(IMAGE: Abramorama)
Abramorama. 2021. Documentary. 97 minutes.
RATING: 3 / 4
It’s a dismaying truth of the way religion inhabits American discourse, that the word “Christian” has, in the popular consciousness, effectively been claimed by a particular, vehement subset. When we talk about “Christian bookstores,” “Christian films,” or “Christian rock,” we’re not talking about institutions that have room for, say, Martin Scorsese or Prince. That which is defined as Christian media must generally toe a fundamentalist, evangelical line. Quakers, Mormons, eastern Orthodox, Brethren…mostly need not apply. It’s a systemic manipulation to benefit right-wing fundamentalists exclusively, allowing them to claim the mantle of “true” Christianity and increase polarization with more liberal denominations and the secular.
Enter, in the ’90s, a band called Luxury.
Luxury sprung from a similar small-town Georgia scene as bands like R.E.M., with a sound combining melodic, Morrissey-ish vocals and aggressive indie punk guitar. But with all the members coming from a Christian college, and playing at every venue they could find, they wound up at Christian music festivals. And took the first record deal they were offered, with Tooth and Nail, a label for ’90s-alternative sounding bands who all just happened to be Christian. While the music of Luxury might have been an easy fit on college radio and even MTV at the time, their label’s distribution meant primary sales came through fundamentalist bookstores. Where the CDs were frequently returned.
Unlike bands that explicitly self-described as Christian, Luxury not only didn’t proselytize, but they also sang about such decidedly non-evangelical topics as fist fights and transgenderism. It’s not that lead singer Lee Bozeman particularly wanted to be contrarian; he says he just wanted to write clever songs. Their label may have had the lofty goal to make the case that Christian artists can and should be able to talk about anything, but the system was not ready for or open to that notion.
Filmmaker Matt Hinton joined the band later in their career, when they decided they needed another guitar player to allow Bozeman the freedom to just be a singer onstage. Having already been a fan documenting their career, he continued to finish this feature as a member, which allows the band to open up to him in a way they probably wouldn’t to anybody else. Bozeman isn’t especially good at introspection, but as the film goes along, other band members become more so. Drummer Glenn Black, raised on the carnival circuit, initially demurs at discussing his messed-up past, but finally opens up, with devastating revelations. And the footage and images following a devastating automobile wreck that broke everyone’s necks are the sort of thing only a friend would be allowed to shoot…and only someone extremely trusted would be permitted to use in a movie.
Because the movie reveals it upfront, it’s no spoiler to say that in a bizarre twist of fate, three out of five of the band members became Orthodox priests. After being dropped by their “Christian” label and rejected by the mainstream for the stigma of ever having been on one, the band reunited in 2015 to make an album explicitly as a 3/5 Orthodox priest combo. In their beards and black robes, they paradoxically look way more “metal” than they did in thrift-store dress shirts back when. And because the Orthodox church doesn’t fit the standard American evangelical mould, they’re still unlikely to be a good fit in the bookstores that once tried to push them.
On the one hand, it’s an outcome that feels like prodigal sons returning to the fold. On the other, when they actually discuss what they believe their faith calls them to do, it may seem that punk rock and Orthodoxy are more in sync than one might think. Though the question remains: could Luxury have made it big, under different circumstances? Based on the music we hear throughout, they never developed the sort of catchy hook that allowed Jars of Clay’s “Flood” or P.O.D.’s “Alive” to catch on in the mainstream. Their old sound would have been more at home in the indie scene of Superchunk and Fugazi, which would probably have been more tolerant of Hare Krishnas than traditional Christians.
As a mature band, they now sound better than ever. And have one hell of a story as a hook. Criticized by some of their peers onscreen as not being any good at self-promotion, they’ve now made, via their guitarist, the best promo film they ever possibly could have.
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