Much like Christ, who came to us as a baby in a manger instead of descending
from the heavens as a lightning-robed Zeus-like figure, The Innocence Mission
sings to us in intimate whispers instead of assaulting us with Midas-touched,
radio-ready kitsch. In today’s culture of noise, The Innocence Mission is an
anachronism—a band out of time—writing songs about joy, sorrow, friendship
and all things sacred in a culture that values the superficial over the
substantial.
Is this the new counterculture?
Lou Reed and his majestic Velvet Underground would probably say “yes.” All
of the components that once defined counterculture in the ’60s—sex, drugs
and rock ‘n’ roll—are now firmly entrenched as mainstays in the mainstream
of the music industry. In a post-Velvet Underground world, artists that explore
themes of joy, sorrow, friendship and faith are exploring ideas that are
inherently countercultural. The Innocence Mission, over the course of their
14-year existence as Catholic exiles in secular indie-dom, has consistently
created this counterculture despite opposition from their record labels
(A&M, RCA).
What is this counterculture like? Mr. Reed would probably “get all Socratic”
and answer a question with a question: “Who loves the sun?” The Innocence
Mission does. This is no saccharine sunshine though. The Innocence Mission’s
music radiates with a warmth, mystery and intimacy that is entirely foreign in a
today’s progressive music culture. Their glowing musical ruminations
unabashedly recall the beauty of Simon and Garfunkel, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell,
Low, The Velvet Underground’s pristine ballads (which, consequently, were not always
about sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll), Negro spirituals, newly fallen snow, aurora
borealis and old cathedrals; in other words, all things literate, elegant,
pure, beautiful and hidden. For these reasons alone, The Innocence Mission may
well be Christianity’s greatest musical secret.
The band’s 1999 album, Birds of My
Neighborhood, was an overlooked masterpiece. In it, flowers of Christian
hope and joy sprung from the broken heart of lyricist Karen Paris. The musical
soundscape that set these lyrics alight was haunted by her husband Don’s
bell-toned guitars, upright bass, ethereal organ and Pennsylvania winters. Their
new record, Befriended, finds the
Innocence Mission treading the same haunted, frozen foothills.
Released on Badman Records, the label home of Mark Kozelek (Red House Painters),
Befriended is a worthy follow up to Birds
of My Neighborhood. Themes of spiritual transformation, resurrection, joy
and love resonate and co-exist with introspective sorrow, trouble and grief.
Indeed, Karen Peris writes from the crossroads of the human heart where heaven
and hell seem to intersect to create all of the contradictions that accompany
being human. Mysteriously, The Innocence Mission is capable of giving wings to
heavy things, making even the darker, leaden things in life seem buoyant. This
is one of the band’s greatest mysteries.
Befriended shines most on “Sweep
Down Early,” an otherworldly song that manages to simultaneously recall old
spirituals and ’60s folk/pop a la The Byrds. “When Mac Was Swimming,” on
the other hand, finds the band successfully exploring the netherworld of lounge
music and using guitar scratches as alternative percussion. The joyful
“Beautiful Change” recalls a brighter Mazzy Star with its swooping slide
guitars and minimalist arrangements. The most touching song here, however, is
“I Never Knew You From the Sun.” In it, Peris grieves her mother’s death,
singing, Oh I had a friend/ I had a friend I loved/ Now I walk for miles into
dark forests of piano songs/ I’m lost. The song’s title seems to express
how Peris saw her mother and the sun as one and the same, indistinguishable from
one another. Befriended, like any
other The Innocence Mission album, is capable of thawing a heart in winter.
The Innocence Mission creates this beautiful counterculture without a single
black leather jacket, pair of wrap-around shades or stack of vintage Marshall
tube amps. Just because they are not Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, however, does
not mean they aren’t “cool.” They are cool precisely because
they’re not Black Rebel Motorcycle Club or Jesus and Mary Chain, or any other
descendent of the Velvet Underground. You already know the rock ‘n’ roll.
Get acquainted with the counterculture.