If you have never seen Derek Webb perform, or heard his music, you are not alone. If you have never heard a song he’s sung, written, or collaborated on, you are still in the high majority. You are however, missing out. I’ve been an admirer of Webb, his tunes, and the message his music carries for many years. Like most though, I have never bought an album (or stole one from an online music source), nor have I spent much time checking his tour schedule. If I had, I might have noticed the heart and the many hours he’s put into his music for the better part of two decades; tirelessly playing shows where he can get them, lending himself to whomever will listen, and writing his music out of the conviction that he is serving a purpose. What is plainly clear, but not so easily noticed, is exactly who Derek Webb is trying to be.
The cover art on Webb’s first album, She Must and Shall Go Free, is a picture of Webb wearing a white t-shirt, in front of an old, white, wooden church, bearing a cross. It's the type of prototypical church building you might see in a documentary of the civil rights movement, or a church your grandmother might reminisce about growing up in. At first listen on this album, as well as on the albums I See Thing Upside Down, Mockingbird and The Ringing Bell, he appears to be a simple, faith driven artist, writing tunes for the religious masses. If you do a little research on Derek Webb though, what you’ll most likely find is information or comments on his 2009 album Stockholm Syndrome. This album is a largely sexual collection of songs that confronts, among other things, the issue of homosexuality. Addressing not so much “is the issue right or wrong,” but more how we as a society should treat each other, regardless of our differences. With songs that bare an obvious underlying theme that every person created by God should be shown the love of God from the people who say they know His love.
This idea started a fire storm, starting with the unveiling of the albums first single, “What Matters Most,” mostly because of one certain part of the song. Webb states on a powerful portion of the song, “We can talk and debate until we’re blue in the face about the language and tradition that he’s comin’ to save/ Meanwhile, we sit just like we don’t give a shit about 50,000 people who are dyin’ today. Tell me, brother, what matters more to you? Tell me, sister, what matters more to you?" It's an idea that was not so much controversial in thought, but offensive to some in the way that it was expressed. Personally, I find nothing offensive about the song, but found it rather convicting instead. I guess it’s hard to be offended by an idea that you agree with though. Webb’s record label on the other hand, considered the line offensive enough to offer him an ultimatum, either cut the lyric, or be cut by the label. Oh, and by the way, if you leave the label we’re going to sue you for the revenue generated by Stockholm Syndrome, even though we refuse to have the album be associated with our label. 
So this may not be the best place to vent, but I feel like the creative ban and mental fatigue put on artists by most mainstream record labels is kind of like a pimp with morals, making sure the product is clean enough to sell. When it comes to record labels that only support the convictions of the artist they employ when it makes them money, I hope they go down in flames. In response, Webb took a stand of his own. He would not compromise a single lyric on the album, although he did propose an alternative to the album via an edited format that would allow the listener to chose what they would hear. Still, Webb and his label chose to part ways. At first glance, the controversy appeared to me to be a publicity stunt. No such thing as bad press, right? But, the more I researched it, the more I began to catch what Webb is trying to say with Stockholm Syndrome. The more I realized that it’s about more than a lyric, more than just an idea expressed harshly on one song. It’s an album filled with the artist’s heart. It's an idea of equality that expresses itself throughout. A perfect example is “Freddie, please,” a song written from the perspective of God.
"Freddie, please
How could you do this to me
How could you tell me you love me when you hate me
Freddie, please
You know I love you honey
But I'll bleed you dry with money
I'll talk where I know you can hear
'Cause Freddie can't you see
Brother, you're the one who's queer"
This is a song written for Fred Phelps, pastor of a church in Topeka, Kansas. A church you may have heard of in the media for their protesting at funerals of fallen American Soldiers killed in combat. If you listen back to Webb’s earlier work, what you find is that Stockholm Syndrome is not all that out of the blue. You can see a pattern of convicting lyrics and a general aggression toward the religious establishment in America. A begging for things to be better than they are. 
Last month, my wife, who is (at least up to that point) a bigger Webb fan than I, made plans for us to catch one of Derek’s shows, an acoustic set in the attic of a midtown Atlanta bar. Wow, what a night. For 70 minutes Webb poured his heart out to the room like it was the first time anyone had ever come to see him play. At the same time Webb sang, played, joked, and shared like he had done this a couple times a week for several years. As the night progressed it became clear that the conviction Webb’s music possess is only a by-product of who he is as a person. He stopped several times to thank the venue for hosting him, encouraged us to be good patrons by buying drinks and tipping well, and at the end of the set he cut his second to last song so that his set would end in the agreed upon time. Cutting his set short to accommodate bartenders, ticket punchers, and bouncers? Not something that you would typically see at a concert, to say the least. In addition, Webb showed a high level of gratitude and thankfulness for those who came to see him. You would have thought he was playing to a crowd of a couple thousand, not a couple hundred (which is a generous estimate of the number of people in the audience).
Selfishly, I didn’t want the night to end. It was as if every song, every thought, every encouragement was directed at me. It was as if I was the only one who bought a ticket and he played the show anyways. I left feeling different than I feel leaving most shows. While I will admit that nearly every time I hear live music it puts me in a good mood, that night still felt unique. In a sense, it was like I had accomplished something just by being at that show, like I had experienced something rare. After all, good company promotes good character, right? This ancient thought proved true on this night. I was completely blown away by Webb, an amazing talent and an amazing human being. In writing this, I set out to provide you with more of the feeling that I left the bar with after experiencing Derek Webb/Stockholm Syndrome first hand, and less of the feeling that I had when I thought his latest actions were for nothing more than to generate a little controversy. As Webb, himself recently said in an interview, “There are easier ways than this to sell albums.” I hope when it comes to Webb’s music, you will buy it and listen. If you get the chance to see him live, I hope that you go and take friends. I also hope that after hearing his songs, or seeing him play that it causes you (like it did me) to look at the beautiful, yet messed up world around you thinking, we can do better.
