Since 1995, Don Chaffer has led the band Waterdeep. The band has undergone a few lineup changes, flirted with record labels while getting caught in Squint’s demise and persevered through it all. To celebrate the release of their first studio project in nearly four years, I sat down with Don on the telephone to catch up with the band. I tried to edit as little as possible which means that the interview is long, so I’ve broken it up into two parts, the first appearing today and the second being here. Enjoy.

• Where and when were you born?

May 18, 1972, Ottowa, Ontario, CA, my Dad was on exchange with the Royal Airforce, my Dad was a U.S. Airforce fighter pilot. My Mom happened to be Canadian-born, but that was sort of a coincidence.

• Were you raised in a musical home?

More or less, my parents were always involved in choirs and so was I as a child along with my sister and my brothers as well. All of us played instruments starting in the fourth grade. I played the cello all the way through college and occasionally on recordings still.

• How had your family and upbringing impacted your art?

Utterly in one word. I think the family of origin question is gigantic in everybody’s psychological makeup and no less in mine. I was the youngest. There was an eight-year gap between my older two brothers and my sister and I. My sister was actually adopted because of my parents’ inability to have a baby at that time. So we had an unusual set of “families” in a sense. “The Boys and the Babes” as my Mom referred to us; the two older brothers and then the younger kids, my sister and I. That, combined with a pretty transient lifestyle with my Dad being involved in the Air Force and then he was involved in, sort of, arms-dealing in the 80’s after he retired from the Air Force as Lt. Colonel. We lived in St. Charles, MO for seven years which is a suburb of St. Louis, then we moved to a suburb of Kansas City, MO

• When did you first become interested in music?

I’d say probably 9 or 10 years old, I was singing in choir and I really enjoyed it. And then somewhere around there I remember getting into Styx and Chicago. These are records that my brothers would have been playing and then I remember when Michael Jackson’s Thriller came out. That was a big deal, being “my generation’s” pop music as opposed to my brothers’. At a certain point, I guess at around 11 or 12 years old, I had a conversion experience. My older brother was the one who sat my sister and I down on the couch and gave us a fairly Boolean logic kind of Gospel pitch: “with Christ equals heaven, without Christ equals hell,” so we opted for Christ and what was behind door number one.

• Have you had formal musical training?

I have a degree in music from the University of Missouri, Kansas City and I played cello all the way through college and studied all the music theory and history and all that stuff that you’re supposed to to get a degree in music.

• At what point did you realize that music was your life’s calling and at what point did you realize that it was actually feasible?

I would say I was in High School. I actually had a kind of a renaissance with poetry at some time between the ninth and tenth grade because I remember in the ninth grade seeing a flier on the wall for a poetry contest and I remember thinking consciously “Poetry’s sort of stupid, I don’t want to do that; like it’s a stack of statements that aren’t particularly sensical,” I think I remember having that sort of attitude about it and then the next year I won. So somewhere in there was a transition between feeling anti-poetry and then writing it. I would say adolescence was pretty rough on me. I’d say the birth was a bit bloody into manhood. Not literally a birth nor literally bloody.

The poetry thing was key, and then I started writing these songs. One of the turn-around things for me as a Christian was this particular youth group ski trip in which I basically surrendered my agnosticism in favor of the knowledge of God and more particularly, God’s knowledge of me. There was just this moment in the mountains and I read Psalm 139 and the line that nabbed me was “You understand my thoughts from afar” because I felt like nobody understood me. And so the thought that someone might know me, the inner workings of my mind, was particularly overwhelming; a source of great, if not also painful joy.

At that same ski trip, this college girl had an acoustic guitar and played these worship songs and we all sang together which I hadn’t done in a long time, or at least not sung anything that I enjoyed because I went to a Presbyterian church where we sang hymns and stuff. In retrospect, it wasn’t awful or anything, but I was into Dylan and The Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel at that time and let’s just say that the music we were doing at church wasn’t representative as some of the 70’s worship stuff was. So I thought, “I’m going to learn how to play the guitar so that I can lead us in worship so we don’t have to have this girl here because she won’t always be here.”

In the process of learning guitar, I discovered that I could marry the poetry and the music and then I played a few songs for my older brother who was also a musician and he had some basic recording equipment and recorded me. I was kind of downplaying it and was actually thinking about visual arts as well at that point. He said, “I think you may really have something here and you should consider it,” and, especially coming from him, I really kind of idolized him, it became a serious consideration. When I got into college I started playing with other people and on it went from there, it was kind passive concentric discoveries

• If you weren’t involved with music, what might you do?

I might be a writer, involved in church work.

• Are you still involved in visual art?

I sketch in church during sermons.

• Have you had to make sacrifices for your art?

Absolutely. It is a strange lifestyle, particularly the road lifestyle, which we no longer do with the birth of our first son we got off the road. It’s a totally bizarre lifestyle. In fact, I remember a vivid moment when my wife and I were looking at the touring schedule for a particular tour. We were in a van, we never really toured in a bus except for maybe a couple of tours which is a totally different lifestyle from van touring. In van touring, you’re all getting up at the crack of dawn and somebody’s driving and you’re bouncing around and smelling each others’ … But in bus touring, it’s the whole driving at night thing and you get there early and there’s a lot more latitude in the schedule. Anyway, we were looking at this particularly rough van tour and looking at several consecutive nights of 4 or 5 hours of sleep and I turned to my wife and said “Oh, I get it, a pill to wake up in the morning and a pill to go to sleep at night” and all of the sudden, after a certain amount of time doing it, you realize that that’s how this happens. That’s how people get into these sorts of tricky life decisions because it’s a really demanding lifestyle.

I’d also say that there is a degree of financial insecurity that comes about as a result of making the decision to do this. That’s always been fine for me for the most part, but with a wife and two kids and a mortgage and employees, certainly I feel the weight of it more profoundly.

• Was your family supportive of your decision to pursue music as a career?

Surprisingly so. I couldn’t say why. My parents loved music and had a fairly good sense of; they wanted their children to do what made them happy and they left like I was talented. I think if they had thought I wasn’t talented, they would have tried to dissuade me. But it turned out they thought I could do it and they were into it.

• Can you share a bit about your “salvation experience”? (i.e. testimony: how did you come to salvation?)

I would consider when my brother sat us down as a significant experience because I followed it with a lifestyle change and a real avid interest in connecting things of the Church with my lifestyle. It took me a long time, I would say, to sort out, and is still taking a long time to find the core of the undefiled Gospel. The experiences I was having in church, and the sort of confused self that I was, but I would consider that a watershed moment.

• How does your faith affect your art?

Utterly, in a word, once again. There’s no divorcing the fact that I believe in Christ from anything I do, ultimately. I almost don’t know how to answer that. I’ve been a Christian now for 24 years in some measure of faithfulness or another. There’s just so much about my faith that’s like breathing at this point. I’ve also been doing music professionally as a living since 1995 and had bands since 1990, so when you ask the question what would I do if I wasn’t doing music, I don’t know, I’ve never done anything else. I could do other things if I needed to, but I don’t.

• How do you intentionally communicate your faith without falling into “Christian-ese?”

I have had a number of intentional thoughts along those lines: where’s the balance of communicating something “faith-related” versus not. What’s the balance of communicating something honest and really even peculiar? Peculiar as in distinct, meaning not general; particular maybe would be a better word.

I think the answer at this point is that I have tried to get to the point where I don’t think about it. Honestly, the deal is, because of the nature of how I make a living now, and because of the nature of Waterdeep and the fact that we made a run at; we took a stab at commercial success in some measure, albeit more or less on our terms, I’ve just realized that people aren’t coming to us to hear pop ditties. So I don’t have to worry about it and I just do whatever comes naturally. Just like Ringo Starr said about being in the moves: “All I have to do is act naturally.” So I think that all of this stuff that seems to be integrated with faith is a natural outgrowth in my life and all the stuff that seems to be “dirt under the fingernails” is a natural outgrowth of my life and it’s not something I’ve had to work at. That honestly may be a bit of a cop-out, but it works nicely for me.

• Has fatherhood changed your perspective on your art?

Utterly. Bob Dylan said one time in an interview “Children are the great equalizers.” It just changes absolutely everything about the way you see life. I think I tended to see things a little more darkly before I had the wise eyes of babies and toddlers looking at me. We have two kids now. Especially now; I come home and my one-year old who has just recently begun to say things like “Mommy” and “Bye” comes running and says “Daddy” and holds her arms up and there’s this sort of innocence; not a sort of innocence, an almost shockingly eye-level innocence in these kids. You just can’t look at the world in the same way.

For me it’s been incredibly restorative and refreshing and almost like the cure for cynicism. I’m not sure I would say I was fundamentally cynical as much as depressive or melancholy; not that those things have disappeared utterly from my makeup. Maybe it’s even affected the art in the opposite direction because I feel free to confess those things; they don’t feel dangerous anymore because I recognize that an equal balance against them; the presence of wonder and innocence and provision and this sort of nakedness of need in life. They remind you that you have all of those things too, whether you like to admit it or not.

• In an interview on your website, you said: “We’ve come to realize that God most often works through people in relationship, in community, with one another,” Are you actively involved in a local church? Why or why not?

Yes.

• What role, if any, do you think local churches ought to take in supporting the arts from a biblical perspective?

Oh, I don’t know. I’ve wrestled with this off and on over the years and I don’t know the solution. At one point I was even going to plant a church: I had the high-minded ideal of doing some sort of arts integration thing. These days I’m much more content within my vocation to do whatever it is that I feel sort of spiritually drawn to in terms of influencing artists. I actually think that the presence of money in that deal is good, which is funny: if I told my 20-year old self that I’d probably be aghast, but there’s something about the exchange of value: I give you something valuable to me in exchange for something valuable from you that actually ups the ante to some level.

It’s been a really good experience for me over the last 4 or 5 years that I’ve been producing to just be involved in people’s lives in that way. I think that the way church ought to function in artists’ lives; I think; I think that I think, that it’s pretty much the same as it ought to function in anybody else’s life and that in fact, the more normal it is for the artistic disposition, the better it will accomplish the kind of grounding that artists’ need. I mean “we” artists as opposed to “those artists” out there, obviously, because I’m one of them. I think that getting to know people who are completely other than myself or being in an environment where my gift of making music or writing lyrics, or whatever, is not the center of attention. These things are incredibly healthy, both for the ego and spiritual formation. That having been said, I feel like I’m a part of a church that has a real open dialogue about spirituality and the way it impacts our life and also a real openness to creativity and an openness to other ways of expressing or talking about things.

It hasn’t been an issue of authority as much, that issue doesn’t feel like it gets lorded over me as much as I’ve had at other places, so that’s nice. I think that authority; well, who knows, I’m certainly not an expert on history on culture and certainly there have been cultures with dramatically more authority and with presumably good results. We’re certainly a very individualistic society: “Don’t tell me what to do, that kind of thing.” I recognize there’s a place for authority, but it seems like when it comes more out of a desire to be helped than out of the desire to help, it’s more genuine. Like when Paul talks about in Corinthians about “comfort others with the comfort with which you’ve been comforted,” so, maybe in the spirit of that, lead others in the spirit of the leadership with which you’ve been led. If there’s no “led-en-ness,” now we’re into dense metals, but if you’ve never been a constituent, then essentially you’re ill-suited go lead others. Unfortunately, I think . . . well, I won’t get into that . . .

• What are your thoughts on the current “Christian” music scene?

I think that music in general is in a transition at this point. “Christian” music is an unusual genre because it’s defined not by music but by thematic content or lyrical content. This is not a new idea. Certainly plenty of other people before me have said it. It’s also defined by religion and it’s defined by a bizarre conglomerate of religions and there tends to be a strong sensitivity to the “squeaky wheel” in the context of Christian music. Radio programmers, for the most part, are terrified of getting call-ins and complaints and things, despite the fact that many times, the call-ins and complaints are coming from, you know, whackos! That’s not to say that anybody has ever complained is a whacko, but it is to say that there is a representative edge of the Christian subculture that is, you know, a little on the disturbed side it’s terrible that they get handed the wheel as often as they do.

All that having been said, I probably don’t have as many problems with it as a lot of the iconoclast friends that I know. Maybe part of that is because I earn my living off it more or less. Maybe that means I’m a “sell out,” but I don’t think so.

I guess I think this: I actually think there’s “sacred” music and “non-sacred” music. The sacred music is the music that’s created to assist in or perform the functions of the church. For the most part this would be worship music. There might be some other kinds of music that would be, not what we would think of as worship music, but that would assist in liturgical things.

And then I think there’s other music. For the most part, Christian music exists to . . . well, I don’t actually know the end of that sentence. I think the sacred music is good, it is what it is and it can be done well or poorly, but it is what it is. I think the other music, for the most part, we don’t need to make other music that is competitive in the general pop market, but it’s fine if we do. I guess that’s how I feel about it. There was a time when it was utterly critical, when the general consensus was: “Look, we have to make our own music or else the fallen world, out there, that thinks all these devilish thoughts, they’re going to have their hands on the wheel and we’d better take control of the arts.” Now, I guess I just feel a lot more open-handed about God moving. The fact is that anybody who belongs to His family is inspired, in part by Him and is certainly handed a great deal of grace in order to be involved, so far be it for us to say that He is not moving out there. I don’t know if I’m talking very coherently about this or not.

Honestly, my feeling is that; you know, it’s funny because as much as I’m involved in it, I’m a lot more interested in the people than I am working with; whether that’s an A&R guy or an artist or a manager or a bass player or a drummer or whatever than I am in the industry at large. I think it’s so easy to paint broad strokes when talking about the industry, but I’ve met a lot of really good people in the industry. I think you just have to try to make your decision in the moment: “What are we trying to accomplish” and then go out and accomplish it.

I’m aware of the “invisible” or “not-so-invisible” restrictions placed on music, but you have that stuff everywhere. It’s not like you’re going to play a worship song in a bar and not expect to get yelled at by somebody, or at least not be surprised if you do get yelled at. “Holy is the Lord God Almighty” is a beautiful sentiment, but it might not work too well in a bar. I sometimes think that maybe we get all up-in-arms about context, but context is life.

• Are there any current “Christian” artists you think are doings it right?

I guess I think, maybe most of them? (if you can convey the rising pitch at the end of that sentence that would be good!). I don’t know for sure, I just don’t have a golden standard that I’m applying to artists. Different people try to accomplish different things. One of the main roles that I have as a producer is to try to find out what that is. Are you “at home” in what you’re doing? That would be my main question.

There are people who I’m sure, some of our fans, who are a little left of center in terms of their tastes and so on and so forth. I don’t mean that politically, although that may be the case too. So our left-of-center fans would never listen to some of the people that I’ve actually written songs with and stuff like that. To the degree that I feel a sense of settled-ness in those people, I’m happy to be a part of what they’re doing. Sincerity, but not necessarily sincerity in music if that makes sense. Some people love pop music and pop music is not fundamentally about sincerity. I remember hearing a David Bowie interview during the Glam Rock era in which he suddenly became interested in “the surface of things.” He said there were so many people being so earnest, and that’s of course, the great line from Achtung Baby from U2 where they say in “Even Better Than the Real Thing” maybe, where he says: “I want to slide down the surface of things.”

I think that there are a lot of ways to get to truth if truth is the goal, which it may not always be. The surface can be shiny and pleasant. I don’t know if that makes sense. I just don’t see it the way I used to. I know what my bent is and my bent is to be kind of overwhelmingly honest. But, like I said, part of the benefit I’ve received in the context of community is to realize that not everybody lives this way. It’s good that I do what I do, but it’s got to be done in a balance; in the balance of community and also in my own life. I have to realize, certainly with my children that they don’t need to hear my darkest thoughts. In fact, they really shouldn’t hear them for a long time, and maybe never, depending on whether the situation arises when they might benefit from that.

It’s real easy to be black and hang our heads low. I don’t mean that in a sarcastic way. But seriously, I believe that it’s easy to be morbid and call it compassionate. I’m really giving you long answers on some of these, sorry.

• You alluded earlier to your experience with a record label. How has that affected things for you? What are the pros and cons to the more commercial or independent sides of the business.

Each one had their trade-offs. I think that independent artists typically have a greater latitude of freedom creatively. But to the degree that money helps you accomplish creative things, they may be restricted. I think that, for the most part, creativity is not bound by money and in fact, sometimes a cheaper record actually yields a more creative process because the restrictions placed on it cause people to thrive under the challenge.

In terms of artistic latitude, I would hazard a guess that more independent artists have more of it. Art, though, I’ve been discovering, is not purely a function of creativity and of options, it’s also a function of connections and sometimes a function of clarity. So that clarity of intent and clarity of communication. Maybe that intent is not as much the intent of the artist as the intent of the art, which is an aside that I’ll just orphan for the time being. But that clarity, broadly speaking, is what commercialism, or the common touch, or whatever you want to call it, is. I’m trying to think of an example: “I can’t live if living is without you, then I don’t want to live.” It’s a pretty simple statement, but anybody that’s ever felt that, and especially when it’s set to a teeming, soaring melody, boy, it can hit you just the right way. To the degree that that stuff is sensationalized, that can be a problem, but not if it’s function is to be sensationalized. Brian Eno once said, he’s the producer who worked with Talking Heads and U2, and David Bowie, he once said that “if culture is a garden, somebody has to be the manure.” So there’s a place for everybody. How did I end up there? What was the question?

Labels have been responsible for trend jumping. That would be a criticism, but at the same time, I would say that it would be what makes radio work as the household appliances that they are. Once Nirvana comes out with “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” we would like to hear other things that aren’t “Smells Like Teen Spirit” so that we don’t get sick of the song but we want that vague sense of the same sort of “drive, despair, and vague desire to destroy things.” So we look to radio; we want to click a knob and have that thing come out of the speakers and we don’t really care where it comes from or how authentic it is a lot of times.

I’m not sure all the train jumping is all that bad. On the other hand, there’s no comparison to the real illuminiary and ascendiary artists of our age. For example, I like Nirvana way better than I like no name grunge band that I can’t remember.

• Visit the official Waterdeep website
• Read part two of this interview