THE MAG: Cover Story -- Spirit of the radio
P.O.D. mixes rock, rap & religion into a Top 10 hit
Thursday, October 18, 2001
Ten years ago, the wee subgenre of religious-themed metal consisted of a handful of cheesy Bible-belters like Stryper and Petra, whose only commandment seemed to be: "Thou shall not make decent music." One listen, and most rock fans would practically start looking to commit a few cardinal sins.
Today, "spiritual" bands like Creed and Jars of Clay have tried hard to make their wares more palatable, offering modern sounds and a refreshing lack of didacticism. As a result, a growing secular audience is tuning in and turning on to groups that seem designed to uplift rather than convert. The latest Jesus Christ superstar is P.O.D. (Payable On Death), a band whose members are anything but prototypal Christian rockers.
Members of P.O.D., from left, are Marcos Curiel, Sonny Sandoval, Noah "Wuv" Bernardo and Traa Daniels.
"Religion to me is a lot of tradition and routine," says vocalist Sonny Sandoval, phoning from his home near San Diego. "You think, 'I need to be this way, I need to act this way, I need to do these kinds of acts, I need to look like this in order for God to accept me.' If that's the case, I don't fit into any of that. My belief and faith in God is personal, not 'big church' and all that. There's such a stereotype on Christianity that I can't live up to. I don't want to live up to that."
For Sandoval, modern religious corporations have twisted the spiritual elements of religion into money-making machines that do more harm than good.
"With organized religion, people see the televangelists on TV asking for money, or they see people like the Benny Hinns," he says. "I can't feel that, I don't relate to that � whether it's genuine or not, it's not real to me. What I read about in the Bible and what I understand about Jesus is he roamed the streets with 12 thugs. They went out and loved people. I believe that they were dreaded and they were looked at as outcasts. They weren't rolling in the Benzes; they weren't, 'Look at me.' They kicked it with the common people and did common things. And he served those people. When I see those people on TV, living in their billion dollar homes it's just ... Hey, if you can relate to that, more power to you. But the people I deal with, in my reality, are just trying to pay their bills and trying to make it every day."
Rock and roll creation
The four members of P.O.D. (Sandoval, guitarist Marcos Curiel, bassist Traa Daniels and drummer Noah "Wuv" Bernardo,) grew up in San Ysidro, Calif., a small town off the southern tip of San Diego, just north of the U.S./Mexican border. It was in this culturally diverse enclave that a teen-age Sandoval was turned on to the eclectic blend of musical styles that now comprise P.O.D.'s own multifarious sound.
"There was a lot of indie rock," the singer/rapper recalls. "That's what got me interested in this style of music � I would go to the clubs and hear the heavy and the fast music, because I grew up on reggae and hip-hop. It wasn't until my cousin Wuv was jamming out with Marcos in a thrash band � me and my friends would get in the pit and we were like, 'Wow, this is a whole new world.'"
Shortly after discovering this new world, Sandoval started rapping over the chaotic rhythms and six-string cacophony being created in Bernardo's garage, adding an element of spirituality via his up-with-people prose. The addition of Daniels completed the lineup, and P.O.D. hit the local scene, playing its second show as an opening act for pre-popularity Green Day. In retrospect, the gig sounds prestigious, but P.O.D.'s early days were marked by many a hole-in-the-wall club and seedy back room bar.
"We never busted down doors," Sandoval says. "But whenever a door opened, we would play � whether it was a house party, a local bar, a club, wherever they welcomed the music."
Through a steady diet of touring, P.O.D. became a popular Southern California draw, issuing four independently released CDs, including "Brown," which sold more than 40,000 copies. Those numbers brought major label interest, and soon the quartet was fielding offers from various record companies. Though many indie bands would be quick to snatch any opportunity that might elevate its career to the next level, P.O.D. utilized a more cautious approach, taking care not to let financial gains cloud its musical vision.
"We'd been doing our thing for six years already," Sandoval explains. "We'd made cheap little indie records. We'd toured out of our own cars and sold our own T-shirts. We were surviving and we were content with what we were doing. So when we got approached by majors ... we knew what these labels were looking for. It's funny, because as soon as they DIDN'T mention the whole Christianity aspect, we brought it to their attention. It's like, 'We're hearing all the good stuff about the label, but as far as our creativity and as far as what we want to say, nobody's gonna tell us what to do; nobody's gonna tell us what to sing about.'"
Preaching and screeching
P.O.D.'s Atlantic Records debut, "The Fundamental Elements of Southtown," was released in August 1999, and fans were quick to embrace TRL-friendly rock/rap anthems like "Rock the Party (Off the Hook)." The following summer, the near-platinum act played the main stage at OzzFest, converting new flocks of headbanging devotees with its traveling metal salvation show. True to their style, the members of P.O.D. kept on-stage preaching to a minimum, preferring to let the music do the talking instead. Still, there were pockets in the audience that were wary of the spiritual themes occasionally implanted within the group's heavy grooves.
"We tend to stand out because of our message," Sandoval admits. "But being labeled or being put in a box kind of bugs me. People do put us in a box, and it's almost like they're sending out a message: 'Hey, don't listen to these guys 'cause they're Christian rock.' For us, we just like music that anybody could listen to, no matter what race, creed or religion. We just want to make music that makes people feel good, makes 'em smile. We want to lift people up through our music. We don't want to sing about all our tragedies and the bad times we've gone through in life. We use music to encourage ourselves, first and foremost."
Though the quartet has shared stages with everyone from Marilyn Manson to Slipknot, few of P.O.D.'s peer acts seem put off by the band's non-secular leanings.
"No one's ever said anything to us," Sandoval states. "I think that's more hearsay. People think, 'Oh, they're Christians and we're not. There must be some kind of problem.' It's like, dude it's music. When I meet people, it's not like, 'Hey I'm Christian Brother Sonny. Would you like to sit down and share the love of Jesus Christ with me?' It's not like that. It's like, 'Hey dude. Let's grab a sandwich, homey.' We weren't raised in a church; we're not choirboys. If anything, we choose to live our life and we choose to be this way because things in our life have directed us this way. You choose to do your thing.
"I'm not telling anyone how to live their life. If anybody has a problem with it, I wish they were man enough to say something. Whatever, this is us. We don't walk around carrying a cross or anything."
'Satellite' feed
For its second major label effort, P.O.D. secured the production services of Howard Benson, whose lengthy r�sum� includes engineering duties for Metallica's multiplatinum "black" album. Working in two L.A. recording facilities (Bay 7 and Image Studios), the quartet spent three months last spring fastidiously crafting 20 new tracks, 15 of which eventually showed up on "Satellite." To mentally prepare for the drawn-out studio process, the band members vowed to undergo a week-long fast at the onset of the sessions. Though Sandoval and company never intended to publicize the event, word eventually got around.
"How did you find out?" he asks. "It wasn't for the press or anybody except for us four. And it was just something that we decided as a group, not as a gimmick or a topic. We'd been so blessed with our last album doing what it did. This was just our way to give up, to give up something that's crucial. I mean eating is one of the biggest parts of life. For us it was like, if we can just give up something that means so much to us � especially P.O.D. I mean, we're not the skinniest of guys, we all love to eat. It's like a drug to me, food. So for us, it was like, let's give up something in thanks � as a sign of humility or a sacrifice to ask God to bless this new music that we're making. It was something personal to do, nothing religious."
Did all four members of P.O.D. make it through the intended week of starvation?
"We tried," Sandoval laughs. "All the sudden the fourth day, we're showing up to practice not even writing music because we were so tired and weak. And we were like, 'Hey man, I think God gets the point. He understands our hearts. Let's go get a burger.'"
Muskrat love
The sessions that begot "Satellite" also were marked by the appearance of two P.O.D. heroes, including legendary reggae singer Eek-A-Mouse. Known for his freaky, one-of-a-kind vocals and lanky appearance, Mouse has long been considered one of the most unique voices in the history of Jamaican music. P.O.D. met the singer through a mutual friend in 1999, demoing a couple of songs with Mouse before parting ways. The collaboration sat unreleased in the vaults until the sessions for "Satellite" began. Rather than using the original tapes, the band re-recorded the song "Ridiculous" with the newly fitness-minded Mouse, finding a slot for the song on the final version of "Satellite."
"The first time I met him during the demos, I was more like a little fan: 'Dude, this is Eek-A-Mouse right here,'" Sandoval recalls. "It was great. He was hilarious; he was cool. The only difference (between the demo sessions and the work on "Satellite") is that he's put on about 200 pounds. He's all yoked. I was like, 'Damn, what you been doing dude, lifting weights?' He was like, 'Yeah, stress management.' He's HUGE. I remember back in the day, he was a little skinny twig. Now, I would have him as my bodyguard if I could. He's 6'6", all muscle from head to toe."
"Satellite's" other collaboration took place with one of rock's more notorious characters, former Bad Brains frontman H.R. Lawrence music fans might remember that H.R. was stranded in the Douglas County Jail in July 1995 after sledgehammering an audience member with a microphone stand during a Bad Brains show at The Bottleneck. While Sonny describes working with the mythical singer as "a dream come true," H.R. did prove somewhat hard to find initially.
"It was just luck," Sandoval says. "Nobody knew where H.R. was forever. He's been scattered. I heard from the street he was doing construction here in San Diego. But we'd always talked about doing music with him and he just happened to be in L.A. at the time. He came down to the studio and freestyled the whole thing. I was just in awe. I got the guy's framed poster on the wall in my house, you know what I mean? That's my art: his poster."
Sonny came home
"Satellite" was released on Sept. 11, a date that has now gained immeasurable infamy, even in the annals of rock history. Though most of the world spent the week reeling in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks, enough diehard fans picked up the new P.O.D. disc to land it at No. 6 on the Billboard charts.
"It was real weird, man," Sandoval says. "Not that our album means anything compared to what happened, but it was a big day for us. It was a trip. If anything, I think our record has more significance now that people are listening to it. We get a lot of response about how encouraging it is. That means more than anything."
Fueled by this season's feel-good hit "Alive," P.O.D.'s sophomore effort seems destined to be one of 2001's biggest rock records. Though Sandoval and company are certainly pleased that the mainstream is starting to take their message seriously, making music from the heart seems to be the only real agenda for San Ysidro's most-famous sons.
"We've been together for 10 years, but we grow," Sandoval says. "We grow in every aspect: musically, as a family, as friends, spiritually, physically. I've spent 10 of my life with these guys. We've learned so much, from the way we want to approach things lyrically, the way we want to come off, the things we want to say. Musically, we've been playing together forever, but we're not top musicians. We didn't go to school; we taught ourselves. We play from our hearts; we play from our soul."
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