Oh sure, it begins innocently sufficient. A couple of chords. A voice—raspy, acquainted, worn in like a favourite coat. A delicate shuffle of drums, a slide of guitar. Nothing too uncommon. Simply one other folk-rock track, you may suppose.
However then, the phrases. “Hey, I discovered God… you’re standing on it.”
And similar to that, Ed Roman pulls the rug out from underneath you, solely to disclose the Earth itself—spinning, respiratory, sacred.
You see, Ed Roman is just not your extraordinary 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 attempting 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 people singer, half cosmic cowboy, and wholly bored with industrial 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 just a little nearer.
The track, like Roman himself, unfolds intentionally. No rush. There’s time. Time to think about 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 delicate. Mike Freedman’s guitar meanders like a river you’ve at all times identified was there however by no means dared to comply with. 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 photos drift and dissolve. The Earth spins beneath you, animals name out, and timber… oh, the timber. Falling, at all times falling. And someplace within the chaos, an eye fixed opens. Watching? Or weeping?
It’s stunning. And it’s brutal. As a result of if God is in all places, as Roman suggests, then what have we performed?
Nonetheless, this isn’t a narrative about despair. Not fairly. There’s hope right here. Not the loud, clanging variety. The quiet variety. The sort that lives in a track you nearly missed. The sort that comes from realizing you don’t should look far for one thing holy.
Since you’re standing on it.
And now .
–Kevin Morris
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