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Collins keeps things “unplugged” and mellow every Wednesday night at the Roux House but rocks out for her other gigs.

If Fleetwood Mac had not famously taken the British form of the title first, Allison Collins could have a little fun and name her upcoming album Rumors. The petite beauty with the tight abs and a powerhouse voice captivated the city for nearly a decade beginning in the mid-1990s, before she vanished from the scene.

Wild theories about her were strewn across online message boards, and the longer the public didn’t hear from her, the crazier they got. Little did these posters know that Collins was almost tempted to log on herself and set the record straight. But she didn’t, and now she’ll never have to. The Allison Collins Band is back.

In 2003, with her management and publicity machine at full steam, a debut album on the way and major labels MCA, Sony and Elektra showing interest, Collins was on the verge of breaking out. Then the 27-year-old did something not even her closest friends or biggest fans could have anticipated. She walked away.

“I was tired, just burnt out and miserable,” says Collins, who had gigged steadily since she was 18. “I was singing 200 nights a year, and when I would breathe, my voice would whistle. I didn’t think it was fair to the fans, and I couldn’t let them see that I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. It was fake.”

Collins says she became a Christian at 20 and felt God calling her in another direction. “It was like a test, and God was saying: ‘What’s more important, your career or me?’ And it was Him. If He doesn’t know that now….”

Collins had married longtime boyfriend Kerry Rhys in 2001, and after she retired from rock-n-roll, they began attending services at Jimmy Swaggart Ministries. Soon Collins became a lead vocalist for Swaggart’s Sunday services. Kerry was hired for the band, too. Collins liked blending her faith with her talent, but admits it was a challenging job.

“[Swaggart] had full control over it,” Collins says. “I’d present a song, and he’d say, ‘Sweetheart, that’s not going to bless anybody.’ What he liked was my interpretations of his style.”

Some of these interpretations are still up on YouTube. In one, Swaggart implores Collins to sing the final verse one more time. He can’t get enough of it. After five years of these glory-to-the-rafters performances, Collins found her pitch improved and her voice stronger. Every note Collins sang in church was recorded for radio or television broadcast, allowing her to critique the nuances of each performance, learn her voice and tune it like an instrument better than she ever had before.

Collins never missed the smoke or the bars—she doesn’t drink—but after five years with Swaggart, she missed those nights getting loud and groovy with her favorite songs.

Collins and her husband left Jimmy Swaggart Ministries last year. For her, being a believer and an artist presents unique challenges, especially when her musical taste runs counter to a lot of mainstream Christian music.

“I don’t want to be labeled as a Christian artist because Christian music sucks,” Collins says. “I’m being blunt, but everything sounds the same, and you have a lot of Christian artists influenced only by other Christian artists. It’s this sameness, and it’s just not good. I’ve been influenced by the Stones, the Beatles, Blind Faith—why can’t I use that?”

Last March Collins held a reunion show at one of her former band’s most frequent haunts, the Caterie. More than 200 people turned out to see Collins sing rock-n-roll for the first time in six years. Some diehard fans drove in from other parts of the state. Others booked hotel rooms and flew in for the show.

“It was so touching,” she says. “I didn’t even know I had fans like that.”

This fall Collins began booking regular gigs in Baton Rouge and Hammond. She and her husband have set up a home studio where she keeps busy writing new songs and re-recording some tunes from that unreleased batch back in 2003. She gigs as often as she can, takes care of her three young children and—still in impeccable shape—works as a personal trainer and teaches hip hop and kick-boxing classes at Spectrum.

By chance, Collins recently reconnected with Stephen Klein, her New Orleans-based former manager. They had not spoken since her retirement, and Klein lost everything—including Collins’ contact information—during Katrina. When a mutual acquaintance gave Collins Klein’s new number, she called him immediately. Klein, like the hundreds of fans who’ve celebrated Collins’ return this fall, was thrilled and told her he was ready to work with her again.

“I said, ‘But I’m 34 and have three kids,’” Collins recalls. “He said, ‘It doesn’t matter, let’s go for it!’ So we are.” 
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