j-6
09-27-2008, 07:45 AM
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/writers/the_bonus/09/25/luker/index.html
Before I/Say goodbye/Throw it all away/I'll remember yesterday
-- Submersed
For nearly six years, Kelan Luker craved a hit. Late last year, he began wondering if he could withstand another one. On the tour bus and backstage at shows, Luker, the bass player for veteran hard-rock outfit Submersed, sensed a disconnect. He no longer joined his bandmates when they drank and peppered their stories with four-letter words. Sure, he'd done all that before, and he had no qualms about his buddies enjoying the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but his head, his heart and his right arm yanked him in another direction. Finally, during Submersed's last tour this past winter, Luker approached the band's manager, his older brother, Seth, and bared his soul. He planned to quit the band. Go back to school. Get his degree. Oh, and he might play football again.
"Really?" Seth said. "You're 27 years old."
Luker knew he had turned his back on his gift. The good lord had strapped a rocket launcher to his right shoulder, and Luker had chosen to use that magic arm to play for a group that arrived on the scene three years too late to be what its record company wanted -- another Creed. So, after living a Behind The Music documentary that never passed the 20th minute, the pride of Stephenville, Texas, returned home, where a new version of his old life awaited. He would throw a football again, but this time with a different purpose in mind.
On Saturday, Luker will take the field as the backup quarterback when the Division II Tarleton State Texans face Southwestern Oklahoma. Milam Stadium in Weatherford, Okla., is a far cry from the Spectrum in Philadelphia, where Submersed played before more than 20,000 fans on Dec. 31, 2002. It also doesn't compare to SMU's Gerald Ford Stadium, where Luker played for the Mustangs until the confluence of a neck injury caused by a vicious spring-practice hit and an impending record deal made him hang up his cleats and pick up a guitar. It doesn't matter to Luker, a junior, that he sits behind sophomore Scott Grantham on the Texans' depth chart. Luker is at Tarleton to learn. After he gets that degree, he plans to coach. And someday, on a team bus bound for another away game, Luker's players will lean close, and he'll tell them a story about the quarterback who became a rock star and then a quarterback again.
*****
He could throw that speed ball by you/make you look like a fool
-- Bruce Springsteen
Luker probably seemed more of a rock star in his Stephenville High letter jacket than he ever did on stage. Stephenville always has produced quality quarterbacks -- former Tennessee and Texas A&M signal-caller Branndon Stewart, Philadelphia Eagle Kevin Kolb and current Ole Miss starter Jevan Snead are alums -- but some folks believe Luker was better than all of them. In 1998, he threw for 4,697 yards and 49 touchdowns and led Stephenville to the Class 4A state title. Luker's total yardage mark for that season still stands as the 12th best in high school history, ahead of stars such as John David Booty, Rick Mirer, Brodie Croyle and Koy Detmer.
"He only played about half of every game," Seth Luker said. "He'd get his 300 yards and get pulled. It could have been a lot more yards."
How dominant was Stephenville during Kelan Luker's senior year in 1998? He watched the final quarter of the Yellowjackets' 34-7 win over La Marque in the state title game at Texas Stadium from the bench with a huge grin on his face. In 1994, the Lukers had moved to Stephenville, a town of about 15,000 about 110 miles southwest of Dallas, from tiny Valera, Texas. There, patriarch Alan had coached Panther Creek High to six-man football state titles in 1992 and 1993. Seth, then a 255-pound junior, was too big to play six-man, so Alan moved the family to a town where Seth could play on the line and use his size to his advantage. Alan also knew his younger son would benefit from the move. At 13, Kelan already had a stronger arm than any six-man player Alan had coached. He just needed the correct environment.
That environment was Stephenville High, where coach Art Briles won state titles in 1993 and 1994. Long before the spread offense became the rage, Briles had the Yellowjackets lining up in five-receiver sets. But to make his offense work, he needed a quarterback who could deliver the football quickly. He found one in Kelan Luker, whose release made a snapping mousetrap seem slow.
"He's got the quickest release of any guy I've ever been around," said Briles, who after leaving Stephenville turned Houston from a laughingstock to a bowl team and is now the coach at Baylor. "He's got an amazing arm, and he gets rid of the ball faster than I thought could be possibly done."
That made the QB everyone called Luke Daddy a pretty popular guy in Stephenville. "Our football team pretty much ran our town," said T.J. Davis, a Stephenville grad who played guitar alongside Luker in Submersed. "We were a pretty small town, and football in our town was everything."
It did not, however, put Luker on the top of most college wish lists. He got his share of attention -- Colorado and Oklahoma were among the programs to show interest -- but his 6-foot-1 frame didn't match the blue-chip quarterback prototype. Luker chose from a relatively small group of schools and picked SMU so he could stay close to home and close to Seth, who attended North Texas in nearby Denton.
Luker competed for the starting job as a freshman but lost out to Josh McCown, who is now the backup for the Carolina Panthers. That same year, Luker bought his first guitar. His roommate loved to stay up late playing country music. Luker, a Smashing Pumpkins/Metallica fan, didn't necessarily appreciate the genre, but he loved to jam.
Luker redshirted his sophomore season and won the starting job entering the following year, in 2001. In his third game, he nearly led SMU to an upset of N.C. State. Late in the game, Luker threw a lateral while being dragged down deep in SMU territory. The ball bounced off the referee and got smothered in the end zone by the Wolfpack's George Anderson for the clinching score. After that 26-17 loss, Luker was replaced by David Page. Luker played sparingly the rest of the season, and SMU coach Mike Cavan was fired with two games remaining. After the Mustangs limped to a 4-7 finish, Phil Bennett was hired. Luker seemed a lock to win the starting job when Page quit the team with a year of eligibility remaining to become an accountant. It turned out, however, that it would be almost seven years before Luker took another snap in a game.
*****
So you want to be a rock 'n' roll star?/Then listen now to what I say/Just get an electric guitar/Then take some time /and learn how to play/And with your hair swung right/And your pants too tight/It's gonna be all right
-- The Byrds
Luker kept jamming in his apartment, and he had stayed in touch with a group of friends from Stephenville who had tinkered with starting a band. Early in 2002, those friends recorded a three-track demo with a session drummer and their producer playing bass. The band called itself Submursed, and the demo made its way into the hands of record company executives, who were intrigued by the music and by the voice of singer Donald Carpenter -- even though the group had never played a live show. One day, Luker's phone rang.
"They called me up and said, 'You want to play bass?'" Luker said. "I said I'd love to, but first of all I've never played bass. Second, I was still playing football. They said they'd work around my schedule."
Luker easily picked up the bass, and with him in its lineup, Submerged could finally play live. After a little practice, the group debuted at The Groovy Mule in Denton. Much to the members' surprise, 300 people showed. "I was definitely surprised," guitar player Davis said. "It was just a for-fun thing. It was something to do with your buddies. All of a sudden, it turned into something big -- or something that had the potential to be big. It definitely came out of nowhere."
Meanwhile, football turned miserable for Luker. Under Bennett, quarterbacks didn't wear alternate colored jerseys to keep defenders from hitting them in practice. They were fresh meat. About a week before SMU's spring game, Luker dropped back to throw. A linebacker, Luker's roommate, no less, charged through a gap and blasted Luker. Luker immediately knew something was wrong. "I walked off, took a shower, got an MRI and that was it," he said. A neck sprain had ended Luker's spring practice. Within days, he wondered if it was the end of his football career.
By then, Submursed -- band members wouldn't consult a dictionary and change the name to Submersed for more than a year -- had been invited to New York to play a showcase for several record companies. Luker got permission to leave Dallas during final exams to audition for a record contract. As the showcase loomed, Luker and Davis logged extra practice time. "We both kind of looked at each other," Davis said, "and said, 'Oh crap, we've got to get our crap together and learn how to play.'"
The boys from Stephenville impressed the right people. Mark Tremonti, the guitar player for multi-platinum band Creed, loved Submersed. The record contract that seemed a pipe dream months earlier was a mere formality by the summer of 2002. That left Luker with a decision. Should he leave school and football to chase his dream? He had little trouble talking himself into an answer. A few months ago, he offered a sample of his internal dialogue. Just imagine the words in the voice of actor Matthew McConaughey, whose Texas twang is nearly identical to Luker's.
Why I am I going to go back to school? I've been doing a halfway job of it. I don't love [football] anymore. School is a pain in the butt. I'm not trying.
"I was looking for a way out," Luker said. With Tremonti in their corner, the members of Submersed elected to sign with Creed's label, Wind-up Records, on July 22, 2002. That same day, Luker informed Bennett he wouldn't return for his junior season. "Good luck with your band," Luker remembered Bennett saying. "He doesn't have to hear me anymore telling him to get a haircut," Bennett cracked to reporters a few days later at WAC media day.
Perhaps the most prescient statement from that period came from SMU linebacker Vic Viloria at WAC media day. "They sound a lot like Creed," Viloria said.
In the music business, when a band explodes, record companies scour the country looking for similar acts. If those bands put out albums fast enough, they can catch the wave of popularity spawned by the first group. That wave does not roll on forever, though. Eventually, it crashes. Creed's wave crashed right about the time Submersed signed with Wind-up. "Labels were just picking up bands right and left," Seth Luker said. "They just thought that rock was never going to end."
In 2000, Creed ruled the rock world. The group's second album, Human Clay had produced megahits Higher and Arms Wide Open. Rock critics hated the abstract lyrics and soaring hooks. Radio programmers and record buyers loved them. That, of course, led to a predictable scenario. During the summer of 2000, it was impossible to listen to a radio for more than an hour without hearing Higher. The public grew sick of the song and the band, and before long, it wasn't only hipsters who hated Creed. When the band released Weathered in late 2001, the album sold an astonishing 887,000 copies in its first week and 417,000 more in its second. But despite the fact that one of every 300 people in the nation bought Weathered in its first two weeks, it was almost impossible to find someone who would admit to owning it, lest the owner be mocked as a tone-deaf square.
It was in this toxic environment that Submersed moved to Orlando, Fla., and began work on its first album. Tremonti set up the boys in a house near his own. He invited them over often, and they always threatened to commandeer his jet skis, ride across the lake and invade the property of neighbor Shaquille O'Neal. Tremonti also made sure Submersed got plenty of face time with its target audience. That New Year's Eve show Submersed opened in Philly? Creed headlined. The middle act was a little band from Mississippi called 3 Doors Down.
Luker made sure he looked like a rock star. He grew a shaggy beard to cover his dimpled, All-America quarterback chin. He wore shirts with conspicuous rips and wristbands with spikes on them. He glowered at fans as he strummed his bass. He did not, however, go Pete Townshend and smash his instrument into a speaker during any show. "I couldn't afford it," he said, laughing.
Luker and his bandmates embraced the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but never too much. While on tour with fellow newcomers such as Trapt, Crossfade and Evans Blue, they drank. They smoked. They spent extra time with their female fans. But they never lost sight of the fact that Wind-up had paid them to produce an album. That album, In Due Time, debuted in 2004. By that time, Creed was about to break up. One Submersed tune, Hollow, reached No. 20 on the active rock chart, but the album never sold much. Neither did the 2007 follow-up Immortal Verses.
One reviewer, Andrew Platte of The Leader-Post in Regina, Saskatchewan, summed up the band thusly after giving In Due Time one out of five stars: "...this band needs a lick or lyric to get themselves off the rails laid by their contemporaries. Despite fine musicianship and excellent vocals from Donald Carpenter, whose attitude and abilities come across as far more than merely competent, the band plods along with forgettable songs. Their enthusiasm is lost somehow, like they're playing along while cumulatively wishing they had better material."
Of course, on the same page, Platte bestowed four stars on a Vanessa Williams album. Despite the questionable juxtaposition, the review came close to describing the way the band actually felt. Luker said band members grew frustrated with the record company's insistence on hook-heavy songs that sounded suspiciously like other chart-toppers. Remember the line in Tom Petty's Into the Great Wide Open when Petty complains, "Their A&R man said 'I don't hear a single?'" That actually happens. "If we had been pushed the right way instead of trying to write hits ... When the backlash came, we were still trying to write songs like Creed," Luker said. "But Creed wasn't there anymore."
*****
I'm all I've left undone/I'm all I haven't won/Lift me up my soul's so hollow/Lift me up Submersed
-- Hollow
The toughest part of a rock tour is filling the hours before hitting the stage. Luker always had a foolproof way to pass the time. He kept a football on the band's tour bus. When Luker would throw with Davis, members of other bands would marvel at the bass player's cannon. Back in Orlando working on Immortal Verses, Luker's bandmates would tease him that, while the band was off the road, he should supplement his income by playing for the Arena Football League's Orlando Predators. "Every free minute we got, he was out throwing a football," Seth Luker said. "That kid's like a rifle. He's got a better arm than he had when he was 19 or 20."
As the increasingly frustrating recording process for Immortal Verses wound down last summer, Luker began to wonder if he might put that arm to use again. By the time the band went on tour to support the album, Luker began to have serious doubts about continuing his music career. His 2006 introduction to Kim Green, a pastor's daughter from Ocala, Fla., had changed his outlook. He had become a regular churchgoer. "I knew that if I didn't," he said, "things would start falling apart."
Luker didn't begrudge his bandmates' partying; he simply chose not to partake anymore. "It felt like I was learning and growing," he said. "But then when I went on tour with everybody, I felt like an outcast. I didn't belong anymore."
Luker wasn't the only one. Davis also wanted to move on. Before long, the band members realized Submersed was finished. "What Submersed was about originally, we weren't on that same path anymore," Davis said. "It was time for us to go. ... It just kind of slowly trailed off. There wasn't any kind of big blow-up. It just kind of slowly ran its course."
Luker decided he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and coach. To do that, he would need to finish his degree. If he was going back to school anyway, why not play football, too? He consulted Briles, who explained that NCAA eligibility rules would keep Luker out of Division I, but he would have two years to play in Division II. So Luker went back to Stephenville and checked out Tarleton State. There, coach Sam McElroy welcomed Luker. McElroy, like everyone else in Stephenville, knew all about Luker. Besides a potential backup quarterback, McElroy saw something else in Luker that could help the Texans. "He brings a little maturity to the team," McElroy said. "A little real-world experience."
Still, Luker had questions. Could he get in shape? Could he take a hit? His mind flashed back to the collision at that last practice at SMU. He heard the crunch of helmet meeting helmet. He thought about the chronic pain in his back since that day. Luker used yoga to improve his flexibility. When Luker arrived at Tarleton, strength coach Mike Harper put Luker through a battery of tests and designed a program to get him back in football shape. Harper began with exercises designed to strengthen Luker's core muscles, his back and abdominals. Before long, Luker was lifting with the youngsters.
One day shortly before preseason camp, Harper popped in a Submersed CD while Luker and several other Texans lifted. "We turned it on," Harper said, "and tried to keep a straight face." Submersed has reappeared on the Texans' weight room playlist, too. "It's good music for what we do in here," Harper said.
As Luker's friends predicted, he hasn't lost any zip on the ball. He has played in three of Tarleton's first four games, completing 4 of 5 passes for 48 yards. He survived that first hit, too. Because quarterbacks aren't live at Tarleton practices and because the No. 16 Texans protect their quarterback well during games, Luker didn't take a real hit until last week, when a receiver running a reverse at practice got confused and slammed into Luker at full speed as Luker tried to hand him the ball. "I stood tall," Luker said. "I acted like it was no big deal."
Luker still plays bass, too. "Every Sunday in church," he said. Last week, he backed girlfriend Green, who made her Texas debut on the mic. The only drawback of his years in the music business, Luker said, is that he now can't listen to a song on the radio without critiquing every note. That makes it tough to find music he likes, but Luker has found one album to put on repeat. "Phantom of the Opera," Luker said. "Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's awesome."
It's doubtful most of Luker's new teammates have heard The Music of the Night, but what do you expect? He's practically from a different generation. When Davis came to Stephenville for a game earlier this month, he called Luker "Grandpa." But Davis, who spent six years strumming alongside Luker, can see that his former bandmate has found happiness. "I can tell he's enjoying being where he's at," Davis said. "You can see it written all over his face. He's having a blast."
Before I/Say goodbye/Throw it all away/I'll remember yesterday
-- Submersed
For nearly six years, Kelan Luker craved a hit. Late last year, he began wondering if he could withstand another one. On the tour bus and backstage at shows, Luker, the bass player for veteran hard-rock outfit Submersed, sensed a disconnect. He no longer joined his bandmates when they drank and peppered their stories with four-letter words. Sure, he'd done all that before, and he had no qualms about his buddies enjoying the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but his head, his heart and his right arm yanked him in another direction. Finally, during Submersed's last tour this past winter, Luker approached the band's manager, his older brother, Seth, and bared his soul. He planned to quit the band. Go back to school. Get his degree. Oh, and he might play football again.
"Really?" Seth said. "You're 27 years old."
Luker knew he had turned his back on his gift. The good lord had strapped a rocket launcher to his right shoulder, and Luker had chosen to use that magic arm to play for a group that arrived on the scene three years too late to be what its record company wanted -- another Creed. So, after living a Behind The Music documentary that never passed the 20th minute, the pride of Stephenville, Texas, returned home, where a new version of his old life awaited. He would throw a football again, but this time with a different purpose in mind.
On Saturday, Luker will take the field as the backup quarterback when the Division II Tarleton State Texans face Southwestern Oklahoma. Milam Stadium in Weatherford, Okla., is a far cry from the Spectrum in Philadelphia, where Submersed played before more than 20,000 fans on Dec. 31, 2002. It also doesn't compare to SMU's Gerald Ford Stadium, where Luker played for the Mustangs until the confluence of a neck injury caused by a vicious spring-practice hit and an impending record deal made him hang up his cleats and pick up a guitar. It doesn't matter to Luker, a junior, that he sits behind sophomore Scott Grantham on the Texans' depth chart. Luker is at Tarleton to learn. After he gets that degree, he plans to coach. And someday, on a team bus bound for another away game, Luker's players will lean close, and he'll tell them a story about the quarterback who became a rock star and then a quarterback again.
*****
He could throw that speed ball by you/make you look like a fool
-- Bruce Springsteen
Luker probably seemed more of a rock star in his Stephenville High letter jacket than he ever did on stage. Stephenville always has produced quality quarterbacks -- former Tennessee and Texas A&M signal-caller Branndon Stewart, Philadelphia Eagle Kevin Kolb and current Ole Miss starter Jevan Snead are alums -- but some folks believe Luker was better than all of them. In 1998, he threw for 4,697 yards and 49 touchdowns and led Stephenville to the Class 4A state title. Luker's total yardage mark for that season still stands as the 12th best in high school history, ahead of stars such as John David Booty, Rick Mirer, Brodie Croyle and Koy Detmer.
"He only played about half of every game," Seth Luker said. "He'd get his 300 yards and get pulled. It could have been a lot more yards."
How dominant was Stephenville during Kelan Luker's senior year in 1998? He watched the final quarter of the Yellowjackets' 34-7 win over La Marque in the state title game at Texas Stadium from the bench with a huge grin on his face. In 1994, the Lukers had moved to Stephenville, a town of about 15,000 about 110 miles southwest of Dallas, from tiny Valera, Texas. There, patriarch Alan had coached Panther Creek High to six-man football state titles in 1992 and 1993. Seth, then a 255-pound junior, was too big to play six-man, so Alan moved the family to a town where Seth could play on the line and use his size to his advantage. Alan also knew his younger son would benefit from the move. At 13, Kelan already had a stronger arm than any six-man player Alan had coached. He just needed the correct environment.
That environment was Stephenville High, where coach Art Briles won state titles in 1993 and 1994. Long before the spread offense became the rage, Briles had the Yellowjackets lining up in five-receiver sets. But to make his offense work, he needed a quarterback who could deliver the football quickly. He found one in Kelan Luker, whose release made a snapping mousetrap seem slow.
"He's got the quickest release of any guy I've ever been around," said Briles, who after leaving Stephenville turned Houston from a laughingstock to a bowl team and is now the coach at Baylor. "He's got an amazing arm, and he gets rid of the ball faster than I thought could be possibly done."
That made the QB everyone called Luke Daddy a pretty popular guy in Stephenville. "Our football team pretty much ran our town," said T.J. Davis, a Stephenville grad who played guitar alongside Luker in Submersed. "We were a pretty small town, and football in our town was everything."
It did not, however, put Luker on the top of most college wish lists. He got his share of attention -- Colorado and Oklahoma were among the programs to show interest -- but his 6-foot-1 frame didn't match the blue-chip quarterback prototype. Luker chose from a relatively small group of schools and picked SMU so he could stay close to home and close to Seth, who attended North Texas in nearby Denton.
Luker competed for the starting job as a freshman but lost out to Josh McCown, who is now the backup for the Carolina Panthers. That same year, Luker bought his first guitar. His roommate loved to stay up late playing country music. Luker, a Smashing Pumpkins/Metallica fan, didn't necessarily appreciate the genre, but he loved to jam.
Luker redshirted his sophomore season and won the starting job entering the following year, in 2001. In his third game, he nearly led SMU to an upset of N.C. State. Late in the game, Luker threw a lateral while being dragged down deep in SMU territory. The ball bounced off the referee and got smothered in the end zone by the Wolfpack's George Anderson for the clinching score. After that 26-17 loss, Luker was replaced by David Page. Luker played sparingly the rest of the season, and SMU coach Mike Cavan was fired with two games remaining. After the Mustangs limped to a 4-7 finish, Phil Bennett was hired. Luker seemed a lock to win the starting job when Page quit the team with a year of eligibility remaining to become an accountant. It turned out, however, that it would be almost seven years before Luker took another snap in a game.
*****
So you want to be a rock 'n' roll star?/Then listen now to what I say/Just get an electric guitar/Then take some time /and learn how to play/And with your hair swung right/And your pants too tight/It's gonna be all right
-- The Byrds
Luker kept jamming in his apartment, and he had stayed in touch with a group of friends from Stephenville who had tinkered with starting a band. Early in 2002, those friends recorded a three-track demo with a session drummer and their producer playing bass. The band called itself Submursed, and the demo made its way into the hands of record company executives, who were intrigued by the music and by the voice of singer Donald Carpenter -- even though the group had never played a live show. One day, Luker's phone rang.
"They called me up and said, 'You want to play bass?'" Luker said. "I said I'd love to, but first of all I've never played bass. Second, I was still playing football. They said they'd work around my schedule."
Luker easily picked up the bass, and with him in its lineup, Submerged could finally play live. After a little practice, the group debuted at The Groovy Mule in Denton. Much to the members' surprise, 300 people showed. "I was definitely surprised," guitar player Davis said. "It was just a for-fun thing. It was something to do with your buddies. All of a sudden, it turned into something big -- or something that had the potential to be big. It definitely came out of nowhere."
Meanwhile, football turned miserable for Luker. Under Bennett, quarterbacks didn't wear alternate colored jerseys to keep defenders from hitting them in practice. They were fresh meat. About a week before SMU's spring game, Luker dropped back to throw. A linebacker, Luker's roommate, no less, charged through a gap and blasted Luker. Luker immediately knew something was wrong. "I walked off, took a shower, got an MRI and that was it," he said. A neck sprain had ended Luker's spring practice. Within days, he wondered if it was the end of his football career.
By then, Submursed -- band members wouldn't consult a dictionary and change the name to Submersed for more than a year -- had been invited to New York to play a showcase for several record companies. Luker got permission to leave Dallas during final exams to audition for a record contract. As the showcase loomed, Luker and Davis logged extra practice time. "We both kind of looked at each other," Davis said, "and said, 'Oh crap, we've got to get our crap together and learn how to play.'"
The boys from Stephenville impressed the right people. Mark Tremonti, the guitar player for multi-platinum band Creed, loved Submersed. The record contract that seemed a pipe dream months earlier was a mere formality by the summer of 2002. That left Luker with a decision. Should he leave school and football to chase his dream? He had little trouble talking himself into an answer. A few months ago, he offered a sample of his internal dialogue. Just imagine the words in the voice of actor Matthew McConaughey, whose Texas twang is nearly identical to Luker's.
Why I am I going to go back to school? I've been doing a halfway job of it. I don't love [football] anymore. School is a pain in the butt. I'm not trying.
"I was looking for a way out," Luker said. With Tremonti in their corner, the members of Submersed elected to sign with Creed's label, Wind-up Records, on July 22, 2002. That same day, Luker informed Bennett he wouldn't return for his junior season. "Good luck with your band," Luker remembered Bennett saying. "He doesn't have to hear me anymore telling him to get a haircut," Bennett cracked to reporters a few days later at WAC media day.
Perhaps the most prescient statement from that period came from SMU linebacker Vic Viloria at WAC media day. "They sound a lot like Creed," Viloria said.
In the music business, when a band explodes, record companies scour the country looking for similar acts. If those bands put out albums fast enough, they can catch the wave of popularity spawned by the first group. That wave does not roll on forever, though. Eventually, it crashes. Creed's wave crashed right about the time Submersed signed with Wind-up. "Labels were just picking up bands right and left," Seth Luker said. "They just thought that rock was never going to end."
In 2000, Creed ruled the rock world. The group's second album, Human Clay had produced megahits Higher and Arms Wide Open. Rock critics hated the abstract lyrics and soaring hooks. Radio programmers and record buyers loved them. That, of course, led to a predictable scenario. During the summer of 2000, it was impossible to listen to a radio for more than an hour without hearing Higher. The public grew sick of the song and the band, and before long, it wasn't only hipsters who hated Creed. When the band released Weathered in late 2001, the album sold an astonishing 887,000 copies in its first week and 417,000 more in its second. But despite the fact that one of every 300 people in the nation bought Weathered in its first two weeks, it was almost impossible to find someone who would admit to owning it, lest the owner be mocked as a tone-deaf square.
It was in this toxic environment that Submersed moved to Orlando, Fla., and began work on its first album. Tremonti set up the boys in a house near his own. He invited them over often, and they always threatened to commandeer his jet skis, ride across the lake and invade the property of neighbor Shaquille O'Neal. Tremonti also made sure Submersed got plenty of face time with its target audience. That New Year's Eve show Submersed opened in Philly? Creed headlined. The middle act was a little band from Mississippi called 3 Doors Down.
Luker made sure he looked like a rock star. He grew a shaggy beard to cover his dimpled, All-America quarterback chin. He wore shirts with conspicuous rips and wristbands with spikes on them. He glowered at fans as he strummed his bass. He did not, however, go Pete Townshend and smash his instrument into a speaker during any show. "I couldn't afford it," he said, laughing.
Luker and his bandmates embraced the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but never too much. While on tour with fellow newcomers such as Trapt, Crossfade and Evans Blue, they drank. They smoked. They spent extra time with their female fans. But they never lost sight of the fact that Wind-up had paid them to produce an album. That album, In Due Time, debuted in 2004. By that time, Creed was about to break up. One Submersed tune, Hollow, reached No. 20 on the active rock chart, but the album never sold much. Neither did the 2007 follow-up Immortal Verses.
One reviewer, Andrew Platte of The Leader-Post in Regina, Saskatchewan, summed up the band thusly after giving In Due Time one out of five stars: "...this band needs a lick or lyric to get themselves off the rails laid by their contemporaries. Despite fine musicianship and excellent vocals from Donald Carpenter, whose attitude and abilities come across as far more than merely competent, the band plods along with forgettable songs. Their enthusiasm is lost somehow, like they're playing along while cumulatively wishing they had better material."
Of course, on the same page, Platte bestowed four stars on a Vanessa Williams album. Despite the questionable juxtaposition, the review came close to describing the way the band actually felt. Luker said band members grew frustrated with the record company's insistence on hook-heavy songs that sounded suspiciously like other chart-toppers. Remember the line in Tom Petty's Into the Great Wide Open when Petty complains, "Their A&R man said 'I don't hear a single?'" That actually happens. "If we had been pushed the right way instead of trying to write hits ... When the backlash came, we were still trying to write songs like Creed," Luker said. "But Creed wasn't there anymore."
*****
I'm all I've left undone/I'm all I haven't won/Lift me up my soul's so hollow/Lift me up Submersed
-- Hollow
The toughest part of a rock tour is filling the hours before hitting the stage. Luker always had a foolproof way to pass the time. He kept a football on the band's tour bus. When Luker would throw with Davis, members of other bands would marvel at the bass player's cannon. Back in Orlando working on Immortal Verses, Luker's bandmates would tease him that, while the band was off the road, he should supplement his income by playing for the Arena Football League's Orlando Predators. "Every free minute we got, he was out throwing a football," Seth Luker said. "That kid's like a rifle. He's got a better arm than he had when he was 19 or 20."
As the increasingly frustrating recording process for Immortal Verses wound down last summer, Luker began to wonder if he might put that arm to use again. By the time the band went on tour to support the album, Luker began to have serious doubts about continuing his music career. His 2006 introduction to Kim Green, a pastor's daughter from Ocala, Fla., had changed his outlook. He had become a regular churchgoer. "I knew that if I didn't," he said, "things would start falling apart."
Luker didn't begrudge his bandmates' partying; he simply chose not to partake anymore. "It felt like I was learning and growing," he said. "But then when I went on tour with everybody, I felt like an outcast. I didn't belong anymore."
Luker wasn't the only one. Davis also wanted to move on. Before long, the band members realized Submersed was finished. "What Submersed was about originally, we weren't on that same path anymore," Davis said. "It was time for us to go. ... It just kind of slowly trailed off. There wasn't any kind of big blow-up. It just kind of slowly ran its course."
Luker decided he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and coach. To do that, he would need to finish his degree. If he was going back to school anyway, why not play football, too? He consulted Briles, who explained that NCAA eligibility rules would keep Luker out of Division I, but he would have two years to play in Division II. So Luker went back to Stephenville and checked out Tarleton State. There, coach Sam McElroy welcomed Luker. McElroy, like everyone else in Stephenville, knew all about Luker. Besides a potential backup quarterback, McElroy saw something else in Luker that could help the Texans. "He brings a little maturity to the team," McElroy said. "A little real-world experience."
Still, Luker had questions. Could he get in shape? Could he take a hit? His mind flashed back to the collision at that last practice at SMU. He heard the crunch of helmet meeting helmet. He thought about the chronic pain in his back since that day. Luker used yoga to improve his flexibility. When Luker arrived at Tarleton, strength coach Mike Harper put Luker through a battery of tests and designed a program to get him back in football shape. Harper began with exercises designed to strengthen Luker's core muscles, his back and abdominals. Before long, Luker was lifting with the youngsters.
One day shortly before preseason camp, Harper popped in a Submersed CD while Luker and several other Texans lifted. "We turned it on," Harper said, "and tried to keep a straight face." Submersed has reappeared on the Texans' weight room playlist, too. "It's good music for what we do in here," Harper said.
As Luker's friends predicted, he hasn't lost any zip on the ball. He has played in three of Tarleton's first four games, completing 4 of 5 passes for 48 yards. He survived that first hit, too. Because quarterbacks aren't live at Tarleton practices and because the No. 16 Texans protect their quarterback well during games, Luker didn't take a real hit until last week, when a receiver running a reverse at practice got confused and slammed into Luker at full speed as Luker tried to hand him the ball. "I stood tall," Luker said. "I acted like it was no big deal."
Luker still plays bass, too. "Every Sunday in church," he said. Last week, he backed girlfriend Green, who made her Texas debut on the mic. The only drawback of his years in the music business, Luker said, is that he now can't listen to a song on the radio without critiquing every note. That makes it tough to find music he likes, but Luker has found one album to put on repeat. "Phantom of the Opera," Luker said. "Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's awesome."
It's doubtful most of Luker's new teammates have heard The Music of the Night, but what do you expect? He's practically from a different generation. When Davis came to Stephenville for a game earlier this month, he called Luker "Grandpa." But Davis, who spent six years strumming alongside Luker, can see that his former bandmate has found happiness. "I can tell he's enjoying being where he's at," Davis said. "You can see it written all over his face. He's having a blast."