He’s met his dream girl, only to lose her through a series of unfortunate events, often of his own design. He’s made it to church on Sundays even after he’s spent all of Friday and Saturday drowning his sorrows in whiskey bottles.

He finds love only to break her heart. Sometimes, he’s on the opposite end, and he breaks hers. He drinks, and stumbles, and fails. But Wallen doesn’t stop trying. He pledges to change his ways. If you’ll just give him one more chance.

Wallen’s music catalogues it’s a never-ending cycle of failure and redemption. These apologies often arrive in Wallen’s elongated albums stuffed with bumper-sticker advice, a trend which has become increasingly common in country music.

A large portion of the appeal of Wallen’s country music stems from his nonchalant confidence. His songs are designed to convince audiences that he’s relatable, authentic, and (thanks to all that bumper-sticker advice) a role model.

If only it were true.

Outside of his music career, Wallen underwent scrutiny for a video of him saying the n-word during a drunken rant. There was fallout, a brief public hiatus, and what many considered to be a halfhearted apology, but it did little to halt his music’s popularity.

His last two albums have shattered country streaming and sales records. One Thing at a Time is currently the biggest country album of all time and the most popular album of the 2020s by most metrics.

The album is vintage Wallen. Thirty-plus songs that start to feel like one big rhythm of messing up and asking for forgiveness. After a while, it all blends together in a potent concoction of heartbreak, apologies, substance abuse, and drinking. So much drinking.    

POSITIVE CONTENT

Wallen can tell when he’s messed up. Most of the time, he’s quick to recognize when he needs to apologize and admit his mistakes.

“Dying Man” shows a lonesome Wallen who’s desperate and worried about his drinking habits catching up to him. But eventually a new, healthy relationship with a woman saves him from this fate.

It’s also clear that Wallen has an understanding of Christianity. One Thing at a Time includes song titles such as “In the Bible” and “Don’t Think Jesus” with more subtle references like “Wine into Water,” “I Wrote the Book,” and “Man Made a Bar.”

It’s in these religious reflections where Wallen confronts his mistakes and the man he wishes he was. He admits, “Yeah the good Lord knows I need it/I didn’t write it, but I probably oughta read it” in reference to the Bible.

CONTENT CONCERNS

Yet, the stark reality of Wallen’s understanding of God appears immediately when he says, “Backroads and cold beer/Are my down-home prayer/Can’t get no closer/To the Man upstairs.” He goes on to say if his country lifestyle were in the Bible, then he’d be “one h— of a disciple.”

“Man Made a Bar” re-imagines the opening days of creation when God created man. In Wallen’s version, man gets lonely even after God gives him a woman. So what else does man turn to but building a bar to drink away his loneliness? Wallen’s borderline blasphemy is played for sarcasm. But it’s an alarming revelation of how quickly Wallen turns to alcohol as the solution to his problems.

In a song, sometimes alcohol just means alcohol. But to Wallen, booze is an all-encompassing metaphor. On “I Deserve a Drink,” Wallen sings, “you’re burning hotter than a bourbon with no water/And I want your buzz in my veins.” He goes on to say, “you’re another shot I shouldn’t knock back.” It’s not the only time he compares his lust for women to his lust for drink, temptation and all.

“Wine into Water” takes the biblical miracle of turning water into wine and turns it into a twisted scene of attempted forgiveness. Wallen sings, “But I know something even better I could try, so/I’m out here soakin’ up your porch light glow/With an apology in my left hand/Hope it tastes like a second chance.”

“Last Night” tells an all-too familiar tale of heartbreak. Wallen recounts how he and his lover fight, break up, and get back together. He says, “I know that last night we let the liquor talk …Yeah, you, you know you love to fight/And I say s— I don’t mean/But I’m still gon’ wake up wantin’ you and me.”

“Whiskey Friends” continues the troublesome trend. Wallen sings, “Looks like I did it again/Me and my stupid mouth/Dug myself into a hole in the wall/Now I gotta drink my way out.” In the midst of heartbreak, Wallen’s only friends are, as he puts it, “Jim and Jack,” a reference, of course, to the alcohol brands Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. 

“Me + All Your Reasons” is an especially heartbreaking look into how Wallen attempts to cope with his problems. He sings, “I know you wanna be the one for me/No wonder why you had to run from me/H—, even I done had enough of me/Now all I got to keep me company, is some/Copenhagen, whiskey straight, and/Empty bottle, promise breakin’”

Even though Wallen takes some ownership for his problems, he’s still looking for excuses for his behavior. “Everything I Love” features a Wallen who blames his former love for his heartache.

“One Thing at a Time” shows a retributive Wallen who threatens that: “If you ain’t gonna kiss me/Then I’ll take some whiskey/Some grizzly/Nicotine amphetamines too.” 

You know you’re listening to a Morgan Wallen song if there’s a not-so-subtle whiskey pun worked in to a chorus. “You Proof,” “Keith Whitely,” and “Sunrise” each contain comparisons between Wallen’s lovers and his habit of drinking whiskey. They’re featured so often across the album that it’s difficult to tell which one he loves the most.

“Thinkin ‘Bout Me” and “Single Than She Was” both show a Wallen who’s recently met a girl who’s taken. But that doesn’t stop him from flirting, buying her a drink, and scheming a way to convince her to cheat on her man.

Elsewhere, there are several references to getting high, stoned, and drunk, amidst uses of d—, h—, and s— across the album’s 36 songs.

ALBUM SUMMARY

It doesn’t really matter the genre, 36 songs is too many for one album. And Wallen probably knows this. There’s no intent for someone to listen closely to two-plus hours of Wallen’s music.

In theory, his songs are best reserved for long drives in the sunset or a bluetooth speaker around a summer campfire. The mood is what matters. Coming across as light love songs, it’s supposed to seem like a good time. That is, if you don’t listen too closely.

Under the lackadaisical vibes and casual guitar rhythms are lyrics that glamorize a troubling lifestyle and misguided worldview.

Take “Ain’t That Some” as an example. At its core, it’s a song about being from the country and having a good time. Wallen sings, “Ain’t that some C-O-U-N-T-R-Y s— we been doin’ since we was yea high/There’s folks out there ain’t T-R-Y’d this …”

It’d be easy to listen and conclude, sure there’s a little profanity, but that’s about all, right? After all, it’s a rule of country songs that anytime a word is spelled out in a song, you must sing along.

Most of the songs across One Thing at a Time are like this. Light profanity, a few casual mentions of smoking, flirting, and kissing, with references to drinking that are characteristic for the genre of country music.

The post One Thing at a Time appeared first on Plugged In.

For six albums over the course of the last decade or so, Canadian singer-songwriter Abel Tesfaye has inhabited his dark and brooding alter ego, known as The Weeknd. In 2023, he suggested that this album, Hurry Up Tomorrow, would be his final outing with that stage name.

Indeed, the album does smack of finality, all 22 songs of it spanning nearly 90 minutes of dreamy and disconcerting synthesizer-fueled confessions and intro sections. It’s not an easy listen, musically or lyrically. But it is at times a mesmerizing one.

The Weeknd seems to have reached the end of the road, with many songs here focusing on death and a longing to step into that release. We hear harsh profanities at times, as well as some admissions of meaningless sex and despair over broken romances.

But as it progresses, The Weeknd’s focus gets unexpectedly spiritual, with several songs focusing explicitly on God’s grace, mercy and redemption, and The Weeknd’s desire to fully experience those things.

The overall result is a jarring journey, spanning the distance between suicidal ideation to the hope of finding peace with God.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Album opener “Wake Me Up” hints at where The Weeknd will arrive about 21 songs later. There’s a longing for deliverance from spiritual threats (“It feels like I’m dying/Wake me up, these demons/Keep creeping, don’t fear them.” And in a prayer-like moment, he sings, “I’m feeling like I’m paralyzed/Cleanse me with your fire/Open up my eyes.”

“Cry for Me” yearns, “I hope that I live life for a reason,” and admits the isolating emptiness of fame, a theme that turns up repeatedly on the album: “‘Cause the stage too a toll/Been faded on the floor/In this penthouse prison, I’m alone/ … Every time I hit the road, it takes a little piece of me.” “Drive” likewise recognizes “fame is a disease.”

Paralyzed and on the verge of drowning in a bathtub, The Weeknd sings, “Trying to remember everything that my preacher said/Tryna right my wrongs, my regrets filling up my head.” A bit later we hear, “I’ve been baptized in fear, my dear/I’ve been the chief of sin/Washing my soul within/ … Like Paul, I’m the chief of sin.”

“Open Hearts” admits the difficulty of being open to love: “Where do I start/ When I open my heart/It’s never easy falling in love again.” “Given Up on Me” contrasts The Weeknd’s selfishness (“I’ve been lying to your faces, yeah/I’ve been always wasted, it’s too late to save me”) with a desire for salvation (“Save me, save me, save me”) and confusion about why someone (God?) won’t just let him die (“Why won’t you let me sleep?/ … Why won’t you let me die?”). “Take Me Back to L.A.” laments having a numb soul (“Now I can’t even feel the breeze/ … Now I have nothing real left/I want my soul”).

“Big Sleep” seems to voice regret over squandered time (“Well, you used up your borrowed light/And you wasted your borrowed time”) before reciting a version of a common children’s prayer (“Now I lay me down to sleep/Pray the Lord my soul to keep/Angels watch me through the night/Wake me up with light”).

“Give Me Mercy” is so drenched in spiritual language it could practically be sung in a contemporary church service: “Every time I lost my way, I lost my faith in you/Fightin’ my temptations, put my body through abuse/Devil’s tricks with paradise/None of it is true, fighting for you light.” And then this confession and prayer: “Hope that you see me when I’m depleted/Give me mercy like you do and forgive me like you do.” Later, The Weeknd talks about trading sin for grace: “Ghost of my sins passing by/ … Give it all away just to feel your grace.”

“Red Terror” seems to be a message of hope and encouragement from The Weeknd’s mother from the other side of the grave: “Hush, my child, you’re mine/ … You’re still my child, don’t cry/Death is nothing at all, it does not count/I only slipped away into the next room.”

Album closer “Hurry Up Tomorrow” is likewise saturated with prayer, confession and a longing for heaven: “Wash me with your fire/Who else has to pay for my sins?/ … So I sing heaven after love/I want heaven when I die/I want to change/I want the pain no more.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

For all of that positivity, however, we have some significant content issues to deal with here. Five songs include harsh profanity, including f-words, s-words, “b–ch,” “d–n” “h—,” “p-ss” and the n-word.

Sexual references aren’t frequent, but when they show up, they’re harsh and in your face, including a reference to oral sex, a use of the f-word in a sexual context and some leering moments (“Tryna see you with your clothes off” in “Niagra Falls”). That song also includes a line that references getting high before having sex with someone.

Those issues certainly earn the album’s parental advisory for explicit content. But they’re arguably not the most problematic. Throughout “Hurry Up Tomorrow,” we get repeated references to death. The end seems very near in “Baptized in Fear,” where The Weeknd only narrowly avoids drowning in a bathtub: “I fell asleep in the tub, I was there with paralysis/ … Water fill my lungs, vision blurry/Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower.”

In “Reflections Laughing,” we hear, “If you let me drown/I’ll die in your arms again.” Likewise, “The Abyss” is possibly a man’s thoughts after jumping off a high place but before he hits the ground (“I don’t like the view/From halfway down/Just promise me that it won’t be slow/Will I feel the impact of the ground?”

And “Without a Warning” likewise laments the vain emptiness of fame and perhaps hints at suicide: “I don’t suppose tomorrow’s coming.” And the song’s most problematic track, “Timeless,” includes profanity, drug references and this line encouraging someone (it’s not exactly clear who) to take his or her life: “If I was you, I would just cut up my wrist.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

It’s safe to say that, in the words of Taylor Swift, The Weeknd has “a lot going on at the moment.” Confessional prayers for mercy smack up against harsh profanity and, more darkly, allusions to death and suicide.

Some of those spiritual moments are, frankly, quite remarkable. Somewhere along the line, it seems as though Abel Tesfaye has had an experience of Christian theology of sin, grace and redemption that goes deeper than we normally see in popular music. Those moments here were a pleasant surprise.

That said, I can’t help but wonder that, when people listen to this album, which of its messages will be stronger: the spiritually redemptive ones, or the darker musings about death and suicide. For someone in a vulnerable place, it wouldn’t be hard for me to see how this album could tragically open an inviting door to self-harm instead of pulling someone away from those choices and giving him or her hope.

I’m reasonably sure that Tesfaye—and perhaps some in-the-know superfans, too—might balk at that suggestion, saying that I’ve missed the point of the dramatic persona he’s created and what he’s trying to accomplish through this character. But in a world where adolescent rates of anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation are currently at historic highs, I’m not sure every vulnerable listener is going understand that artistic intent—even if there are some strong redemptive moments woven into the lyrics as well.

When an artist says, “If I was you, I would just cut up my wrist,” he needs to acknowledge that some unstable listeners might just take him up on that suggestion.

The post Hurry Up Tomorrow appeared first on Plugged In.

His follow-up to 2023’s wildly successful debut, I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 1), doubles down on Swims’ strengths. Namely, his genre-busting style paired with earnest, vulnerable and confessional lyrics. Teddy doesn’t look or sound a bit like Taylor Swift. But his songwriting style borrows from her approach, even if it’s unintentional, by blurring musical boundaries and inviting fans to relate to his heartbreak, his struggles and his occasional triumphs.

Stylistically, Swims’ sound simmers like a big ol’ pot of savory gumbo, with lots of ingredients. At times, his soulful, smoky voice recalls Adele’s powerful pipes. Other times, a bit of CeeLo Green sneaks in. Is he country? Pop? R&B? Neo-soul? The simplest answer is yes.

Perhaps a bit like Jelly Roll, both stylistically and in terms of his face-tatted appearance, Teddy Swims defies easy categorization. And that, perhaps, helps explain his massive appeal: His breakthrough hit “Lose Control,” which Plugged In reviewed almost a year ago, remains in the Top 10 on Billboard’s Hot 100 mainstream hits chart, having logged a whopping 75 weeks there as of this writing.

Listening to Swims’ latest 13-song album, it’s not hard to understand his appeal. But some elements to his emotional storytelling need to be approached with caution.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Swims sings, really, about just one subject: romance. This album treats us to the good, bad and ugly in that thematic arena. On the positive side, “Not Your Man” wisely recognizes that he needs to walk away from a reckless, deceptive woman, and not to look back: “This ain’t how you treat somebody you say you love/ … I’m not your man.”

“Bad Dreams” recognizes that a woman helps Swims keep his inner shadows and struggles at bay: “Without you/I keep slippin’ into bad dreams.”

A couple of tracks sing the praises of a woman’s committed love, with Swims even wondering how he got so lucky: “You’re so beautiful, spiritual, more like a miracle/Part of me’s scared that you might be invisible/Too good to be true,” we hear on “Are You Even Real.” Likewise, “Black & White” finds him willing to let down his defenses and take a chance with someone special (“You’re the first one I told the truth to/Something’s changing inside of me when I look at you”)

“Northern Lights” fondly reminisces about a long-lost love. “Guilty” gushes that Swims is guilty “of having only eyes for you.” More sweet sentiments turn up in “If You Ever Change Your Mind,” “Hammer to the Heart” and “She Loves the Rain.” The latter finds Swims singing, “[She] finds the beauty in broken when no one else can see/Well, maybe I got a shot of her seeing good in me.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Despite quite a few earnestly romantic moments throughout the album, we hit a few rough patches, too—and one song in particular that we need to unpack.

Perhaps in an effort to reach a broader audience, the song “She Got It?” (featuring collaborations with Coco Jones and GloRilla) packs in more explicit problems that the rest of the album’s other 12 tracks. The song finds Swims crudely objectifying a woman’s backside (“Two first-class tickets just to fit that a– in/ … Can’t buy this honey, and that s— ain’t free”). Later he adds, again blending leering lyrics with harsher profanity, “It’s so g–d–n beautiful/And you need two hands when you hold it.” Guests Jones and GloRilla pack in more still more suggestive lyrics and profanity, including uses of “b–ch,” “a–” and a couple more s-words.

Also problematic is the song “Funeral,” which plays with imagery blending sex and death: “Put that poison on your lips/Baby, take it slow/Lying in your arms/What a way to go.”Mildly suggestive references to sharing a bed, getting tangled up in sheets and being wowed by a woman’s body turn up in quite a few tracks, such as “Funeral,” “Are You Even Real” and “Hammer to the Heart.” Likewise, we get some passing references to drinking and getting high on the tracks “Black & White” and “Guilty.” And a smattering of mild profanities, such as “h—” and “d–n,” turn up as well.

ALBUM SUMMARY

Teddy Swims neither looks nor sounds like your typical pop superstar. But his passionate, personal music—often about love gone wrong, or (occasionally) right—obviously connects with a broad fan base.

In terms of content, this album represents that classic glass half-full, glass half-empty conundrum. It features some introspection, some tenderness and what seems to be a genuine longing for lasting love.

But then you’ve got some decidedly toxic stuff to slosh through as well, especially “She Got It?” Whereas most of the album’s problems are relatively tame by 2025 standards, that track revels lustily in objectification, with a surprising of harsh profanity tossed in, too.

The latter song certainly tempers my temptation to heap too much praise on Teddy Swims’ latest effort. There’s some nice stuff here, both musically and lyrically. But there are some nasty elements to steer clear of, too.

The post I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 2) appeared first on Plugged In.

A Grammy nomination for Best New Artist. The double Platinum certification for his album, Stick Season. The accompanying two-year tour that’s grown to resemble Taylor Swift’s unending Eras Tour.

Kahan’s rise from obscurity to acclaim is slightly odd considering his background. Born in a small town with less than 2,000 people, Kahan’s upbringing was relatively quiet, simple, and normal–at least to him.

Kahan has cited his family as the primary influence on his personality and his music. For Kahan, conversations at family dinners shifted from the latest Boston Red Sox game to how to cope with depression in the brutal winters of the Northeast, or “stick season” as it is referred to by its residents.

Stick Season (Forever) captures the essence of storytelling: tragedy, heartbreak, and the search for hope.

His popularity is in part due to the nostalgia his music awakens for fans of folk music. Rather than incessantly trying to be cool, his songs are painfully honest and, at times, brutal in their transparency.  

As he relays his personal battles with depression and anxiety, his methods of coping include binge drinking, getting high with friends, drunken fist fights, and lonesome nights with lovers. And at the height of his success, Kahan is finding that his problems and questions haven’t gone away.

POSITIVE CONTENT

As his career has developed, Kahan channeled the conversations he had as a kid into his music. He credits his family’s openness about mental health as a driving force behind not only his lyrics but the proceeds of his concerts benefitting mental health organizations.

The fingerprints of his support for mental health services are dotted across the entire album, especially on such songs as “Orange Juice,” “Growing Sideways,” “Homesick,” and “New Perspective.”

In interviews, Kahan has shared his struggles with sobriety, medication, and his personal mental health. He’s sought professional help and found release through making music. Even though some lyrics feature his characteristic anger and bitterness, there are also glimmers of hope and compassion.

At times, Stick Season peels back the curtain on Kahan’s relationships to reveal his growth, such as when he says, “It’s okay, there ain’t a drop of bad blood / It’s all my love, you got all my love.”

“Everywhere, Everything” features a deeply dedicated version of Kahan as he sings, “I want to love you till we’re food for the worms to eat/till our fingers decompose” emphasizing the unbreakable bond of his love.

Aided by voicemail recordings from family members, “The View Between Villages” is Kahan at his most transparent. He’s returned to the place he grew up and reflects on how much he’s changed as well as the people and places he once knew so intimately. Through the song’s emotional swells, we feel Kahan’s pain but also his hope at second chances.

CONTENT CONCERNS

The title track, “Stick Season” serves as the thematic statement for the album. In this song, Kahan telegraphs the hopelessness and anger that persists in his life. He smokes weed, he gets drunk, he comes home for Christmas expecting his friends to help him. He’s clearly hurting, and his version of solving his pain is futile.

Stick Season (Forever) is the extended version of Kahan’s original album. With an additional 16 songs, the album balloons and features a lineup that would rival the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Kahan re-records several songs with popular artists such as Post Malone, Gracie Abrams, Hozier, Kacey Musgraves, Brandi Carlile, and Gregory Alan Isakov.

Several of these new versions of his songs feature additional verses by the accompanying artist with added concerns.

In “Dial Drunk,” Post Malone contributes the line, “F— that, sir, just let me call” when talking to a police officer who has arrested him for participation in a drunken fight at a bar.

In “Northern Attitude,” Kahan and Hozier sing about their unabashed commitment to stereotypical Northeast behavior such as, “getting stoned” and “getting lost, getting high.”  

The songs: “Come Over,” “Orange Juice,” and “Growing Sideways” make up a trio of reflections on sobriety and addiction.  There are references to misusing medication originally prescribed for depression and relying on alcohol to soothe one’s pain. In a moment of honesty, Kahan sings, “feels good to be sad” and “So I took my medication and I poured my trauma out.”

He continues to describe trips to visit his therapist saying, “We argued about Jesus, finally found some middle ground” and “I divvied up my anger into 30 separate parts/Keep the bad sh-t in my liver and the rest around my heart.”

For Kahan, there are three responses to his trauma: fight, medicate, and ignore. Usually in that order. The album mirrors this pattern. Songs about his fights for meaning are bookended by songs about the futility of medicine as a salve. And that eventually leads to songs where he ignores his pain altogether in a last ditch effort to make it all go away.

The cyclical nature of addiction and loss isn’t something reserved only for Kahan. Several songs, such as “You’re Gonna Go Far” and “Call Your Mom” serve as conversations between Kahan and his various partners sifting through the remains of their relationships. As they accuse each other of failing, fall in and out of love, and navigate their vices, they ultimately realize that there’s more than enough blame for each of them. 

“Your Needs, My Needs” touches on the haunting guilt of watching someone you love wither away in the wake of their excess and painful lifestyle. Kahan visualizes his former love as a ghost slowly dying, “To see a friend, to see a ghost/bitter-brained, always drunk/rail-thin, Zoloft/subtle change, shorter days.”

Across the album there are several uses (and variations of) the s-word, as well as instances of of misusing God’s name.” There are also several references to sex such as “we’d shake the frame of your car” and “There was heaven in your eyes/I was not baptized.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

I didn’t have to look hard to notice it.

I was at a Noah Kahan concert in Colorado. The audience was typical for a folk show; men and women on dates, college students, fathers with their daughters, mothers with their sons all dotting the concert hall.

Yet, in pockets of the room, I saw dozens of grown men softly crying. Their emotions stirred by something unspoken beyond Kahan’s lyrics and performance.

Fervent listeners of Kahan are drawn to his music through his shared language of how we deal with anxiety, loneliness, being homesick, going through breakups, and self-destructive tendencies. These and more make up the common experiences of Gen-Z and Gen-Alpha, which happen to be Kahan’s primary fanbases. 

In my opinion, most of Kahan’s songs contain enough nuance and self-referential mythology of depression and anxiety that would go over a middle school or high school student’s head.

That said, as Kahan would likely agree, words have power. These songs are deep pools of reflection. A caution to any listener that diving too deep could unintentionally trigger strong emotions if you personally struggle with depression, anxiety, anger, or broken relationships.

Stick Season (Forever) poses other problems too. The songs commend behavior that searches for blame other than ownership. Whether it’s a failing relationship or an addiction, Kahan’s worldview is centered on pointing the finger rather than looking in the mirror first.

The lasting images of Kahan’s album are the symbols of nature and the seasons of change. After all, “stick season” isn’t intended to last forever. Each year, spring will arrive and with it so will the promise of change and new seasons.

But what if it doesn’t?

Kahan’s made it clear that he’s entrenched in his past and bound to his mistakes. If we’re not careful, we’ll become just like Kahan, trapped in our own stick seasons forever.

But his music—and perhaps the nature of music—holds out hope, too.

After the show ended, I couldn’t help but notice the way people left the concert. They were together. I’m not sure how each person entered the concert, but no one was leaving alone. What Kahan had done brought these people closer together. There were arms after arms wrapped around each other as groups split up under a Colorado moon.

Music will do that sometimes. Give words to the indescribable feelings of pain. Though, as Kahan would likely be the first to say, the feelings of relief and reprieve after a concert rarely last. In a few hours, you’ll be left searching for something meaningful all over again.

The post Stick Season (Forever) appeared first on Plugged In.

Crafted to the highest standards of sound, lyrics, and production design, Tyler’s  albums require several listens to fully grasp the depth and nuance of his self-referential work.

Tyler often designs alter-egos and characters to masquerade behind in a parade of violence, drug use, and sexual debauchery. Through its music videos and extravagant promotion, CHROMAKOPIA continues this trend, while also featuring his trademark profanity, descriptions of murder, rape, and mental instability.

But you don’t need several listens through CHROMAKOPIA to grasp the album’s sheer, unremitting vulgarity.

To readers familiar with Tyler’s history this should come as no surprise. After all, this is the same artist who was banned by the U.K. and New Zealand for “posing a threat to public order and the public interest.”

Both nations cited the rapper’s dangerous alter-ego and lyrics containing references to murder, rape, sexual abuse, and drug use, and lyrics that glamorize these behaviors.

The themes at play across CHROMAKOPIA range from relatable questions about parenthood and discovering one’s true identity to more troubling ideas about paranoia and suicidal ideation that give credibility to these nations’ concerns.

Yet, something about his music resonates with audiences. 

The violent nature of CHROMAKOPIA does little to push away mainstream critics and fans. Tyler’s growing fanbase clearly connects with his brand of profane introspection.

What has been true of his previous albums remains true here. It is easy to notice that beyond the facade of Tyler’s creations, the way he handles life’s difficulties reveals a wounded soul in search of relief who ultimately ends up consumed by his inner turmoil.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Tyler, The Creator’s absent father has been hanging over the lore and themes of his music for more than a decade now. At once a symbol of both his anger at his upbringing and motivation to change his family’s history, his father’s absence fuels several songs across CHROMAKOPIA.

Entering his mid-30s, Tyler seems as though he is having an early midlife crisis. On several tracks, he mentions friends getting married and starting families. He feels left behind and alone. His family history weighs on him, as well as the pressure to change the trajectory of his life. “Take Your Mask Off” features Tyler at his most honest, pleading with his alter-ego to take his mask off and be honest about who he is.

Nearly each song mentions the role and value of family in Tyler’s life, which is made clear on its opener, “St. Chroma,” as well as “Hey Jane,” which discusses the possibility of how to move forward after an unplanned pregnancy.

The first voice heard on the album is Tyler’s mother, Bonita Smith. She is featured throughout the album as a guiding voice of advice and wisdom in Tyler’s life. Her first words on the track, “St Chroma” are initially encouraging, “You are the light. It’s not on you, it’s in you.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Any sliver of hope that Tyler’s mother’s encouragement will outweigh the profanity in this album quickly disappears in her third sentence. Her initial encouragement quickly becomes tainted with a call for violence mixed with every combination of the f-word imaginable.

Across the album’s 14 songs, hundreds of f-words and racial slurs, as well as combinations of the two, appear in his lyrics.

“Sticky” features Tyler rapping about his fame and warning others of the difficulties that come with popularity. He repeats the phrase “B–ch, it’s gettin sticky” throughout the song, referring to how things get messy when you become famous. The phrase also serves as a double entendre for sex and drugs, with further lyrics underlying the connection.

“Judge Judy” contains several vulgar descriptions of sex with multiple partners.

“I Killed You” starts with an X-rated version of the children’s song “Wheels on the Bus” and quickly turns into a profanity-filled tirade against nameless individuals who don’t let Black people express themselves in public. Addressing his critics, Tyler repeatedly says, “B–ch, I killed you,” inviting listeners to join him in his opposition.

“Thought I Was Dead” continues this trend with the repeated refrain, “You n-ggas thought I was dead” referring to Tyler’s ongoing public persona in the rap industry and the criticism he receives from listeners.

“Noid” reveals his ongoing paranoia regarding his relationships or having an unwanted pregnancy. He says, “Never trust a b–ch, if you good they could trap you./So just strap it up, fore they f— around and strap you, b–ch.” “Hey Jane” continues on the topic of unwanted pregnancy referring to abortion as Tyler raps, “Look, Jane, it’s your choice at the end of the day./Just know I’ll support either way, no pressure.”

“Darling, I” unveils how little Tyler, The Creator thinks of commitment when it comes to relationships. He sings, “I love this girl, I hit the gold mine,/I’m thinkin new crib, I’m thinkin two kids, / Until I get infatuated with a new b–ch.”

“Take Your Mask Off” is a song centered on Tyler criticizing the hypocrisy of several figures in religion, namely Christians and pastors who preach messages of hope and grace and, in his perspective, offer the opposite to their followers.

Several songs contain references to giving and receiving oral sex as well as other sexual acts in ongoing relationships with several partners.

ALBUM SUMMARY

CHROMAKOPIA opens and concludes with the same line: “The light comes from within.”

Listening to Tyler, The Creator grapple with his fame and relationships clearly reveals an aching soul.

On his recent albums, Tyler has expressed anger and confusion towards those who do not understand him and would otherwise see him fail in his career. It is on this album that he claims to have finally discovered the light that will satisfy him.

CHROMAKOPIA unveils a Tyler who, in his own words, is “chasin a ghost.” At times, that ghost is an idealized version of himself, and other times, the ghost is Tyler’s absent father who has hovered over him for his entire life.

The song “Like Him” features Tyler’s mother revealing why she has kept so much hidden about Tyler’s father. She admits that Tyler’s father actually “wanted to be a father” to him, and that it is her fault for keeping him away from Tyler for so long.

After this revelation, it is unclear if Tyler, The Creator truly wants to be reunited with his dad. These songs are his attempt to continue to sift through his feelings and philosophies about what it means to live in this world.

Ultimately, his messages should be concerning.

If CHROMAKOPIA is any indication, Tyler, The Creator is still searching. In reality, the light that he claims to have found only produces more hate and anger, unleashing some of his most vile remarks about love, family, and relationships.

The post CHROMAKOPIA appeared first on Plugged In.

Now, it has, with the band’s release of From Zero, Linkin Park’s eighth studio album.

Linkin Park 1.0 was known, among other things, for Bennington’s searing, agonized vocals driving songs drenched with pain and alienation. His aching, raging articulation of loss connected with a generation of rock and metal fans in the early 2000s. And Bennington’s battles with his demons—sexual abuse as a child paired with alcohol and drug abuse later in his life—could not be salved by the worldwide acclaim his band achieved. In the end, he succumbed to a well-chronicled battle with depression and the temptation of ending it all.

Linkin Park didn’t end, as I noted. But it has changed. Not surprisingly, the group’s elevation of a new frontwoman, Emily Armstrong, hasn’t been without controversy on multiple levels.

For many, the idea that Bennington could ever be “replaced” was simply anathema. Another layer of controversy has swirled regarding the 38-year-old Armstrong’s alleged connections to Scientology and some of its most well-known practitioners.

Armstrong said of being brought into the fold of Linkin Park, “It was like I stepped into Disney World. It was like … full of magic and full of opportunity and everything you could possibly imagine.” 

For anyone wondering if Linkin Park still has cultural resonance almost a decade after their last album was released, the charts seem to answer that question with a resounding yes. From Zero narrowly missed being the No. 1 album in the U.S. in the first week of its release, and still managed to top the charts in 10 other countries.

And while no one would likely ever confuse Armstrong’s voice with Bennington’s, there’s enough similarity vocally that by the second or third track on From Zero, I wasn’t even really thinking about it much differently than any other Linkin Park album. This 11-track effort clocks in at a brief 32 minutes, reviving the band’s signature fusion of rock and rap, screaming and synthesizing, emoting and, well, more emoting.

POSITIVE CONTENT

There’s a lot of hurt poured out on From Zero—just as we’ve witnessed on every other Linkin Park album. Amid that pain, we hear occasional moments of honest vulnerability and perspective on the hurt that’s been endured.

On album opener “The Emptiness Machine,” the lyrics deal with why someone keeps getting sucked back into an emotionally abusive relationship, even though she knows better. The reason she “gave up who I am for who you wanted me to be” is that “I only wanted to be a part of something.”

“Over Each Other” recognizes that a relationship is badly fractured because neither side ever listens to the other: “I can’t go to sleep/I lie awake at night/I’m so tired of talkin’/Over each other.”

“Casualty” could be heard as someone having enough self-respect to look for the escape hatch in an unhealthy relationship: “Let me out, set me free/ … I won’t be your casualty.” Similarly, “Two Faced” chronicles a lover’s realization of being played by a partner who will never take responsibility for anything.

“IGYEIH” stands for the chorus’ repeated line, “I gave you everything I have,” which—not surprisingly at this point—wasn’t enough.

The closest we come, I’d argue, to anything genuinely positive on the album comes in the last song, where we hear, “I asked for forgiveness a hundred times/Believed it myself when I halfway apologized.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Much of what I included in the section above could also be seen as being problematic, too, as this album’s 11 songs plod through brokenness, anger, alienation and pain. There is, unfortunately, very little light here.

In terms of harsh content, the album features two profanities, two f-words: one shows up in the first track, “The Emptiness Machine,” as someone bitterly realizes that hope for a good outcome is an act of futile (and profane) naiveté. The other appears in “Good Things Go.” We also hear lines that describe (probably metaphorically, though it’s not clear) submitting to the abuse of someone else: “I let you cut me open/Just to watch me bleed.”

That sense of being a victim of someone abuse and powerlessly submitting to it shows up repeatedly on From Zero. On “Cut the Bridge,” for instance, we hear about some who seems to take sadistic joy in hurting others by blowing up relationships: “Everything was perfect/Always made me nervous/Knowing you would burn it/Just to watch it burn/ … I was sitting on the dynamite for you to light the fuse.”

“Heavy Is the Crown” deals with yet another relationship going up in smoke: “Today’s gonna be the day you notice/ ‘Cause I’m tired of explaining what the joke is/ … Fire in the sunrise, ashes rainin’ down/Try to hold it in, but it keeps bleeding out.”

Most of the remaining tracks vent some combination of anger, disgust and rage, yet there seems to be little hope of avoiding relational obliteration. “Overflow,” for instance, delivers that message with a brutally nihilistic right hook: “Turning from a white sky/To a black hole/Turning from sunlight/To a shadow, oh/I know I can’t make it stop/I know I’m out of control/I keep filling it up/To overflow.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

It’s no mystery to me why Linkin Park went supernova near the end of 2000. Shinoda, Bennington and the rest of the band—like so many huge rock acts before them—gave primal voice to the disillusionment and alienation of youth. “I tried so hard and got so far/But in the end, it doesn’t even matter,” Bennington and Co. told us in 2001’s decade-defining hit “In the End.” For a generation of young metal fans, lyrics like those connected viscerally with their own brokenness, just as Nirvana’s music had done nearly a decade before. Nothing mattered, and truth was nowhere to be found. The only thing that felt real was pain—unending pain.

But what happens when all there is … is pain? How do you find the will and the hope to push forward, to persevere? Linkin Park boldly vented the pain of a generation, and it made them multiplatinum rock gods along the way. But even pop-culture deification wasn’t enough to stave off Bennington’s demons,.

I write all that because when we’re young—or younger—sometimes it can feel like pain and reality are indeed synonymous. And finding a band that puts words to our hurts can indeed offer a kind of catharsis—for a while. Those voices can give us the words and the sounds to express the anguish inside. I get that. I was that kid, and I’ve connected with plenty of songs and artists like that.

It takes time to see and learn that pain doesn’t always have the last word, that hope can emerge over time in ways that surprise us. But when that pain is magnified and reinforced so powerfully, for some the outcome is grim indeed—both for the artists themselves and for those who follow them.

What I was hoping for on this album was just a modicum of perspective from Linkin Park. I had hoped that seven-plus years after Bennington’s death, perhaps there would be a point of view bigger than never-ending pain and rage. I didn’t expect daisies and “Kum Ba Ya,” mind you. But some perspective that life doesn’t have to be as hopeless as it sometimes feels in the moment? That would have been gratifying.

But this feels like an album that Linkin Park could have made in 2004—which for some fans will be a feature, not a bug. For old fans and new, though, I’d hoped for a bit more, well, hope. Just a bit.

It’s not really there.

The post From Zero appeared first on Plugged In.

In a recent profile for Christianity Today, Frank claims that there is a large cohort of Gen Z listeners who crave music that “speaks openly and unapologetically about Jesus.”

At 29 years old, Frank is a bit of an anomaly. As one half of the American pop duo Surfaces, Frank has produced several smash hits with vibey tunes oscillating between surf music and cool jazz.

Frank already has a resume that’s unparalleled in Christian music circles, and he’s shown an ability to go well beyond them. He’s collaborated with Elton John, he’s played live on Late Night with Seth Meyers, and written a walkout song for Texas A&M’s college football team. Child of God recently earned a Grammy nomination as well. While the album might initially draw listeners in with relatable lyrics, timeless rhythms, and Frank’s growing popularity, there’s something deeper at work here.

Across the album, Frank’s authentic theology is on full display as he works his way through complex topics like depression, fatherhood, and marriage. These songs are ultimately uplifting, hopeful, and brimming with positive messages for teenage and young adult listeners who are asking the same questions. 

POSITIVE CONTENT

As a deluxe album, Child of God gathers a collection of Frank’s most successful hits and singles. Across the 27 tracks, Frank’s overarching message remains consistent: In a relationship with Christ, we are set free.

Frank’s most popular song off the album, “No Longer Bound” illustrates this clearly as he sings, “Nothing I could ever do/Could separate my love from You.”

On “Up,” with Canadian rapper Connor Price, Frank discusses his recent success in both his music career and personal life singing, “I was down but now I’m up/This all God this ain’t no luck.” This is a theme across the album in which Frank acknowledges God as his “Miracle Worker” saying, “I know there’s nothing you can’t do/I don’t know who else to run to/Miracle Worker I need a miracle soon.” 

Several of Frank’s songs mimic the rhythms and messages found in Psalms and Proverbs. On “Always,” Frank crafts modern versions of praise by singing, “You are loved, you are chosen, your body isn’t broken/For every door that closes, a better one gets opened/You got a light inside, too radiant to hide/If you don’t think so, let me change your mind.”

The track “All I Need” reaffirms Frank’s source of trust and faith as he sings, “Something flipped the switch used to want a Judas heart/Even with the kiss You keep me on the team/Even when I miss.” Similarly, on “Good Day” Frank sings, “I’m ‘bout to have a good day/In every single way/The God who made the universe/Knows me by my name.”

One of the clearest illustrations of Frank’s mission statement through this album appears on “Never Get Used to This.” Frank says, “From the mornin’ to the evenin’/I could sing Your praise all day/From the prison to the garden/You’re the God who’s breakin’ chains/When I look back on my whole life/There’s a silver lining of grace/I can’t wait to thank You, Jesus.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Two of the album’s most emotionally charged songs feature lengthy portions of spoken word (“Child of God”) and personal testimony (“Grandad”). While each of these songs contain powerful displays of the transformation that comes from a relationship with Jesus, there are potentially triggering references to self-harm and personal hardships.

ALBUM SUMMARY

Forrest Frank would deny the claim that he’s found a perfect formula for producing hits through his Christian music. Yet Frank’s 4-plus million followers across social media and climbing streaming numbers on Spotify and Apple Music would disagree.

When asked about his social media presence, Frank responded “If God told me to delete my Spotify, I’d do it right now. If God told me to delete my Instagram, I’d do it right now.”

It’s an insightful quote. One that shows Frank’s messages are consistent beyond his music.

It’s apparent Frank thoughtfully considers his newfound influence due to his rapid ascension in Christian and secular music circles. But what impresses me even more is the level of authenticity and honesty he apparently maintains in his creative and musical process.

Both his longtime fans and new listeners are fortunate as Frank’s career is only beginning. From his songs to his interviews to his music videos, Frank is a light that points to Jesus in an industry that often does the opposite.

If Child of God is any indication, Frank worship music will remain committed to proclaiming the gospel and the hope of a relationship with Jesus in creative and engaging ways for listeners of all ages.

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I think we can probably agree that the Jason DeFord doesn’t fit the typical country singer profile. He’s somewhat overweight (though he’s recently lost 100 pounds or so). He has tattoos on his face. And—here’s that rush to judgment—when I’ve seen him or heard about him the last couple of years, I dismissed his look as an attention-getting schtick. He seemed to come out of nowhere in the last couple of years, showing up all over the place. Why are so many people connecting with him? I wondered—again, a bit condescendingly.  

But since he won Best New Artist at the Grammys earlier this year—never mind that his latest album, Beautifully Broken, is his 10^th since 2012—I figured maybe we ought to find out what all the fuss was about.

Well.

I was wrong. Not only can he sing, but the songwriting here will rip your heart out—in a good way. Jelly Roll has talked openly about his checkered past, including dealing drugs and stints in prison, not to mention his own battles with drug and alcohol abuse. But his faith has played a huge, ahem, role in reorienting his life in a redemptive direction.

All of those subjects come into focus here, as Jelly Roll reflects on the immense tension between addiction and grace, failure and forgiveness. There are some bumps in the road, as we’ll see. But in Beautifully Broken we’re also confronted with some genuinely profound insights about how God’s love reshapes and remakes our brokenness.

[Note: This review covers the 14 tracks on the physical album release as well as eight additional tracks on the digital release. It does not cover the six tracks on the deluxe edition.]

POSITIVE CONTENT

Album opener “Winning Streak” immediately sets the confessional context for the album, narrating the struggle of sobriety and Jelly Roll’s recognition of his need for a 12-step program to help him: “Right now, I got two shaky hands only one way to stop ’em/And I haven’t touched a drop in seven hours, three minutes/Hardly sobered up, already want to quit quittin’/Sweatin’ in an old church basement/Wishin’ I was wasted/Never thought I’d say this:/ ‘Hello, my name is Jason.’” He says that joining such a group initially felt shameful (“I was so ashamed to be in this seat”) until meeting a man there who understood his experience completely: “He said, ‘Everybody here’s felt the same defeat/Nobody walks through these doors on a winning streak’.”

Virtually every track includes vulnerable reflections on shame and self-hatred, contrasted with learning to accept yourself and accepting God’s forgiveness. In “What’s Wrong With Me,” Jelly Roll talks about self-condemnation (“If you only knew all the worthless I fought/Covered my arms up with cursive/To cover the thoughts I was cursed with/Guess I just hated the person I saw”). Now, however, he’s able to say, “I found a way to move on and sing and new song/It took a real long time to see/But I’m alright with what’s wrong with me.”

But Jelly Roll’s positive perspective goes deeper that mere self-affirmation. On “Heart of Stone,” he prays, “Dear Lord, can you help me?/I’ve fallen out of grace/ … I’m shackled in these chains/I’m haunted by the lies of every time I said I’d change/ … I ain’t losin’ hope/That somehow you can make a heart of gold from this heart of stone.” Meanwhile, “Liar” confronts the inner voice (either his own or perhaps the devil’s) that tempts him to surrender to self-destructive addiction and hopelessness.

“Unpretty” laments poor choices in the past and yet seems, paradoxically, to understand how those decisions have shaped the man Jelly Roll is today: “I hate the man I used to be/But he’ll always be a part of me/ … I know it’s unpretty.”

“Grace,” “Hey Mama” and “Woman” pay tribute to the faithfulness of Jelly Roll’s wife, despite his deep struggles and the separation caused by a musician’s life on the road. On “My Cross,” he longs to see the destructive cycle of sin broken instead of passing it on to his two children: “I hope to God you don’t get my addictions/Don’t deal with my demons or make my decisions/Yeah, I hope the apple falls far from the tree/And the sins of the father stop right here with me.”

“Smile So Much” deals with finding strength from God amid the spiritual trials of life: “I prayed for calmer waters, God gave me taller waves/I didn’t understand it ’til I wound up findin’ strength.”

There are more positive moments here—quite a lot more, actually. But these lyrical snippets offer a representative sampling of the kinds of real-but-redemptive messages that infuse these songs.

CONTENT CONCERNS

Album opener “Winning Streak” pairs raw emotions with equally raw language: “The broken man in the mirror can’t look at me ’cause he’s guilty/And I swear that the last couple months, that m—–f—er tried to kill me/ … D—, this s—’s exhausting.” Since those harsh profanities show up on the first track, I thought they might be setting the tone for the rest of the album. That said, we only get a couple of uses of “d–n” and “h—” in the remaining 21 tracks that we reviewed, as well as a couple of references to “hell” as a spiritual destination.

The album deals with the serious subjects of alcohol and drug abuse. Though there’s little, if anything, in these lyrics that glorifies such choices, they still serve as a thematically mature backdrop for much of what Jelly Roll sings about.

ALBUM SUMMARY

As a general rule, I hate surprises. But this is one surprise that I’m glad to embrace. I didn’t expect to be moved quite so deeply listening to Beautifully Broken. But even though I’ve never wrestled with substance abuse, I still connected with Jelly Roll’s insights about shame and insecurity, and how our hidden cracks and emotional craters tempt us to hide in the shadows, even as we pretend that we’re fine. Jelly Roll pairs that vulnerability with a redemptive faith in God’s ability to pull us out of the darkness, and he understands that it’s not something we can simply muster up on our own in isolation.

Beautifully Broken feels like a deeply Christian album—albeit one where that brokenness is occasionally expressed with harsh profanity. For some potential listeners, those isolated moments of vulgarity may be a deal killer. That said, if you’re a country music fan who harkens to songs about gritty redemption, Beautifully Broken just might be worth your consideration.

The post Beautifully Broken appeared first on Plugged In.

Boone’s musical style is emblematic of his early career arc. In the span of four years, Boone jokingly filled in for a friend during a high school talent show, auditioned for American Idol, dropped out of the competition, gathered a massive following on TikTok, and opened Taylor Swift’s concert in London.

His rapid ascension led to his debut album, Fireworks and Rollerblades, which is grounded in two musical styles.

At first listen, it is a collection of pop rock songs about navigating love, self-esteem, and insecurities that feel symptomatic of coming of age in modern times.

Yet it is also an album born out of contemporary Christian music and its corresponding lifestyle. Boone comes from a Mormon family in Washington state, where he and his four sisters spent their childhoods backpacking and road tripping through the mountains.

The premise of Boone’s music is that he’s an approachable, comforting guy ready to start a relationship. But underneath the surface lurks something more tragic. Across the album, we hear moments when Boone’s scars are uncovered, the fireworks ignite, and the despair of his broken heart leaks its way into the light.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Boone’s Mormon background is pretty apparent, as he fills the album with references to God. At times, he trusts God with his relationships and their outcomes. Boone’s most popular song, “Beautiful Things,” contains lyrics such as “I thank God every day/for the girl he sent my way.” He also has realistic expectations in singing, “But I know the things He gives, He can take away.”

Throughout the album’s 15-song tracklist, Boone searches for what can really provide satisfaction and, at times, salvation. On “Slow It Down,” Boone sings, “While your world is spinning out…Let me pull you out/Let me hold you now/Let me slow it down,” confirming his commitment to his partner.

“Forever And a Day” reveals a Boone doubling down on his commitments by singing, “I’m yours forever and a day/I knew that I loved you.”

“Friend” features Boone realizing that he’s struggling and lonely and deciding to do something about it. He sings, “I could use someone to help me pick up the pieces that remain … And I need a friend, yeah I need a friend/when the world starts cavin’ in.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

At other times, Boone’s discussion of God and his relationships can also show the cracks in his faith when things don’t go his way. On “In the Stars,” he sings, “It’s like I’ve buried my faith with you/I’m screaming at a God I don’t know if I believe in/Cause I don’t know what else I can do.”

Later on in “My Greatest Fear,” he continues this theme, singing, “And if there’s a God I don’t know where he been/We used to talk but we haven’t spoken since early May.”

Boone uses slight euphemisms throughout the album to soften some otherwise concerning developments in his relationships. For example, “Hello Love” describes a relationship on its last legs as Boone casually sings, “When you look at me with those empty eyes/I could pass away/I could bleed and die.”

“Beautiful Things” implies that Boone’s family knows and is OK with his girlfriend spending the night at their house. Moreover, receiving his family’s approval for his girlfriend to sleep in bed with him is a green light for Boone to take their relationship to the next level.

Elsewhere on the album, Boone references “getting stoned” and “getting high” to dull the pain of relationships that have run their course. Another song contains mild references to cheating as a viable option for revenge in Boone’s relationships.

The track “Drunk In My Mind” contains an increasingly concerning metaphor between Boone’s latest love and getting drunk on wine. He sings, “After I tasted your wine/You had me drunk in my mind.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

Debut albums are typically clear indicators of a musician’s strengths and weaknesses. Fireworks and Rollerblades is no different, and its primary strength is its revelation of what matters most to Boone.

The authenticity of Boone’s lyrics and style is admirable. His unapologetic passion in his relationships certainly produces fireworks in emotional terms.

However, it’s the rollerblades that are an enduring image. At one moment, a rollerblader is smoothly gliding, as the album’s cover art athletically displays. But anyone who’s bladed knows that the moment you lose focus and hit a crack in the cement, everything comes crashing down.

Boone does his best to navigate the highs and lows of young adult relationships. Throughout the album, his reflections are often contradictory; he’s both graceful and clumsy, apologetic and stubborn, loving and hateful, and–most concerning–simultaneously believes in and doubts God. While this is an authentic portrayal of real life, these contradictions also should prompt a listener to question if Boone’s messages lead to lasting fulfillment.

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But Skillet does. That theologian would be Eugene Petersen, who in addition to his paraphrase of Scripture known as The Message, also wrote another book with a title that always inspires me: A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. Name-checking Peterson just might clue you into the reality that Skillet isn’t just about the music: It’s about the Word.

Skillet, formed in 1996, is closing in on three decades of faithfully translating the gospel into a language that many metal fans might not have heard any other way.

Sure, there are a handful of Christian rock bands that have been around longer; Stryper and Petra come to mind, and both have been on tour this year.

That said, I’m not sure that there’s any Christian band that tours as relentlessly as Skillet does. Every time I go to a meet-and-greet with this band and see how amazingly engaged they are with fans, I can’t help but think, Man, I think this would be hard to do night after night, year after year, decade after decade. I think they’d get tired. Jaded. Or, more simply, fade from relevance amid constantly changing musical tastes.

Yet they persist. Album after thunderous, unrelenting, prophetically challenging album. Tour after tour.

Now John and Korey Cooper, along with Jen Ledger and Seth Morisson, are at it again. They’ve moved on from longtime label home Atlantic onto their own new label, Hear It Loud. Indeed. And the band’s new album, Revolution—the Jesus kind, of course—the band’s next step in a long, loud obedience in the same direction.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Cooper and company tear into the album opener “Showtime” with a vengeance, a fist-in-the-air anthem custom made to open concerts for a long time to come. “Heart of a lion is roarin’ in my soul,” Cooper sings. “Truth is trapped like fire in my bones/Make my mark, no apologies/A day in the life, a revolutionary.”

A similar “won’t back down” sentiment infuses “Unpopular,” in which the band voices its determination to stand for truth no matter how much it gums up the gears of mainstream mindsets: “I won’t apologize when I speak my mind,” Cooper growls.

 “All That Matters” clarifies that defiant stance, insisting that while “I don’t want to start a fight/I always try to do what’s right.” Cooper declares, “Fight for what I love/Help me God above/ … My faith, my family, my freedom’s/All that matters to me.”

“Not Afraid” proclaims exactly that message: “I am not afraid/I will keep the faith/Never back down ‘til my dying day.” Title track “Revolution” likewise stokes the embers of faith, reminding us that the revolutionary message Christians have to deliver is one of “Faith. Hope. Love.”

Skillet has often written songs from the perspective of someone struggling to hold on to hope and meaning, and we get two more of those songs here in “Ash in the Wind” and “Fire Inside of Me.” The former deals with someone struggling to throw off a yoke of lies and accusations perhaps from a human accuser, perhaps from our spiritual enemy: “Your words were your power over me,” Cooper sings. “You locked me inside this cage of glass.” But then he insists, “I wanna take back what you have stolen/I’m searching inside for what is real.” Similarly, “The Fire Inside of Me” confesses pain, doubt and isolation (“Like a vagabond I roam/With no home or peace/I know that I’m not fine/ … Cold and numb/I need to feel alive”), before turning toward God to experience that longed-for life (“Your touch, your life/Your fire.”)

“Defector” powerfully reminds us of God’s unwavering love for us: “I will be your light when you can’t see/ … I know the battle you’ve been through/I’m never backing out on you.”

The tender acoustic ballad “Happy Wedding Day (Alex’s Song)” will have listeners trading head-banging for tissue-dabbing as Cooper reflects on his daughter’s wedding day and all the memories that led up to that moment: “Now look at you standing in your white dress/Where’d the time go? Not prepared for this.”

But lest we think Skillet’s getting soft after three decades, album closer “Death Defier” pounds that doubt into submission as it salutes the faithful who’ve come before and paved the way for believers today: “All the fearless ones/All the fallen sons/Glory that never fades ‘cause they paid with pain and a trail to blaze.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Some families may not be crazy about the lyrics “If thinking for myself’s called raising h—/I guess that I’m an outlaw.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

I don’t have any idea how long Skillet intends to keep pounding its fans with religiously “rebellious” anthems that challenge us to stand up for what we believe. But listening to Revolution, it feels like the band has fresh wind in its sails.

Feel free to disagree with me if you’re a longtime fan (and we’d love to hear what you think, too), but several tracks here very much remind me of the vibe on the band’s mid-2000s albums Comatose (2006) and Awake (2009).

The lone mild profanity mentioned above is the only issue here that some could potentially take issue with. Apart from that, Revolution keeps Skillet’s hard-rocking freight train hustling down the tracks, encouraging the broken, bungled and battered to hang on to hope and never to be ashamed of their faith—no matter what the world may say.

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