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    Creed: From Zero to Platinum
    Creed: From Zero to Platinum
    Creed: From Zero to Platinum
    Ebook191 pages4 hours

    Creed: From Zero to Platinum

    By Marc Shapiro

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    About this ebook

    Creed's story is indeed an inspirational one. The group of rockers originating from Tallahassee, Florida, made an indelible impression with their debut album, My Own Prison, released on the independent Wind Up Records label. Creed dominated the rock charts and made history when all four singles from this freshman album captured the number one position. Their success is all the more genuine because it was done without the backing of huge corporate dollars or the hype of a glitzy media campaign. With the release of their sophomore album, Human Clay, the Florida foursome continue to gain respect from critics and fans alike who praise them for their passionate live performances and poignant heartfelt lyrics.

    Read all the exciting details of a band whose faith and belief in their musical dream pulled them through their bleakest hour and propelled them forward to the peak of the musical charts. An accomplishment Creed achieved their way - without apology.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateNov 18, 2000
    ISBN9780312276379
    Creed: From Zero to Platinum
    Author

    Marc Shapiro

    Marc Shapiro is the author of the New York Times bestselling biography, J.K. Rowling: The Wizard Behind Harry Potter and Stephenie Meyer: The Unauthorized Biography of the Creator of the Twilight Saga. He has been a freelance entertainment journalist for more than twenty-five years, covering film, television and music for a number of national and international newspapers and magazines.

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      Book preview

      Creed - Marc Shapiro

      INTRODUCTION

      FROM ZERO TO PLATINUM

      THE first time we played air guitar on a broomstick in front of a full-length mirror, we knew we wanted to be like Creed. The first time we successfully navigated the three chords required to play every Chuck Berry (or, for that matter, AC/DC) song in the book, we knew we wanted to be like Creed. The first time our woefully out-of-tune neighborhood band played the high-school dance and the normally unreachable prom queen who goofed on you in English gave you that look reserved only for musicians . . . Well, you get the picture.

      Which is why when we look at a band like Creed strutting their stuff onstage in a jam-packed concert hall, we are hard-pressed not to see the romantic adventure in our souls. The life and times of Creed are about much more than the childish reasons most have for getting into the rock-and-roll game. Sure, initially we’re all in it to be popular with the ladies and to elevate our self-esteem. But, as reflected in the drive and ambition of Creed, we all know that it can be a lot more. It can be a life of creative drive and self-satisfaction. It is a life in which personal thoughts and visions become a reality that can, in turn, shape the hopes and dreams of millions.

      We all know where we were the first time we heard My Own Prison, with those apocalyptic guitar riffs and Scott Stapp’s true and cool tortured vocals, blaring out of our radio speakers. And we know what we felt.

      That raw rub of rock energy that instantly washed over us and, no matter what kind of day it had been, instantly put us in a better place. At that moment we felt the world could indeed be a better, more honest and livable place. We were not Creed but we could live vicariously with the chance taken and the magic and the fantasy of a dream that became reality with that song and the others we were sure would follow. And that knowledge brought tears to our eyes.

      Which is why Creed: From Zero to Platinum is more than just another rock book about the latest flavor of the month. It is a reminder, a wakeup call if you will, for every one of us who has dreamed the dream, fought the good fight against seemingly overwhelming odds, and, most importantly, chucked it all for rock and roll.

      We all know where Creed is coming from because we’ve been there.

      Dreams die hard and, about the time most of their classmates were packing up their rock-and-roll fantasies and marching off to college, families, responsibility, and the straight life, the members of Creed were just beginning to get on board the good ship Rock and Roll. They stood tall against the charges that they were crazy and that they would end up broke and broken on the street called Despair. And, despite their naiveté and childlike bravado, they knew it was not going to be an easy voyage.

      There were pressures at home to keep on the straight and narrow. And, in the case of singer Scott Stapp, the desire to rock would drive a wedge between him and his family that would take years to repair. And on the surface Scott Stapp, Brian Marshall, Scott Phillips, and Mark Tremonti seemed to be fighting a losing battle to keep their rock dreams alive.

      At one point, Scott Stapp, who saw himself quite seriously as the second coming of Jim Morrison, was flirting with the idea of a law degree, and the band had all gotten blue-collar dirty—at various times flipping burgers, washing dishes, shucking oysters, and basically dying that slow painful, spiritual death of innocence and tasting the harsh, uncaring life in the dead-end backwaters of Tallahassee, Florida. But beneath the surface, a fire was constantly burning deep down in their souls—a fire whose flames were fanned brightly by the dream of loud guitar rock, played with the feeling, emotion, and spirit of youth in front of screaming audiences who had come to listen and to believe. On the nights when the hours were long, the burger grease and the bad karma were was over their heads, and all they could think about was a cold beer and a soft bed, they continued to believe that good fortune was just around the corner, and would drag their asses off to their dump of a rehearsal space for another round of practice.

      However, they would soon discover that there was more to rock and roll than strapping on a guitar and striking an anguished pose. There were rules to this game, and the band, early on, was admittedly naive when it came to things like managers, booking agents, and escaping the dead-end life of a Top 40 bar band. But those were things that could and would be learned along the way. What they had in their hearts was something that could not be taught: the desire to take their music as far as it could possibly go.

      American dreams rarely come easy, though, and Creed, even as they began to shape up as a legitimate unit, found the odds against a happy ending seemed to be stacked against them. Their style of straight-ahead, non-indulgent, and, yes, tuneful rock and roll sung with passion and lyrical insight had gone out of fashion more than a decade ago. Radio playlists, in the mid-1990s, were up to their Arbitron ratings in rap, hip-hop, and grunge and overhyped and often overrated bands. Those who heard them early in their rock-and-roll lives called Creed old-school, retro, and just plain crap. Nobody wanted to know what Creed was laying down . . .

      Except Creed. As the band slowly but surely honed their chops in basements and began slugging it out in local clubs, they soon discovered that powerful music still had its followers. They could see it in the eyes of those initial small crowds. They could feel it in their souls when those first tentative fists were raised in the air in response to their music. Creed knew they were on the right track. It was only a matter of time.

      And as the winds of grunge and alternative music began to blow away in a tide of questionably talented musicians and music seemingly without thought or meaning, Creed began to make inroads.

      The band got noticed. The band got popular. The band’s do-it-yourself attitude landed them a record deal. Creed’s fortunes changed. The band itself did not. Creed’s everyman attitude of, Let’s hang out, drink some brews, and party, continued. The expected bigheaded, ego-driven bullshit that often derails groups who make it big was not Creed’s thing; hanging with their fans, signing autographs, and posing for pictures was. The band remained very real in the face of a debut album, recorded on a wing and a prayer and chump change, that would ultimately sell in excess of four million copies and spawn four number-one singles.

      No, Creed was not too good to be true. None of them were virgins, and they were familiar with the wild life, the temptations of bars, strip clubs, groupies, and pot. But they weren’t stupid, either; they were low-profile to the max.

      Even as they were rising steadily to the top of the rock pile, to them, a good time was still playing catch football or downing a few brews and jamming. If the Tampa Bay Buccaneers football team was on the tube, they were there. They were young adults but already wise beyond their years, never letting the temptations of the rock-and-roll life detour them from their musical goal. Which is why you’ll be hard-pressed to find the members of Creed baring it all on VHl’s Behind the Music ten years from now. You won’t find them in rehab. They won’t end up as yet another hard-luck story. That’s just not their style; cool is.

      Creed is the stuff of good music, good attitude, and a real passion for life. Many great feel-good movies have been made from a lot less. Creed could have been you and me. It could still be. Which is why you have Creed: From Zero to Platinum in your hands right now. You want to read about the guys who lived down the street from you, the guys who cribbed your answers during history class—the guys even best friends laughed at when they boasted they’d be rock-and-roll stars one day.

      Read on and dream. . . . Because Creed are most certainly us.

      CREED

      1

      WE GOT LUCKY

      ORLANDO, Florida, is the perfect place to hang. When not dodging the often destructive forces of nature, the sun bathes the coastline with an even, perfect tan. The surf, pushed by a slow, steady, and warm breeze blowing up from the Bahamas, rises and falls with an easy consistency, offering the surfers and boogie-boarders smooth and glassy waves on which to test their mettle. And the beach babes? Well, southern California does not have a lock on beautiful women. The vibe is definitely mellow. Even when you’re working in Orlando, you’re not working too hard.

      Unless you’re Creed guitarist Mark Tremonti and you’re doing something you absolutely hate to do. I hate doing videos, Mark complains, as he stumbles off the Hard Rock Cafe Orlando stage after yet another take for the video for the band’s current single, Higher. The guitarist is tired after a long day of shoots, reshoots, and dealing with grumpy extras who are having a hard time feigning excitement as the band spends the day shooting endless takes.

      For Creed, it is the typical video shoot: Long conferences with the director. Lots of ideas that the band feels would work. And the inevitable disappointment when the reality of video as a promotional tool rather than a creative effort, hits home. The band has gone through this so many times before, they just roll their eyes and say, Whatever, when they are approached by the director with suggestions that might make the video more MTV-friendly.

      Mark is particularly upset with the changes. The guitarist has spent years defending this song. Now, after hearing it played back for the umpteenth time, he admits he’s beginning to lose his love for Higher. And Mark is not the only member of Creed wilting under the inherent boredom of the videomaking process.

      As the video’s director, Ramaa Mosley, scampers around the cramped, sauna-hot club positioning cameras, adjusting lighting, coordinating the sound playback of the music and vocals—doing all the mundane things that go into turning out an MTV-quality video—drummer Scott Phillips sits slumped and bleary-eyed behind his drum kit, smiling at the good-looking women who have been screaming and dancing sexy during each run-through of the song. Bassist Brian Marshall leans for a moment against his ax before wandering off to collapse in a chair where he sucks down some bottled water.

      Scott Stapp, Creed’s enigmatic, brooding lead singer, with the long, slightly curly hair and dark, piercing eyes—who has adopted a nineties-style Jim Morrison persona complete with moodiness and penetrating soulful look—has wandered away from the stage, stopping briefly to chat up the fans playing fans, and now is nowhere to be found. Scott is admittedly torn by the video process. But no matter what take the band is on, he lights up when he gets behind the mike and mouths the words. But he has joined the chorus of the boredom that surrounds the band during downtime. Occasionally the band members wander outside the club and stare out at the passing parade of people, wishing, this day, they were part of it rather than a slave to the star-making

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