I still remember how I felt the third or fourth time I listened to the album Mezzamorphis by Delirious?. Since my reaction the first and second times had mostly been "Wha...?", followed by disappointment that a band totally capable of rocking my face off wasn't doing so, it took a bit longer for me to get into the mindset of a collection of songs better suited for a reflective walk along an unfamiliar beach than for cranking up in the car during a short drive across town. Certainly, there was enough going on sound-wise to give the entire audio spectrum of your speakers a good workout. But there was an elusive quality to the music, something that drew you into the experience of something fundamentally "other", simply because it didn't rise and fall the way you expected to or always say the things you wanted it to. It became one of my favorite albums, with songs permanently tied to memories of a rather disorienting period of my life.

But I've already reviewed that album. I only bring up Delirious?'s more experimental phase here because I'm having a very similar experience with this new band called The Listening. If you were to take the anthemia but slightly quirky quality of Delirious?, remove some of the more obvious U2-isms, and bring the rock ensemble back to a little more of a classic, Pink Floyd-inspired sound, that might start to describe the music that The Listening makes. Half of the band had been part of The Rock & Roll Worship Circus for a few years - a band which gained some notoriety within Christian music for its more muscular, classic rock approach to praise & worship. I don't know; I found the cheerleading element to be a bit too strong. As far as modern bands inspired by the more urgent nature of old-school rock go, I prefer the ones whose lyrics aren't as mild-mannered (The Elms' latest record would be a good example). But the lineup change that apparently inspired a name change for the Worship Circus has clearly been a good one. The "worship" element is still there, but the focus has shifted from singing along to meditating on words that are sometimes encouraging, sometimes engrossing, sometimes almost naively simple, and sometimes even a bit troubling. In many ways, they're kind of my new Delirious? (I still like Delirious?, but their methods have become overly familiar to me at this point). More than just getting us to sing along, they're trying to get us to really stop and think about the God that Christians often seek to interact with through the medium of music.

So what does that all mean? Is this one of those overly artsy post-rock albums that intentionally sidesteps the expectations of Christian radio and seeks to impress fans of the anthemia slow-build who aren't yet informed enough to know Radiohead's OK Computer backwards and forwards? I can see some of those elements, but I don't think The Listening is a band that exists to be difficult. Their music is influenced by the restless electronic noodling of contemporary bands like Radiohead, and there's a little bit of a progressive rock core underneath their musical constructs, which occasionally results in odd time signatures and songs that aren't formatted in convenient verse-chorus structures. But this approach is less about being strange than it is about evoking a sense of wonder, as well as dissatisfaction with the pleasures of the physical world. At times, they convey these feelings with fiery guitars and a more organic spirit; at other times keyboards and strangely light electronic beats rule the day. (Interestingly, this band has a keyboard player which handles most of the low-end stuff which would normally be handled by a bass player.) It's an interesting mixture that, much like Delirious?, evokes a lot of other bands without sounding exactly like any of them (at least, most of the time). That makes the bands debut album, which is, surprisingly, rather unimaginatively entitled The Rock & Roll Worship Circus Becomes The Listening, an engrossing musical collage that I seem to enjoy more with each subsequent spin.

I guess there might be a few things that I don't like about The Listening. For all of the meditative trance-inducing that gets done by the grooves that some of these songs lock into, there are a few points where it feels like the pot is left on simmer when it should be boiling. The lead vocals of Gabriel Wilson, while a nice counterpoint to the recurring histrionics of Martin Smith, can seem a bit dry at times, as if the shades he's wearing are keeping him (and us) from experiencing the full intensity of the light. Most frustrating is the inexplicable isolation of three songs on a "bonus CD" that would have fit into the album just fine (well, two of them at least). I don't like for my listening experiences to be interrupted, so that just seems unwieldy, almost like an excuse to sell the album for more. (The relative unavailability of said album, although probably not something can be helped due to the band's semi-indie status, also makes pricing a bit of a problem.) Those might be significant enough quibbles to bring the album down to a four-star rating; however, The Listening still shows itself to be an exciting new band capable of the same grandeur as Mute Math. Come to think of it, those two bands would probably make a great tag team in concert.

Glory of the Feared
I kissed Your cheek, kissed Your cheek
The lover in You, the traitor in me
You're beautiful, beautiful...
The hum of synthetic keyboards gurgling out different ambient sounds, accompanied by drums that sound live and unprocessed, but are played with an even, almost machine-like attitude, is what gets the first song going. There's a faint bass line, but The Listening chooses to save the punch of strong electric guitars for the chorus, allowing the song to kind of sputter along on its repetitive lyrics at first. The way several lines are repeated four times kind of thwarts the power of what's being said, in my opinion. However, as an album opener, this song does a good job of bridging the old Worship Circus style, and the new, more artistic approach. The chorus bursts forth with more of a sense of urgency, capturing the tension of relating to a God who loves us, but that we also fear. It feels like a typical rock-oriented praise song with the initial lyrics, but it's not quite comfortable in that skin, because it grapples with a the uneasy reality that God's glory is sometimes terrifying when we have to face it within the context of our own sin.

Triple Fascination
Love, the greatest innovation
Emotion intertwined with liberty
Love, the silent conversation
Fascinates the mind, the soul, the body...
The structure of this song feels a lot like the last one, but I think better results are achieved. The low-end synths play a larger role, buzzing about as the guitars introduce a ragged but indelible hook, simply by letting a few chords ring out, framing the melody of the song. There's a bit of a "too cool for the room" feeling in the way that the restrained pace of the song, the blazing guitar riff, and Gabriel Wilson's quietly reflective vocals all play off of each other, but it isn't arrogance, it's just judicious restraint. While the song has no chorus that I could latch onto and sing back to myself at a later date, it's the guitar line that kind of serves as the mental reference point, a wordless way of expressing the enigmatic wonder of a God who is three-in-one. The Trinity of Father/Son/Spirit is juxtaposed here with man's three connecting points to God - mind, soul, and body. Gabriel eschews an explanation of this principle in favor of a slew of "-ation" rhymes during the bridge, and I think the lyrics are more about a feeling than a theological discourse. In any event, the song captures this feeling of something floating in the sky that you can't quite reach out and grab, but you know it's there. And the band knows just when to let the energy build up and then decompress - once before the bridge, and again as the song winds down, eventually collapsing into a long fadeout of fizzling synthesizers.

Be in Your Eyes
Memories like a camera
Capturing a photograph
Acting like a polygraph
Showing you where the heart is at...
Here's where things start to take a darker turn. The essence of something spiritual and powerful still comes across loud and clear, but now the point of view has been flipped, and God is addressing a troubled person, someone who can't make ends meet for the kids, who struggles with insomnia, and who runs to addictions rather than God to cope with it all. A lone guitar cries out with 4 notes that shift with the chord changes and help to mask the song's 6/8 rhythm (being played on the first four within two cycles of six). The drums also cause the rhythm to appear trickier than it is, placing the emphasis on 3 during the first bar of 6/8, and then on 4. It may be confusing to some, but for me, it's a wonderfully entrancing rhythm, one which seems to be constantly trying to escape itself as Gabriel's insistent lyrics keep pressing on the listener's heart: "I wanna be in your eyes and then, press My lips upon your skin, breathe the air that you are breathing in." He knows that this person remembers a time when they trusted God, and God wants to bring them back to that. It's at once comforting and confrontational. The song seems to hint at a rocking climax, but it only culminates briefly in a more rhythmically frenzied bridge before the 6/8 rhythm suddenly becomes looser, almost jazz-inspired, for the mellow but still mysterious comedown at the end.

When the Idol Dies
Switch your eyes to caring, your voice to lie
When it gets heavy and makes me cry
You huddle in the dark, but walk in the light
Giving me an answer that makes you right...
The albums first mellow song (comparatively speaking, anyway - these songs may not rock hard, but I can tell they have a lot of emotion invested in them) flows wonderfully out of "Be in Your Eyes", deceiving you into thinking it's keeping the same rhythm, but adding an extra beat to make it 7/8. I don't want to make too many Radiohead comparisons, but that feeling of being slightly "off" is a lot like that of Radiohead's "Morning Bell" (which is in 5/8, so it's an aesthetic link in my mind, not a blatant ripoff). Gabriel's still talking from God's POV here, and his lyrics are strong and plentiful, fitting into the odd rhythm rather effortlessly as he details all of the ways that people try to hide from God and keep up appearances to conceal their personal idols, the little areas of their lives that they don't yet want to relinquish. The song has a quiet intensity to it, getting louder at certain points, but mostly relying on the drums and vocals, and the stinging effect of the lyrics, for its intensity. The song has the dual effect of leaving me in a trance and also leaving me feeling like I just got my toes stepped on, because this is one of those moments where I hear the words and just go, "Yep. Guilty as charged."

Prelude in C Minor
The Listening apparently decided that the track in the middle of their album was an important enough song to warrant having an intro and an outro - and I don't disagree with them about its importance, but it does seem wasteful when 2 tracks on an 11-track album are merely short interludes. Nevertheless, this short composition leads nicely into the next track, with the glitch keyboards and little bits of guitar teasing at the melody that they will eventually congeal to form.

Hosea in C Minor
You didn't know you were drinking with demons
You wouldn't listen to the angels that cried
From the tops of cathedrals and churches, you walked right on by
You went your own way...
The album's centerpiece, and my favorite track by far, is a hushed and eerie allegory about the Biblical prophet Hosea, who is known for having a wife, Gomer, who was basically a bit of a whore (this being used by God as an example of how Israel in general at the time was basically a bit of a whore, spiritually speaking). Humankind's tendency to stray from God when we clearly know better seems to be The Listening's favorite theme, and it's explored here amidst a groovy rhythm while a clean electric guitar meanders up and down. There's a vocal hook in this one, as verse morphs into chorus (the tune is so similar in both places that it's tough to tell where one becomes the other), and Gabriel's syllables come out in triplets, ascending through four notes that inevitably become this song's main reference point. It's hard to describe on paper, but it's one of those compelling things that is just tough to get out of your head. The song doesn't mince words - "Won't know it's love 'til it's taken away, and you've thrown your own soul into hell for a day" and "You hated your freedom and envied the slaves" isn't exactly the comfy stuff you'll hear on most Christian radio stations. But it rings true - sometimes you have to lose it all and come back humiliated in order to realize how good you had it. Amidst the harsh reality presented, there's a tenderness - when Gabriel sings "Now you've fallen down, love", there's a sense that God hurts very deeply over this, too, rather than finding glee in pointing out the error. There's a lengthy section in the middle where the song is broken down to little more than keyboard ambience and a mixture of live and programmed drums - it reminds me very much of Radiohead's "I Might Be Wrong" (ack, I made another Radiohead comparison!) before leading into a surprise burst of guitar that precedes the final verse. Excellent, excellent marriage of great music and great lyrics here.

Are We Listening?
The postlude to "Hosea" is basically an electronic memory fragment, chewing over chopped-up bits of the previous song's melody while the glowing synths create a segue into the next track.

(Untitled)
You'll recall, you were young, and full of love
You grew older, and needed somebody to shove
Held your hands in a fist simply because
You were hated from below, and you hated above...
OK, so I know it's like, all artistic for musicians to create stuff and then title in in such a way as to draw attention to the fact that it isn't named. It gives the illusion of glimpsing a work in progress. Heck, The Benjamin Gate even had an entire album called Untitled. And it was a fine piece of work, as is this song. But dudes, seriously, this whole lack of nomenclature doesn't really prove that you're deep, it just proves that you're lazy. Moving past that, this track might just be The Listening's most straightforward rocker, in the sense that there's a much more prominent guitar riff that takes control from the beginning and more or less maintains it throughout the song. Some of Gabriel's vocals get electronically filtered, but aside from that, this is likely the moment where the band is least dependent on their vintage instrument tweaking, and they just play openly and passionately. The song appears to be about a search for the ever-elusive event of "finding oneself". An angry and rebellious youth is referenced, as are spiritual quests such as climbing mountains. Again, there's that dichotomy of breaking through to the other side, really seeing and hearing and feeling something supernatural, but then throwing it all away due to either doubt or arrogance. I think that's a common cycle for a Christian who is real with him/herself, and I appreciate that The Listening dwells in that lyrical space so much of the time.

The Factory
Smoking guns, pistols cocked
Always ready to kill, ready to stop
Anyone who disagrees with a crooked plot
The crooked cops, sirens off
They bust the door, your pour the gasoline on...
If there's an enigmatic song that would make more cartoon bubbles with question marks appear over my head than any other on the record this would be it, featuring little more than a quiet, somber piano intro and outro, some subtle guitar work to pin down the melody, and drums that break in and out at different intervals, sounding as if they're trying to recreate danceable breakbeats in a live setting or something. And that's just the music. The lyrics are downright bizarre, still carrying a spiritual allegory, but for a lot of listeners, likely sabotaging the worshipful flow of things as the narrative suddenly turns to an unsettling, violent story of a man who sets out to blow up a factory. As the lyrics press forward, never settling into convenient groups of 4 lines at a time, just so we can't tell where one verse becomes the next, we find out that this man has matches, gasoline, and pages torn out of a Bible in his arsenal, which are apparently used as fuel. He also gets shot and appears to die moments before the place is blown sky high, and then, after a brief musical interlude, the song appears to reset itself, telling the story from an earlier point in time. It's an interesting artistic exercise, and a highly enjoyable song once you get past the weirdness of it (and arguably, how out of place it feels), but I have to wonder if these guys haven't watched one too many episodes of Alias (or perhaps one too many films by Quentin Tarantino).

Lovely Red Lights
Downtown, dirty brick roads
Wind is blowing hard through your clothing
Neon always stays on
Only makes the drugs a little less boring...
This peaceful song has a message to it that kind of eluded me for a while. It's the most subtle track on the disc, with the warm glow of the guitars creating a gentle current over which the rest of the band leaves a light imprint. Gabriel's vocals have such a calming effect that it takes a few tries before you realize that he's referencing drugs and prostitutes and other "interesting" distractions that one might find while wandering around Amsterdam during the wee hours of the morning which are evoked by the music. "Tonight, death looks right, floating on a sea of lovely red lights", he sings in such a soothing tone that you're almost willing to accept what he says without even really paying attention. The point of this all, of course, is that these distractions can numb you and lull you into a false sense of security while killing you slowly. The soothing music masks the big flashing warning lights that would try to tell us this pleasure will only lead to pain. And somewhere amid the glitz and glamour, there's a small, quiet, out-of-the-way church which would beckon in those who have become weary of the distractions. The song stops short of using that to fully resolve everything - it's just a final gleam of hope; we don't know if the protagonist will stop and investigate it, or just continue on in his lethal daze.

Everything Is Nothing
Heard your voice gently say my name
The moment we kissed, the moment we became
Two different spirits somehow made the same
Two separate souls into one frame...
A much happier song turns out to close the album proper - an extremely warm and peaceful synth melody comes bubbling to the surface, while electronic drums lightly tap away to keep time. For some reason, this closing ode to true love reminds me of something that Skillet might attempt (it might be the slightly dry vocals combined with the romantically inclined keyboard loop that make me think of them) - Skillet has attempted a few love-oriented songs in this vein, but The Listening's version is more poetic and subtle. It never hits us with a full guitar blast, choosing instead to punctuate the chorus by making the drums denser and layering the vocals a little bit. Gabriel echoes the sentiments of 1 Corinthians 13 when he simply concludes, "Everything is nothing without love". When comparing this track to the ones preceding it, it's easy to feel like it might be a bit of a cop-out ending, and I personally would have added another song or two to bridge the gap from there to here. But taken on its own, it's still quite a beautiful piece.

At the time of writing, The Listening's album has come packaged with a bonus disc, containing three songs that are apparently from The Rock & Roll Worship Circus's repertoire, done in The Listening's style. I don't know if these bonus songs will always come with the album, but since I have them and think that two out of three should have just been made part of the album, I'll review them anyway.

Isaiah
If you would touch me at all
On my knees I will fall
To dream dreams like Joseph
Know You like Moses...
Revving up immediately with a strong guitar riff, this song shows us The Listening's middle ground between the Worship Circus's in-your-face approach and the newer subtleties that the band has discovered. It feels like a basic rock-oriented worship song at its core, with an anthemic chorus that pleads with God to touch us, saying that we would respond in the various ways that several characters in the Bible worshiped. It's simple, but there are lyrical tidbits like "Let's communicate without using our tongues" which hint that The Listening likes to think a little harder about these things.

The Undiscovered
So be afraid, for He is coming
In more glory than we have seen
So oceans roar and all you creatures
Tell the nations the Lord is King...
This song is trapped somewhere in between bright-burning rock anthem and slow-moving ballad - it seems to want to capture the universal grandeur of a song like Delirious?'s "Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble?", but it doesn't seem able to fully get itself off of the ground. Still, it seems to be one of the Worship Circus' more well-known songs, and I honestly don't know how the two versions compare. It might take a bit long to get where it's going, but I do like the coda, where Gabriel simply declares "All of creation sings" again and again.

If You Don't Know Where It Is You've Gone
Tell me Jesus, what have I done?
Am I still listed in Your book of sons?
I've been working so hard that when I got done
My head was sticky and my heart was numb...
This one's just an oddball. It's one of those "end your rock album with a left-field acoustic piece that's almost disturbingly simple" moments, and while the mellow guitar picking is appropriately woodsy at first, it never really seems to change, making a very short song feel kind of long. The song is basically a conversation with Jesus, where Gabriel asks where he went wrong, because he's trying so hard to do everything right. The answer is not working harder, I guess, it's realizing that you can't earn grace. The enigmatic conclusion is "If you don't know where it is you're going, just go back to the place where you started growing". It sounds catchy, but I'm not quite sure if it actually works as meaningful advice - childlike faith doesn't mean that becoming a different person as you grow is a bad thing. Probably not what they're trying to say, but I guess that's why I feel that the song is more of a catch phrase than anything all that profound.

Maybe this isn't a perfect album, but The Listening has still created a rock record that challenges worship-oriented Christian bands to try a little harder (or at least, that would if it managed to make its way out of indie-ville and attract a larger audience). The risks they've taken have mostly paid off, and they've become my favorite new band of 2006 thus far. Given that they arose from the remains of a band that I could never get into, that's quite an accomplishment. I look forward to seeing what their live show is like when they open for Kevin Max next weekend - something tells me that several of these songs will come alive even more when I'm there as they're being performed in front of me.

ALBUM WORTH:
Glory of the Feared $1
Triple Fascination $1.50
Be in Your Eyes $2
When the Idol Dies $1.50
Prelude in C Minor $0
Hosea in C Minor $2
Are We Listening? $0
(Untitled) $1.50
The Factory $1
Lovely Red Lights $1
Everything Is Nothing $1
TOTAL (without bonus disc): $12.50
Isaiah $1.50
The Undiscovered $1
If You Don't Know Where It Is You've Gone $.50
TOTAL (with bonus disc): $15.50

Band Members:
Gabriel Wilson: Vocals, guitar
Chris Greely: Guitars, vocals
Eric Lemiere: Drums, vocals
Josiah Sherman: Keyboards, vocals

Website: http://www.thelistening.com

Recommended: Yes