This is one of the most emotionally compelling albums I’ve ever heard. Each note that Pipher and his accomplice, Rob Melanson, play evokes a mood, or stirs a passion. Not a single phrase is ornamental, no single chord extraneous, and yet the music is voluptuous. Note the opening melody of “The Lion’s Teeth,” which is as tense as a snake poised to strike and as graceful as a curtsey. Or the few notes of dissonance that cross like a passing shadow of doubt through the chorus of the title track. Better yet, move your cursor right now and click on “The Carver.” Feel the verse as it rushes forward like a terrified boy through a dark wood, and relish the release that comes in the chorus. Like falling into an angel’s arms.
“His Creeping Gospel” is a dark record. The lyrics rush past the border of Disquietude, and roam far into Morbid. The music can be as quiet and bare as an empty ballroom. But its emotional focus is enthralling; as if Pipher is telling us (warning us?) that though the world we feel our way through is cursed, our ability to keep feeling will protect us. As if it is in sensation itself that our salvation lies.
