Oh sure, it begins innocently sufficient. A couple of chords. A voice—raspy, acquainted, worn in like a favourite coat. A mild shuffle of drums, a slide of guitar. Nothing too uncommon. Simply one other folk-rock music, you may assume.
However then, the phrases. “Hey, I discovered God… you’re standing on it.”
And identical to that, Ed Roman pulls the rug out from below you, solely to disclose the Earth itself—spinning, respiratory, sacred.
You see, Ed Roman just isn’t your unusual singer-songwriter. No, no, no. He’s a thinker with a six-string, a mystic in denim, a wanderer who’s much less within the heavens above and extra involved with the soil beneath your soles. “I Discovered God,” his newest single from the album Letters From Excessive Latitudes, isn’t making an attempt to transform you to something. Besides perhaps to noticing what you’ve been strolling previous all alongside.
However that is Ed Roman we’re speaking about. The Canadian troubadour who by no means performs by the principles, by no means colours contained in the strains. He’s half folks singer, half cosmic cowboy, and wholly bored with business polish. So when he tells you he’s discovered God—not in a temple, not in a ebook, however proper there within the mud—you lean in a bit nearer.
The music, like Roman himself, unfolds intentionally. No rush. There’s time. Time to contemplate the implications of a universe the place divinity lives in tree bark, in frozen lakes, in collapsing ecosystems that we neglect to honor till it’s too late.
Sure, too late. As a result of this isn’t only a non secular revelation—it’s a warning, too. A quiet, measured, mournful warning.
The instrumentation is refined. Mike Freedman’s guitar meanders like a river you’ve at all times identified was there however by no means dared to observe. Dave Patel’s drums don’t push—they pulse, just like the heartbeat of the Earth itself. And Roman’s voice? It carries the burden of somebody who’s seen sufficient to know higher, and nonetheless hopes.
Oh, after which there’s the video.
Illustrated by Paul Ribera, the visuals don’t simply accompany the music—they hang-out it. Surreal pictures drift and dissolve. The Earth spins beneath you, animals name out, and bushes… oh, the bushes. Falling, at all times falling. And someplace within the chaos, an eye fixed opens. Watching? Or weeping?
It’s lovely. And it’s brutal. As a result of if God is in every single place, as Roman suggests, then what have we carried out?
Nonetheless, this isn’t a narrative about despair. Not fairly. There’s hope right here. Not the loud, clanging form. The quiet form. The sort that lives in a music you virtually missed. The sort that comes from realizing you don’t need to look far for one thing holy.
Since you’re standing on it.
And now you recognize.
–Kevin Morris
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