on, and then left. Tricky dude. I didn’t even know what he was doing til it was done. He’s wearing super-baggy bluejeans, white sneakers, and an oversized #36 jersey which comes down almost to his knees. He’s got the hip-hop hand motions down. I guess. What do I know? Every once in a while, as he raps, he brings his hand down to within striking distance of his privates, just like rappers on TV. I’m afraid he’s going to grab his crotch. Some kind of Grumpy Old Guy paranoia.

This guy’s beat track is really really annoying, with some high squeaking beneath the pounding bass that sometimes sounds Donald Duckish. It just squeals throughout the sanctuary. Please turn it off! My goodness, he keeps going and going and going. I think he’s on his 5th song now. It’s supposed to be 15 minutes, max. Somebody needs to kick him off the stage, say, “Enough!”

All three rappers have been heavyset white guys. I haven’t seen an African American all night. There’s one oriental girl downstairs. A pretty homogenous group.

Okay, King won’t stop. I go downstairs to the judges table and say something sarcastic to Terry and Joe Leatherman. Joe motions toward the sparse crowd and says, “Does he actually think people are enjoying this?” Then I go over to the west wall, where Tony and the emcee are standing. I say something to Tony about King’s interminable performance. Tony says, “I’ve told him twice to stop, but he won’t. He’s mean. I’m afraid that…” and I don’t catch the rest of it, because of the sound level. But I get the idea. King might punch him out. How often do you see these dynamics at a Christian concert?

But I know what to do. I go back to the sound booth, and as King winds down his song, I dim the stage lights. It’s over. Now I just need to watch to make sure King doesn’t come up the steps to visit vengeance upon me.

The group with the keyboard, with the lead singer (green shirt) still fully clothed.

Next group. Okay, now we’re talking–a keyboard! The keyboardist and lead singer do the first song just themselves, a mild song with real words. Nice. Then they shifted gears, cranking it up. The lead singer dons a bass guitar and a little red-shirted guy comes out with a lead guitar, and a drummer appears. This song really rocks. I like it. They do something mild, then switched to something powerful. The keyboard player is wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt, and has those leather fingerless gloves on his hands, like Belker always wore on Hill Street Blues. I guess it’s a cool look. Maybe I should try it on Sunday morning.

Now they’ve switched to yet a different tempo, something like a power ballad from the 1980s.

Oh my gosh, the lead singer just took off his long pants, revealing short tan shorts–boxer shorts?– about the length John Stockton used to wear. Now he takes off his shirt, now his socks (he must have already lost the shoes somewhere along the line). He’s practically naked. Okay, this I can’t believe. I just know he’s going to conclude with a grand finale that would make the church saints blush. Oh, I’m the church saints. Phew, he concludes, picks up his clothes, and leaves the stage. Had me worried there.

Two girls in the middle of the sanctuary floor.

Despite this heart-pumping episode, I’ve grown bored. The bands all sound the same, nothing that sounds, to Grumpy Old Guy, like creativity. So I switch to the web. I read some blogs, check the score of the Spurs-Mavericks game, and occasionally descend from my perch to take pictures.

Finally, the last band finishes. The judges huddle with their scoresheets and pass their judgment on to Tony. I see Terry in the hallway. He tells me that the third band won. Hmmm. I didn’t think the bands started getting good until the fourth one. Shows what I know.

I come up behind Pam. “Ready to go?” She is, and we do.