The White Hot Apostle Strikes Again!
This is not a review of the new Soul-Junk album, 1956. This is a preview of things to come. It isn't the turning of a new leaf, but the growth of a completely new tree--and hopefully an entire orchard.
Once you hear the fruit of the Spirit of Soul-Junk, you'll wonder why David never thought to plug in his harp. Where do I start? The music showers down around you, as an enormous ensemble of robotic crustaceans hammer away on their rattling, percussive armor with croquet mallets. Above you, a flock of bells soar, towing a net full of banjoes, flutes, and cell phones.
As you stumble about in 3-D glasses, falling over a violin-wielding lobster, you land in the embrace of a mandolin-playing octopus. You are now juggled, then launched face-first into an open Bible, joining Isaiah at the altar. Did I mention the trumpet?
Now, if that's difficult to endure, let's journey on to the beauty of this work--its message. Find yourself nestled deeply in a bed of multi-colored blips and bleeps where Mr. Glen Galaxy (a.k.a.--Galaxalag) eloquently delivers his many-syllabled sermon. It can be summarized in three words: "Jesus Not Religion." A call to arms has been given by way of futuristic raps and saturating melodies. A prescription has been issued that you can't get enough of. The harmonies are completely contagious. The beats are delivered with jet-fighter precision, then shattered by an onslaught of chiming guitars, wind tunnel Scripture chanting, and piano/key comets. You would not at all be surprised to hear R2-D2 sputtering frantically from behind the mixing board.
I just got kicked off the lectern at a worship song summit
my hymns all plummet cuz church ladies still can't hum it
but the Kingdom of GOD? yo, I'm from it
man's religion gave me a fake red light so--I'ma have to run it
Few "CHRISTian" bands ever venture out of vague-man's land with the spiritual stamina Soul-Junk displays. Their expression is all too refreshing and their message all too important today.
Hold your life and lose it
release life and you gain it
you grip too tight, it slips (right?) so let it go
Galaxy has once again tapped into his never-ending pipeline of pertinent proverbs and spirit-searching syntax, shining GOD's light into dark corners everywhere. Brother Jon Galaxy's bottomless basket of programming blossoms as always, leaving a sweet taste in your ears. And if
Nathan Poage isn't an android, he alone proves talented, human drummers aren't yet obsolete in
today's music.
Soul-Junk's new anthems teeter gracefully between some form of alien retro-rock and cosmic-quantum hip-hop. GOD is exalted ("The Uprisen Savior, manifestin' thru these mics & blastin' out your graveyard"), and man is given a clean-cut reality check ("Savor every bite Galaxalag gave you, turn and tell your neighbor / this ball of dirt is going into labor").
1956 has 17 tracks unfolding in just under 64 minutes. Visits from Pigeon John, Pish Posh, and DJ 3rd rail add to the variety and intensity of the lyrical splendor. All of Soul-Junk's work exudes the Spirit and power missing from so much "CHRISTian" music today. However, if the track " Dry Bones" (from Ezekiel 37) can be applied to our present predicament, after a great noise is heard, the bones all come together, are filled with the breath of GOD, and then stand as an exceedingly great army. Do you see what I'm saying?
1956 is a treasure, a pearl of great price. Seek it with all your might. You will neither regret it, nor remain the same.
