On BarlowGirl, The Prince of Egypt, and Purity Culture

I remember my cousin asking me what kind of music I liked when I was about thirteen years old. This sounded like a simple question, which should have a simple answer. But inside I panicked. I didn’t have the right answer. 

The truthful reply would have been The Prince of Egypt soundtrack and a Celtic instrumental CD my grandmother had bought for me at some touristy visitors’ center. 

I might have been sheltered, but I knew enough to know that saying I liked bagpipe songs and music from cartoons was not a good idea if I wanted to be thought of as any sort of cool. And deep down, I just wanted to be a normal teenager.

I tried to think of something to say, anything that would make me sound like not a child. 

“Country music?” my cousin asked.

“Sure. John Denver.” Great, I had solved my dilemma by naming one of my parents’ favorite singers. Not cool.

Music has always been a sore spot for me. I never know what I’m supposed to like, or what the music I do like says about me to other people. My brother was always better at knowing what was worth listening to. His taste is on point without being predictable. 

I don’t worry about what people think of me as much anymore. I like what I like. Don’t judge me. Sometimes I still go back to those Celtic laments. I even sing “Deliver Us” with my internal Miriam voice now and then. 

My music tastes didn’t venture very far as a teenager. I had a Carole King CD, the soundtrack to The Parent Trap, some English folk music. My first dive into the world of CCM (Contemporary Christian Music for those of you unblessed) was the all-female quartet Point of Grace. If you’re not familiar, Point of Grace was like a pumpkin-spice latte drinking, Ugg boot wearing, white evangelical girl you might see in an advertisement for Christian Mingle, but in the 90s, which means there were mom jeans involved. Too harsh? I’m just saying I was basic. If you’re nice, you could say I had an old (entirely uncool) soul.

So I was not exactly inspired. But fast-forward to the mid-2000s, and I was tired of four-part harmony and wanted something a little more edgy (thought the girl with the purple denim shorts). The only radio stations I was allowed to listen to were country, the Oldies, and Christian. My choices were slim, but somehow I found BarlowGirl.

BarlowGirl was a band made of three sisters, who wore a little bit of black leather, used black eyeliner, had hair with layers, and played guitar and drums like real rockers. To make it all okay (at least in my mind at the time), they sang about topics that had real impact on my life: modesty and purity. I was in love. I could listen to music with an actual beat and still be able to say I was being edified in my faithfulness as a stay-at-home daughter.

Some BarlowGirl songs I remember perfectly, and they still make me smile. Others haven’t aged so well. Take for example “Average Girl”: “No more dating, I'm just waiting, like sleeping beauty my prince will come for me.” This was just like the story I was supposed to be living out: as a hidden-away “princess” waiting for life to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be average. I was supposed to be passive, submissive. Waiting. But the song helped me feel okay in my different-ness. It made me feel like there were other girls waiting too.

The song “Clothes” was a little more direct in its message: “Clothes aren't what they used to be. They don't seem to fit you and me anymore. Modesty is out the door. Flaunting what we've got and more is in.” As a teenager who struggled to buy clothes that I liked and that were at the same time extremely modest, these words resonated with me and let me feel some “righteous anger.” Only deep down, I wasn’t mad at the fashion powers that be; I was really just mad that I couldn’t wear the clothes I thought were cute, the clothes in the juniors section, not the misses section.

These songs are from way way back, when I was deep in purity culture. They were like mantras to me, in a way. I felt like BarlowGirl got my life. I felt like maybe I did belong somewhere. With other girls who didn’t wear spaghetti straps, who weren’t allowed to date boys, but who still wanted to have a good time.

The truth was I felt alone, lost as a teen (like most teens, I suppose), and these girls made me feel like there was more of a support system than there really was. This music gave me community, a sense of togetherness, like the choices I had to live with would end up okay.

That sense of community would eventually crumble when I stepped outside the bounds, but for the moment, I felt safe.

I don’t know where the Barlow sisters are these days on the topic of purity. We all know that the whole purity world has been flipped upside down with Joshua Harris recanting his book, and things are shaking loose. So who knows?

But reminiscing about “my CCM glory days” has me thinking about how much teenage girls (and boys) need to feel belonging, to feel like they are accepted. If we could channel that need into something less shame-inducing, less self-righteous than purity culture teaching, we would be doing a good thing. 

If I could go back and talk to fifteen-year-old me, I’d say to let loose a little. You won’t always fit in, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect. Stop being so paranoid about whether the peasant top you bought is too low-cut. It’s okay that you have a crush on that boy at church. Listen to as many kinds of music as you can (even if you have to sit and listen with the headphones in the media section at Borders for hours) just to see what you really like. And if The Prince of Egypt is really still your favorite, belt out “All I Ever Wanted” as loud as you want.