"Let the Children Come"     1979

 In 1979, I was 23, and in a hurry to preach my heart out. For the first time, songwriting gave me a voice, and a chance to fit into this new genre called Contemporary Christian Music.  I had just composed ten Gospel songs on an out-of-tune Wurlitzer electric piano, both lyrics and music. Hatchling songs. Maybe I should have sat on them until they matured.  

A year after we got married, my husband Bob and I were living in a rented, mini apartment on 14th Avenue in Vancouver, but instead of getting saddled with a house and a mortgage, we decided I should do something sensible like put my songs on vinyl.  I headed next door to "20/20 Sound," and produced my first album for $5,000.  I didn't know many professional musicians so I gathered my friends and family who could play guitar or flute, or brass, and put them to work in the studio.  

Throughout my teenage years, whenever I sang, my parents were my biggest supporters, but when my mother heard the disco style drums on "Light Unto My Feet," she wondered what that weird, high-pitched sound was. I assured her the local Praise radio station was regularly playing my song, so it was all good.  "You just don't understand modern music, MOM," I said.

But now I know, always listen to your mother.

These days, when I listen to those scratchy tunes on my son's turntable, I think back to the fellow who engineered this album. He was a long haired, hippie rock-radio efficianado who couldn't care less about my Jesus lyrics.  Or so it seemed.  I had no idea he was actually paying attention. Years later, at a church I was visiting hundreds of miles away, he walked up and reintroduced himself.  His hair was a lot shorter so I barely recognized him.  I asked him what on earth he was doing there, and he told me his conversion story:  After my project was finished, he had been up to his usual routine - taking drugs, getting high and watching the PTL Club (he would wait for Tammy Faye Bakker to cry, which would make her mascara run, which would make him crack up) when God stopped him in his tracks and got his attention. He made a complete turn around and ended up traveling on his motorcycle, spreading the word, with two albums on the back of his bike; mine and Amy Grant's - his only references to the Bible. 

Decades have past since I produced my beginner record.  It can still be found in a thrift bin near you. The photo on the cover was recently the object of good natured ridicule from music collectors as far away as L.A. Yes, I get it. The picture is a little strange. Okay it's hilarious. I should have used real children. And it wasn't even a children's album. I know, I know.  

But hey. I liked those dolls (although now that I look at the picture, the doll with the scarf seems to have turned her head...all by herself). At least I tried. I had passion. I figure you have to take steps and missteps to create art. Even if it's art that is learning how to be art. I still have lovely memories of entering into the world of recording music with my talented friends. I mean my fellow musicians - not the dolls.

And whatever else you want to say about it, you cannot deny that spiral perms were groovy. 

This song: Bob Rich on bass, Bill Barter on "Star Wars" drums, Dave Martin and Garth Bowen on guitar, John Robertson and Milt Parent on trumpet, Mike Harris on trombone, Dave Kaplowitz on saxophone. Other musicians on the album: Ted Dallas on flute, Doug Ballard on violin, Trish Hill on cello.