In the ladies' restroom of the Orange County bureau of the Los Angeles Times, there's a vending machine that sells Five shades of beige pantyhose. For a long time I've felt that the concentrated forces of female oppression were centered in that vending machine. The idea that a run in a woman's pantyhose would merit an entire vending machine makes me nauseous.

I haven't worn tan pantyhose since leaving Orange County in 1987, but I bought a pair at 7-Eleven the other night — mushroom, the shade was called — to wear to the Christian Fellowship Harvest Crusade at the convention center. I knew the hose would help me fit right in — even worn with a black Spandex miniskirt. A dollar and 99 cents for a force field of protective armour. What a bargain.

The Harvest Christian Fellowship Church, which is association with 28 Calvary Chapel affiliate churches in San Diego sponsored the Summer Harvest Crusade, is based near Orange County. The Harvest Crusade which takes its inspiration from the more famous Bill Graham Crusade but updates it by using younger performers, is playing in several concert venues around California. It already visited Sacramento's Cal Expo Grandstand in June. This month, it moves to the Pacific Amphitheater in Irvine and the Anaheim Stadium.

The Crusade features various youthful Christian singers, a group called the Praise Band, and some bright speakers testifying about Christ, which at the three-night stand in San Diego included anchorperson Carol LeBeau, professional surfing champion Joey Buran, Navy Admiral Brady Jackson, and charismatic pastor Greg Laurie (a dead ringer for Jimm Buffett).

On Friday night, musical guests included Jamie Owens-Collins, Benny Hester, and Dennis Agajanian. Each singer performed variations on the kind of wimpy folk-pop I associate with adult-oriented radio stations like KYXY: Owens- Collins doing the sappy female ballad a la Barbra Streisand. Agajanian doing a Christian-oriented facsimile of country-rock a la the Eagles or Firefall, and Hester performing a very, very watered-down version of the Tom Petty/Billy Joel/Bryan Adams school of midtempo white rock.

As is the case with all music aimed at a cult audience (in which category I would include hardcore, industrial, and the Grateful Dead), the low quality of the artistry is compensated for by the conviction of the audience. As usual, there are always exceptions. Of the three performers Friday night, only Agajanian seemed talented enough to make his living playing secular music; his tunes were derivative but had more sophisticated influences than either of the other two performers. Overall, I was struck by how influential the Byrds have been to all three performers: musically, that band seems to have played the role in Christian rock circles that the Beatles fill in the rest of rock. Perhaps this is because of the song "Turn! Turn! Turn!" which took its lyrics from Ecclesiastes. Or maybe it's because they're the only rock band of the last three decades who managed to be groundbreaking without being dangerous. Christian rock, however, is to the Byrds as the Monkees were to the Beatles.

Stale '70s staples such as America, Seals and Crofts, and England Dan and John Ford Coley are just a few of the "rock" bands whose music has inspired these performers. Christian rock songs — as played by the Praise Band and all the performers — were keyboard heavy and full of saccharine, tinkling sound of synthesizers and layers of soaring female harmonies. The Praise Band does have a bass player and a drummer, but they must have had their rhythm surgically removed because the music they played was entirely bottomless. The result was neither folksy nor bluesy, neither fish nor fowl. A less funky — or more white — form of Gospel can not be imagined.

As for the lyrics, songs like Owens-Collins's "You Have Broken the Chains" and Hester's "He Came Out of an Empty Tomb" were based either on stories from the New Testament or on the generalized love of God — Him, as opposed to him You'd think it wouldn't make such a difference, but it does — perhaps because love of "Him" is sexless and therefore lacking in the passion that love of "him" usually evokes.

Agajanian sang a song about the Prodigal Son, a character whom Laurie also spent a lot of time discussing. During the song, I compared his take on the Prodigal story to that of Australian punk singer Nick Cave, whose latest album The Good Son is devoted to the same topic. In Agajanian and Laurie's version of the tale, the feelings of the father (in the role of a loving and accepting God) are dwelt upon at length, while the Prodigal himself, though taken back into the fold, is subtly belittled by the flock for having dared to stray. In Cave's version, the feelings dwelt on are twofold: the humiliation of the Prodigal at having to return home and the feelings of the good son — the one who stayed put while his brother wandered, the one who has never seen the bright lights of the big city and yet who in the end sees his father accepting his brother, faults and all. To me, the aspects of the Prodigal story that Cave sings about are more compelling than what concerns Laurie and Agajanian.

Additionally, unlike Cave, the charisma level of these artists is minimal. As I sat there listening to this sleep-inducing, beatless music, to LeBeau's unconvincing testimony, and finally to Laurie's reasons why we should all renounce the acts he thinks sinful, I found myself looking idly out across the bay at the Coronado bridge. It was a beautiful night in San Diego. I felt an overpowering urge to nip across the street and pick up a few items on sale at Cost Plus.

Then Laurie began entreating people to come up to the podium in order to be "saved," to accept Christ into their hearts. As thousands of of concertgoers began walking by me, I wondered: What is it they've done that's so bad they want to be forgiven for it? I looked at everyone who was walking up: white couples with neat hair and babies in their arms; cute 14-year-old girls in stone-washed jeans and pink T-shirts, holding hands with their best friends and giggling, a pair of nine-year-old brothers in matching fluorescent lime OP shorts, some neatly dressed older Asian men. Every one of them looked like mainstream America, happy families on a night out. What is this emptiness in their lives? Do they feel unhappy, soulless? Do they beat their children, snap back at their parents, do drugs, sleep around? Do they lie awake at night thinking about the terrible things America has done to Iraq, about Kurds freezing and starving in camps on the Turkish border, how America has betrayed them? Do they torture themselves over cruelty to coworkers? Have they withheld raises from single mothers? Told lies about some boy in class who walks home alone while the other kids taunt him: "Faggot! Queer!"

I suppose appearances are deceiving, but nobody looked guilty. They must have been feeling bad about something, though; that's why so many of them rose to their feet and went to the podium, where converts were greeted by Crusade counselors, given a gift pack containing a Bible, made to sign some kind of promise to be good, and then steered toward various churches they could attend. Crusade leaders speculated that around 1/3 of all Harvest concertgoers attend no organized church, a figure they hope to change.

According to the Christian Fellowship, located in the Inland Empire of San Bernardino, the Harvest Crusade turnout in San Diego drew a total of 30,000 people, more than twice the Lollapalooza Festival, held in conjunction with 91X's annual X-Fest, which occurred at Southwestern College's Devore Stadium in Chula Vista the same weekend. The bill featured the Rollins Band, the Butthole Surfers, Ice-T, Nine Inch Nails, Living Colour, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and headliners Jane's Addiction. I had attended the opening night of Lollapalooza in Phoenix, the night before the Crusade in San Diego. As I sat in the convention center listening to the music, I recalled the highlights of the nine-hour event, the madness and the euphoria, and I suddenly realized how similar it was, in a strange way, to what was going on around me.

Of course, you can compare and contrast anything: once, in a college comparative literature class, I compared and contrasted a poem by Catullus with the lyrics to Bruce Springsteen's "Candy's Room" and found them not dissimilar. But many of the similarities between the Harvest Crusade and the Lollapalooza Festival aren't only close, they're uncanny. If it wasn't that one event — the crusade — was free, they could be identical, at least in intention if not execution. And since the Lollapalooza Festival organizers took a substantial cut in profits by allowing seven bands on the bill where two would do, and the organizers of the crusade expect to reap delayed profits through the number of converts they hope to make, even that fades into insignificance.

Like the Harvest Crusade, Lollapalooza was aimed at an "alternative" audience. The Harvest Crusade was selling Christ, to make converts of the random audience of people attracted by the free music, whereas the Lollapalooza Festival was hoping to make converts of attendees musically and politically. On the first front, Jane's Addiction intended to introduce its listeners to music by more obscure artists. Secondly, the tour featured a tent showcasing the works of local artists as well as information booths from various political organization,s including Refuse and Resist, Greenpeace, the National Abortion Rights Action League, Handgun Control Inc., and Rock the Vote. (The organizers of Lollapalooza also invited right-wing organization to participate, including the NRA and pro-life groups, but those groups allegedly refused to take part.) Except for the occasional aside by Laurie about how bad it is that American doesn't teach Christianity in the public schools, the Harvest Crusade's political agenda was less upfront. Surely the Christian crusade in America has just as many political agendas as social ones.

There were countless minor points at which both events could be compared, such as festival seating, multiple acts, and the long lines at the concession stands and bathrooms. When the days are done, both concerts will have drawn just about the same number of people in their Southern California dates. But the main similarity between the two events was one of intent. Conversion to a certain set of values, for the good of one's soul, and, incidentally, for the monetary enhancement of some corporation looming in the background — in the case of Harvest, the Christian Fellowship, and in the case of Lollapalooza, the bands, agents, promoters, and record companies involved in the proceedings.

What's even more striking is the way each form of entertainment attempts, through music, to fill a void in the listeners' lives — a purely emotional void. It would be impossible to rationalize any of the promises of future happiness by any other faction. Laurie's guarantees that Christ loves you or Jane's Addiction's less concrete assurances. But emotionally, Shakespeare was right: "If music be the food of love, play on ..." and love is what they're selling — love, comfort, and unconditional acceptance by one's peers. Belonging, the longing of all humans. At the Harvest Festival, it's God, the pastor promises, who will accept you, sins and all. At Lollapalooza, it's Perry Farrell. "God loves you," says Pastor Greg Laurie. "Now, turn to your neighbor and hug each other!" Farrell says. "I can make a man or woman of you in 25 strokes. Now, turn to your neighbor and hump them!"

Another telling similarity between both concerts is the label issue. Owens-Collins and Hester both have albums out on obscure independent labels, albeit Christian ones (Live Oak and Frontline Records respectively), just as Henry Rollins has released records on Texas Hotel Records, Nine Inch Nails appears on the TVT label, and the Butthole Surfers for the Touch and Go and the now-defunct Rough Trade. None of these acts — Hester or Rollins — will have an easy time being heard on conventional radio. But then, neither acts' core audience wants them to be. A true Christian Crusader is as appalled by Amy Grant's secularly successful new LP as the most politically correct college radio deejay will be when he finds out that Rollins has just signed to BMG subsidiary Imago or that the Buttholes are being wooed by Capitol. Whether referring to Christian pop or psychobilly shock rock, no one wants to see his private pleasures co-opted by the masses.

That may not be a very charitable attitude, but it's a natural one, and naturalistic is what Lollapalooza was. The entire concert was a celebration of natural functions the Harvest people might have called sins: human frailties such as sexuality, excitement, and fun. (There were several strong anti-drug statements made at both concerts.) It was also cross-cultural, thanks to the inclusion of black acts Ice-T, his band Body Count, and Living Colour, who play songs that are reality based. Ice T's version of "Fuck the Police," Living Colour's "Open Letter (To a Landlord)," "Cult of Personality," Jane's "Ted, Just Admit." Jane's Addiction even has a song about how Godless society seems today called "Had a Dad." All these songs contain more compassion, more humanity than the Crusade artists could ever muster in their more fantasy-ridden music.

For example, during the Harvest Crusade, singer Agajanian told a story about a televised debate he had with a prostitute. "Next time I saw her," he said, sanctimoniously, "she was dressed totally differently! She'd found Jesus Christ our Lord!" Agajanian acted as though the woman always wanted to be a prostitute until she heard him speak. Compare his attitude with the lyrics to "Jane Says," Jane's Addiction's song about a prostitute trying to kick heroin. "Jane says, 'I'm done with Sergio, he treats me like a rag doll,' she hides the television, says 'I don't owe him nothing ...'" Did Agajanian ever ask the supposedly saved prostitute how she was making ends meet? Did he ask her if she needed any help? Did he, like singer Perry Farrell, ever recognize the sadness of her situation? Does he understand the poignancy of the words "Jane says, she's never been in love, no, she don't know what it is, 'only know if someone wants me. I want them if they want me ...'" After attending Lollapalooz and the Harvest Crusade, I realized Jane's attitude applies to most of us. We've never been in love, but we know when someone wants us.