Notes

The old van and band have been on my mind lately, but as I've been writing about my time behind the drums and the computer with Fragile Porcelain Mice, it's made me reflect on the roots of my musical ministry that started about 15 years ago now, I suppose.

Driving down the familiar street that I traveled to and from that end of Granite City for a few years.

From around 2012 and up until 2016, my life was a whirlwind of ministry in and around Granite City, IL. And I admit that, being from Belleville, I never had a real fondness for Granite outside of the old east-side Vintage Vinyl record store that used to live there next to a really good Chinese restaurant that I'd patronize from time to time over the years. It was the steel mill and the whole vibe of the city and its history that I didn't understand when I was younger, but I grew to know and appreciate the more I served and hung out there with friends and people from the community.

I never actually served at this church (St. Bartholomew in Granite City), but this is where I was baptized along with Jenna Flores and Aaron Williams by James Amos while Jake Gehret played acoustic guitar and sang. It was a crazy, beautiful night, and my wife and kids were there with me to celebrate new life in Christ!

Soon after I posted something on Facebook one day long ago out of the blue that hinted that I'd believed the Gospel of Jesus Christ and had been saved, an old friend-of-friends (now one of my dearest friends in this life and the eternal life to come) James Amos reached out to me about helping with audio and video at a new church plant he was leading in Granite City called The Resurrection. As an energized, zealous, new believer set free from sin, death, hell, and the grave—and already headlong into multimedia production at the time—I jumped at the chance.

This church body was kind enough to let us meet in their building at a time when they weren't using it. The building is currently occupied by C3GC.

Next thing my family and I knew, we were attending service at The Resurrection's first official public gathering spot. We borrowed some space during off-peak hours at an established church, and my family and I first started hearing solid, real-life preaching straight out of the Bible in realtime and in person. James was the pastor and started with—of all books—the Gospel of Mark. I was running sound and recording, editing, and posting the sermons on a custom WordPress website that I built and maintained called TheResChurch.com.

A snapshot of how the old Resurrection website looked on August 29, 2012, thanks to the Wayback Machine.

Fast forward not very long at all (weeks, probably), and we had a worship band formed and rehearsing in my garage. The abrupt segue from playing in rock and blues bands since about 1986 was a bit of a shock to my system. And my ego, and all kinds of things. But it was so refreshing, and it's become clear that it's what I was created to do, and that the Lord had been preparing me for just such a time.

The first time I ever played my black Dynasty drum set (the same drums I'd played at every show and on every recording since the Frostbidding album recording sessions circa 1996) inside a church was in another old building we rented from a local congregation, sometime after moving on from the original location. This new, bigger space offered lots of opportunities for a full worship band to set up. That very first time, though, I set up my drums on the floor right in front of the pews, flanked by bass, guitar, and vocals, and to this day I can still picture myself trying not to play at FPM velocity in that new environment. It was the beginning of a truly fulfilling, enlightening, and encouraging journey in musicianship and discipleship.

This is what the old church building looks like today. It's an arts center now.

Suddenly, I was applying all the skills and knowledge I'd banked during all my years of bands and business toward Gospel ministry, and seeing God doing incredible things all around me in Granite City and beyond. I was thrown into a mix of musicians and singers from all walks of life, ages, and backgrounds, and I have learned so much from the whole process. I've grown as a musician, a person, and a disciple of Christ along the way—and I'm still learning and growing daily. I love the diversity of talent, styles, and personalities that I get to play music and worship with from week to week and year to year.

This former Methodist church is now The Mill live event venue.

After meeting there for a while, we ended up moving down the street about a block or so to the spot that's now The Mill live event venue, where we met for quite a while—across the upstairs and downstairs of the facility, again renting some space from the congregation there at the time during their off hours.

---

Somewhere in there, I stepped away for a season to lead worship at Discovery Family Church in Collinsville before finding my way back to The Resurrection.

---

The current location of the former Kool Beanz coffee shop near the movie theater and across from that little park.

We then met at what was then called Kool Beanz, a coffee shop owned by members of The Resurrection at the time, in the downtown area. We'd move the tables and chairs on Sunday morning while the actual coffee shop was closed for business, and we'd set up the full band and worship from there for a season.

After service, we'd move everything back to where it was, and it was business as usual for Kool Beanz.

The last location of The Resurrection church before it merged into August Gate Church at the end of 2015, beginning of 2016.

Next up was the building that was formerly a youth center just a few blocks away from Kool Beanz and downtown.

The Resurrection met in the left half of this building, first in the wide-open space upstairs, and then downstairs in that same space after a bit of cleanup and remodeling. This was the last official meeting place of The Resurrection church, as we merged into the existing August Gate Church after a lot of thought, prayer, and planning at the end of 2015.

---

At that point, I joined the music ministry at August Gate on drums and bass guitar, and have served at the former South St. Louis location (which split from August Gate a few years ago to become Church of the Redeemer), as well as at the former and the current (and now only) Metro East location.

While at August Gate Church, we went through a season of trying to plant an August Gate in Granite City, and we met in another church congregation's building there who (familiar story at this point) let us use their space when they weren't using it. It was great while it lasted, but plans pivoted, and we ended up with one, firm location in Belleville, IL where the church currently meets.

This was the one and only August Gate Church location in Granite City. AG is currently meeting at one location only, in Belleville, IL.

We didn't meet in Granite City as August Gate for long, but sometime during my current time serving at the Belleville location, I had the opportunity to sub on drums a couple of times at R-Church in Granite City—which was the last time, to date, that I've been involved in ministry in GC.

R-Church in Granite City.

Sometime in there, I remember subbing on drums at a church that used to meet in a space tucked behind the Apple Tree Family Restaurant shopping center. I believe it was called Tapestry Church or something similar.

The Tapestry gathering met back here in half of this building.

For a town I knew nothing about when I was younger, it's truly amazing how the Lord kept calling me back to Granite City over and over, it seemed. I dug in, and I learned to love the city, the people, and Jesus more and more every day I spent serving there alongside some good friends and church family—many who are now just a sweet memory and have passed on, either through death or just the course of life.

Gladys the van and FPM have been on my mind since this post the other day about the old band rehearsal house.

A pic of Gladys actually being driven by the band while also sporting a P.A.S.S. decal either on the window or on a case inside the van—hard to tell from this old photograph. This must've been taken by friends in another vehicle—and I think that's Tim being goofy in the window.

As the keeper of the van, I remember getting a literal crash course in brake calipers while driving Gladys to one of our first shows, at a hall called the Little Devils Shack, as I recall. It was named after the Belleville, IL-based Little Devils football team, and I suppose it was their home base when folks like us weren't renting it out on the weekend.

While driving either to the same rehearsal house referenced in the earlier post above, or maybe from that house to the show in Belleville, one of the wheels just kind of locked up—like, the brakes were stuck or something.

That's exactly what was happening: one of the brakes on one of the wheels locked up and held on for dear life as we somehow pushed the old girl through the pain and on to the gig. No doubt squealing, and definitely pulling to one side with great conviction and might.

The entrance to Citizens Park in Belleville, IL earlier today.

We pulled our wounded vehicle into the Citizens Park entrance, which led back to the Little Devils Shack, tucked behind the property next to the railroad tracks.

I think this must be where everyone came and went from the show, but I somehow don't remember ever using anything but the rear doors at the venue that night. Probably because that's where the van was, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to get it home later.

Our friend Erin, a budding photographer, took our first official 8x10 black-and-white promo photo (below) out in the back of the building that night.

L-R: Scott Randall, me, Tim O'Saben, and Dave Winkeler (seated). Photo by Erin Wallace.

Here's what it looked like today in that same spot behind the old Little Devils Shack (not called that anymore, I suppose):

I remember opening with the song "Scary Spiders"—about three minutes of a haunting bassline with Scott doing a low-key vocal thing before the drums and guitar finally kicked in. It featured a slow, very heavy four-on-the-floor rock beat and a distorted guitar part chugging along a la The Melvins.

Tim, Dave, and I had actually opened for the Melvins not too long before that, back when we were still a band called Dementia 13—which featured Tim's brother Dan O'Saben on vocals and a completely different repertoire of songs.

The people there who knew us from the Dementia 13 days had no idea what to expect from the new rock entity known as Fragile Porcelain Mice. I remember not really knowing what to expect either. But when the first big crash cymbals kicked off the heavy, driving rock—almost metal, probably—section of the opening song, something clicked.

I didn't know it yet, but that busted-brake gig at a rented-out football shack next to the railroad tracks was the start of a 25-year ride.

The back of the FPM promo photo. No Photoshop or fancy Microsoft Word for us back then. Nope, it was a rubber stamp from the Kwik Kopy print shop in west Belleville.

This hit me kind of hard today.

I took the truck out for some air, and ended up heading into Columbia, IL and onto Steppig Road, where Fragile Porcelain Mice rehearsed in the very early 1990s at the house of the late Bob Ault, a friend and mentor of mine.

Bob and I worked together for a while at P.A.S.S. (formerly "Police Alert Security Systems") in East St. Louis, where he showed me the ropes and trained me not only on how to pull wire, install motion and smoke detectors, etc., but he also gave me some real-life, tough love kinds of lessons in life that I probably hated him for at the time, but fully appreciate now as a man with 54 years of experience behind me.

FPM has a cassette demo recorded at this house that includes the first iteration of "Southside of Luck," along with probably the first real recording of "More Cop Shows" and some other long-forgotten gems like "Plant Wagon," "Welcome to Xenon" (named after a pinball machine in the basement next to us), "Meanbadaction," "Sky Houses," and "Scary Spiders."

Below is the current state of the basement room where we practiced. My drums sat in the lower, left-hand corner, Tim stood to my left, Scott in the middle (of course), and Dave to the right—over by the pinball machine. That extra framed-in room on the lower right wasn't there in those days, as I recall.

The song "Scary Spiders" was kind of a stream of consciousness, lyrically, that Scott wrote as we entertained a small crowd that consisted of the kids who lived in the house and their friends (who were there for a party or possibly a sleepover). The awkwardly-comical opening lyric, "Little girl sitting in a green trash can," was inspired by an actual little girl sat, sunken halfway into a (clean) waste basket, surrounded by her friends who were all transfixed on us—Tim, Scott, Dave, and me—making loud, goofy music in the basement where no doubt they were anxiously waiting to use for typical crazy kid activities once we wrapped up and moved our stuff out of the way.

These days, the house once treasured by Bob and his family—truly his pride and joy, that spot out in the peaceful country where drivers greet each other with a familiar wave while passing each other on those back roads—sits quiet and gutted. A remnant of its former life. Like it's been beaten by flood waters and ravaged by vandals and wildlife.

I experienced the "country wave" today—something like thirty-five years later—and it made me smile and actually laugh out loud as a guy in a passing truck lifted a single finger from the steering wheel as we made eye contact and passed each other on the narrow road before the railroad crossing.

That's the same elevated railroad crossing that I remember hitting at a high rate of speed while we all sang out the General Lee's famous call! 🛤️

I used to drive the band out there and back from our Belleville home base in our first, little band van: a baby blue, stubby beauty we named Gladys.

I tinted her windows in this same garage one night, probably after a long day of installing a burglar or fire alarm system with Bob and then practicing with FPM. I had that kind of energy back then, and was up for anything it seems.

So much has happened since those days, which seem like a lifetime ago, when we just did things. No internet or social media—just dreams, telephones with directory assistance, and seemingly endless time to build what we thought needed to be built.

Sad to see the old house sitting there dark and humbly resting where it once housed probably many others before and maybe after Bob and his family. I could almost hear the excitement in Bob's voice as he'd describe the exhilaration of being in the country finally, where he could play loud music or sit quietly on the back porch and watch the sun set.

Check out some random banter below from the actual recording session that happened in this very basement.

Been one of those seasons of looking back where I've been and looking forward where I'm headed, and FPM has been a recurring theme as of late. Not always the easiest times of my life, but priceless experience and a lot of fun along with the heartache and pain. Art imitates life, as they say.