We sold our souls for Christian rock n’ roll, but the White Zombie CDs we snuck in were way more fun. Merry Christmas. –Pete
I was sixteen years old, traveling with a group of other fourteen-eighteen year-olds for a weeklong Christian conference. This was a national conference for the Christian Missionary Alliance denomination, a fairly mainline evangelical protestant denomination that, from the outside, bears very little difference from say, Free Methodists, Presbyterian, or many other non-liturgical types of churches. The sort of churches where they have serious debates about whether or not, say, electric guitars are appropriate vehicles for worship. The type that are often located in wealthy, north end neighborhoods of their cities and send people across the world while studiously avoiding the “inner city.”
For me, and for many of the kids in this particular youth group, a weeklong vacation away from our parents sounded great. Didn’t matter what for. And there’s gonna a whole bunch of other teenagers there that we could meet? Even better! My friends and I discussed the possibility and plausibility of meeting that one Really Cool Girl in Salt Lake City, in this conference attended by thousands of other nominally Christian youth.