God Is in the Ground

I have followed David Bazan for the past 12 years. From Pedro
the Lion, to his electronic detour as Headphones, back to Pedro the
Lion, and finally as a solo artist under his birth name. For these
dozen years the only constants have been that Bazan wrote good songs,
and that he wrote good songs about Jesus. And while his narration
viewed life through countless pairs of sad eyes—offering
perspectives seldom associated with the creatively impoverished
spiritual music community—those were the two things you could
count on from each and every album from the bearded Seattle songwriter.
That is, until Curse Your Branches, when Bazan killed God.

A former member of the Tooth & Nail label’s flock and a
Christian music icon—not to mention a cornerstone of, well,
Cornerstone, the Christian music festival—Bazan was the closest
thing to a modern-day Larry Norman. He established a cynical and
troubled voice, yet never strayed from the shadow of the cross. While
his songs grew dark with tales of murder, infidelity, and callous
deception, Bazan was ultimately still a man who found grace in the eyes
of the lord, a lifted soul with a penchant for making his faith known
without ever forcing the issue. Then Curse Your Branches happened.

The album opens simply enough: “You’ve heard the story, you know how
it goes/Once upon a garden we were lovers with no clothes,” but from
there Bazan’s apprehension is no longer muted, as a life of devotion
turns to doubt and disillusionment. There are countless breakup
records, but few, if any, center on the messy split with a spiritual
deity or the shunning a life of hardwired ideology. The ramifications
echo throughout Branches. “If my mother cries when I tell her
what I have discovered/Then I hope she remembers she taught me to
follow my heart/And if you bully her like you’ve done me with fear of
damnation/Then I hope she can see you for what you are,” sings Bazan on
“When We Fell,” one of many emotionally crippling songs scattered
throughout the album. It’s at this point you realize how rough the
divorce between God and man has been.

This openness is a newfound part of Bazan’s role as a performer, one
he demonstrates with Q&A sessions mid-concert, and a nationwide
tour of living rooms that has been ongoing throughout the year. “I’ve
played 71 house shows since February, and there’s nine more in
December,” he explains, describing these intimate (invite-only) shows
as “unbelievably pleasant.” Considering the emotional turbulence that
permeates Branches, it’s a shock to see Bazan anywhere, be it
onstage or in your living room. But, for Bazan, the severity of the
situation is what he seeks out: “For me personally, certain moments do
feel like, ‘Couldn’t you just, like, let up just a little bit on
that?’… but when it comes down to writing a song, there’s an itch
there and I’m just trying to figure out how to scratch it.”

When asked about the heavy topics that anchor Branches, Bazan
is surprisingly candid, especially when it comes to his initial
reservations about revealing too much about his spiritual collapse.
“After I had written five or six songs, I did have some panic because I
thought that writing a record about these topics in such a conventional
manner was very uncool. Even though I think the economy of cool is a
bankrupt way to go about anything, I still have a desire to be cool,
and so I was worried.” He continues, “But I got over that pretty quick
because the songs just feel important to me, personally.”