“We aren’t called to live in shame, my friends.” – Scott Stapp
At the beginning of Creed’s set as part of the Are You Ready? Tour, the audience is given a road map. Scott Stapp informs us we’ll be journeying together through two worlds: the physical and the spiritual. A bold and bombastic statement from a frontman who has embodied those characteristics throughout the decades. One would need to look no further than the proliferation of Bridgestone Arena ticket holders wearing the cult classic Dallas Cowboys home jersey with the number “11” bearing the name “STAPP” on the back. The replica jerseys are what Stapp wore during America’s favorite halftime show on Thanksgiving 2001. If you disagree with it being America’s favorite, well, you’re wrong, but notwithstanding that performance was everything about post-grunge rock — bold and bombastic.
Many of us have similar beginnings with heavy music. For me it starts as an angsty pre-teen ordering Collective Soul and Red Hot Chili Peppers CDs from one of those monthly subscription catalogs my parents finally gave in to. I showed how much I could push back against middle school conformity by wearing a mass-produced Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt — the black one with the word “ZERO” with the star underneath. My peers who knew the reference were my people, but as you know, dear reader, rock music doesn’t resonate with everyone.
I remember during a middle school lip-sync competition a troubled boy named Mikey brought the house down with his performance of Korn’s “Twist.” For forty-nine incredible seconds, he was courageous enough to be the fullness of who Mikey was made to be, only to be destroyed moments later with a suspension from school by the principal because he wore several chains as part of his performance and chains were not allowed in school. Apparently even as part of a costume. During a show. I don’t know the rest of Mikey’s story, but I can’t help but think this was a formative moment where for the shortest of seconds he believed he belonged as he had a crowd of teenagers in the palm of his hand only to be forced to inhale the message that he literally didn’t belong, that he wasn’t enough. That is the message of shame.
This is where we enter back into Nashville’s largest arena. Before performing “My Own Prison,” Stapp explained that when he wrote this song it was from that place — from the grips of shame. And because we as an audience weren’t just journeying through the physical world, but through the spiritual one as well, there came the briefest of sermons: “We aren’t called to live in shame, my friends.”
Shame is tricky, because it drives its way into the smallest of cracks like the way freezing water seeps into asphalt, expands, and creates gaping holes at the surface. So during a rock concert I found myself, a geriatric millennial, pondering my own failures, my own shame, and my own formative moments of being told tacitly and explicitly that I wasn’t enough. I imagined myself doing as Creed was doing, performing my own life’s work in front of a sold-out audience, free from shame with a crowd of supporters singing with me the refrains I’ve written through seasons. It was a powerful music therapy session I didn’t know I was ready for on a Friday night on Broadway.
As for the journey through the physical realm, that didn’t disappoint either. From the opener, “Bullets,” complete with immaculately timed columns of fire to the end of the show, which was effectively a 14,000-person sing-a-long to “With Arms Wide Open,” “Higher,” and “My Sacrifice,” it was everything you’d want from the some of the founding fathers of post-grunge. It was bold. It was bombastic. It was the full experience.
Creed is touring through the end of the year with 3 Doors Down and Mammoth WVH, and as the name suggests — are you ready? It’s possible the only thing missing was a shirtless acrobat descending from the rafters while holding onto white curtains.
