In the meta-modern age of 2024, I can confidently say that I have discovered most of my favorite bands and musical artists online.
For the longest time, I prided myself on my tendency to favor “dad” music—from Weezer to Fleetwood Mac, from Michael Jackson to Alan Jackson to The Barenaked Ladies; I never strayed far from what I’d heard through my father’s defective car speaker. And though there’s no rhyme or reason to my playlist titled “Philip P. McClarty,” I never really cared. The perfect ratio of classic rock, country, alternative rock, and many other subgenres were united under the harmonious marriage of nostalgia.
However, upon ascending to middle school (the big city compared to my provincial Goodwillie life), I began to wonder if there was more. What sort of melodies existed beyond my realm of musical knowledge; what had I seen but not yet conquered?
I think something clicked for me in late seventh grade when I knew little to none of the “name that tune” songs Mrs. Kriekard played for choir warm-ups, and I had little knowledge of music besides what I had inherited from my father. For my 13-year-old self, the worst thing that could occur was not knowing—especially when it’s something I could know, something so easily accessible.
So, as any teenager would do, I looked to social media to expand my music taste, discovering some of my favorite bands and artists. Recently, I discovered a new band of old faces, from a genre I haven’t really explored before: folk. While on a biweekly Instagram Reels doomscroll, two familiar faces appeared on screen explaining how to write and compose a Noah-Kahan-inspired song. The two main members of the band (as described in their bio, they are Bailey + Micah + friends), had been veteran counselors of the family camp I grew up at—a summer camp that truly fostered my love for campfires, the acoustic guitar, and Jesus.
While looking at their bio, I discovered that they had released their first album, The Figs Present: The Figs, which was quickly added to my “TO LISTEN” list in my notes app. Unlike many of the other bands in that inventory, I dove right into the album.
The fourth song on the album, “East of Eden,” is, though not explicitly stated so, an extension of the story of Cain and Abel. The lines “I hear the blood of my brother crying out from the ground / and I’m afraid that I’m never gonna forget the sound,” reference Genesis 4:10, where God evicts Cain for the crime of killing his brother, Able. Genesis 4:16 describes Cain’s exit from the Lord’s presence to “the Land of Nod, east of Eden.”
The song is written from the perspective of Cain, where he speaks to his son, warning him of the evils of the earth while praying that “God will show you Eden’s worth fighting for.”
Another (possibly) Christian song was “Hum Biddy Bye,” the final track of the album. It is sung a capella, albeit the base rhythm of a bass drum. At first, I thought it may have been a metaphor for the life and death of Jesus Christ, but then I wasn’t sure, then sure again, and so on and so forth.
I thought the line, “Sure, he looked like a beggar with holes in his shoes,” might have been referring to the piercing in Christ’s feet, or maybe “I remember the wars that they carved into stone / Met the children of children of men that I’ve known” referred to how He lived through the ages of the earth, but the lyrics were all too arbitrary to take at face value. At the end of the day, the song could have just been an anecdotal recollection of a beloved man from Kanawha County, but that’s my favorite part about music, especially this deeper, contemplative worship—it’s all up to interpretation.
My favorite track was “Kamikaze,” specifically for its profound, standout lyrics. The word Kamikaze, meaning “Divine wind” or “spirit wind’ in Japanese, originated in Japan. The word became prevalent in World War II when Japan sent a crusade of pilots on deliberate suicide missions to crash into the United States Navy. About 3,800 Japanese pilots died in these missions.
The track “Kamikaze” takes an interesting viewpoint on this situation. Though many of such pilots were volunteers, whether that be from enthusiasm or obligation, most were coerced into the mission of suicide. Through lyrics such as “He said, I traded life for a figment / And I bartered my soul for a gun / And I sold any chance of redemption / For a statue they promised would come,” the singer expresses the emotional turmoil a volunteer may feel for both his life, his loved ones, and the lives of people he would take through this mission.
This song, though not directly about God, has elements of Christianity within it, with lyrics like “Oh, God, if you’re still using Samson / And guiding the prodigal home / Would you spare an old soldier the sting of the weapon he holds.”
Another personal favorite was “Death of Me,” a beautiful, romantic song about falling in love. The track’s lyrics have an adventurous feel, describing a late-night date watching a lightning show and comparing the beauty of this girl to the streaks of purple and white across the night sky. The drums in this track crack and shatter like thunder during a lightning show, capturing the essence of how it feels to watch a performance of lighting and rain dance on the horizon, not caring how soaked you may be, living in the moment with the person you love most.
I expected “The Great Compromise” to be a symphony of complicated, possibly biblical metaphors, but unfortunately, it was nowhere near so. Nevertheless, I am grateful for it, and I listen to the entire song (if one could call it that) every time so that I can hear the little gem at the end. I’m with Bailey on this one—with the whip!
This entire album brought me reminiscent memories of weekends spent practicing baseball with my dads and brothers, the dust of the field clogging my throat as I tried to sing along to the artists who found their home in my dad’s portable speaker.
It felt like speeding out of cold water to colder wind as I was dragged on a slalom ski; it felt like longboarding with my cousins through Midlake Drive and then around the camp’s empty parking lots after a full day. It transported me to being on my knees amongst like-minded people, separated in our prayers but still united in worship all the same.
