Just found this! And I’m loving it!
The Bread Basket
Rating: 6/10
Release date: 8 July 2011
(Independent)
Texas-based indie musician Josh Taylor is the latest addition to the indie worship landscape, and his addition is arguably one of the more fascinating ones. For one, he has roots in local rock act Clairmont, which already hints at less traditional musical perspectives. And indeed, when it came time to embark on his side project The Surrender Sound, that penchant for the unconventional probably led Taylor to use Kickstarter to fund this project (he successfully raised US$2000 necessary to cover the final production costs). But it isn’t a casual project by any means; Taylor’s website claims that Surrender Sound began when he started writing, in his words, “A LOT of songs. Like, a couple a day for months.”
It is from such a prodigious output that Taylor’s debut worship album Clarity, Humility and Peace comes about. At nine tracks and all things Texan oozing from its blue-skied pores, it comes as no surprise that Clarity is universally anchored by the acoustic guitar. This translates into a collection of songs high on playability, but low on stylistic variety. Taylor does well to pair the woodiness with a couple of sonic facets: a distinctively unplugged one, and an alt-rock variation that recalls a brief era when Third Eye Blind and Sugar Ray were still in. On one end, opener ‘Banner’ shuffles through via a lone acoustic guitar, with the steady percussive thuds and cymbal washes providing the requisite dimensions; yet minutes later, ‘Walk On Water’ sparkles with all kinds of pop rock twang. Yet while both tunes present their respective treatments with adequate aptitude, the same quality can’t quite be applied album-wide. ‘Love Like You’ hangs its construct largely on conventional downstroke strums, which do little to assist the song’s uneventful melody, and suggests a piano or some well-placed harmonies might have scrubbed off the unfinished demo feel. Meanwhile, ‘Sing Out’ hastily tacks on a tame excuse for a guitar hook to one of the album’s sloppier songwriting efforts, and we suddenly realise that we don’t even care anymore than Gin Blossoms have reunited.
Still, the bar room musical stylings are rather suited for Taylor’s confessional approach to lyric writing. Akin to the prayerful stance of Vineyard’s stalwarts, Taylor consistently muses over the divine expedition he has embarked on thus far, and directs most of his statements heavenward. “Teach me not to waste away your gifts”, he pines on ‘Walk On Water’, and the open-handed posture takes on added simplicity in ‘Silent’, via the chorus, “For me, what is your plan for me?”. The heart-on-sleeve angle is palatable in measured doses, but things get rather grossly obtuse when slivers of emo creep in, as in ‘Listen To Your Heart’, which sells itself as the Christian equivalent of Jimmy Eat World’s ‘Drugs Or Me’. “You have a song that sings through you”, he expounds to the weepy gaggle, before urging them on with the refrain, “You, you said, it’s not over yet / No it’s not over yet”. Cue the lighters, and the tissue boxes.
But if there is a scarlet thread to stitch the frays together, it comes in the form of Taylor’s limber voice. Like a pilates instructor, Taylor’s vocals stretch and bend with uncanny effortlessness, even as they share a similar tone to that of David Crowder: marginally nasal, frequently bouyant and with the slightest dabs of mischief. Yet behind that goofiness lies one truly sparkling talent. The rousing note that Taylor hits on the chorus to ‘Beautiful’ exemplifies a knack for peeling apart the crusty norm in search of the unexplored, and the song is an instant head turner because of such acrobatics. ‘My Rags Your Riches’ is another instance of sheer compositional brilliance: the acoustic spraseness of the song generates all the wide-eyed energy of a child, while Taylor’s haphazard wordplay provides a fitting coat of flourescence to adorn this playpen—perfect decor for a line as pristine as “Creator of words, no words can describe you”, or one as fitting as “La-la-la-la-la-la-love, love, love”.
Perhaps the greatest tribute that can be made about Taylor at this point is that he has over-gummed himself here. Clarity‘s melodies are second to none, but without the requisite backbone in the form of added instrumentation, their inherent stickiness gets lost in the company of equally adhesive tunes. That’s hardly a crummy place to begin a church music career, and Taylor is in prime position to see mainstream light way before the tunnel reaches its proverbial end.
