It seems like the past three years, I’ve been covering music that’s spiritual or has elements in it that resonate with spiritual reverberations. I’ve done this mostly in the new age space, but have long since abandoned any true connection with what is now most surely an anachronistic and even quaint label. Now the field is wide open, like the aperture set to wide, letting the totality of the light in, no longer stopping it down in catchable frames of reference. I can find it almost everywhere if I can attune my inner ear to the possibility of it’s existence and while I’m still working out the metaphysics of Paris Hilton’s singing career, I am hearing and sensing a broader spectrum of information infusing itself in bands like the ethereal prog-rockers from Iceland, Sigur Ros, to the scorching afro-punk, spoken word screeds of Saul Williams.

To me, this is never more evident than in the music of Mute Math. I discovered them one late night in Austin, a revelation at 3am that repeated over and over again on local cable, just to make sure I didn’t miss it. I was awed by their energy, passion and technical prowess, soldering bits of electronica, jazz, and prog rock together and delivering it with an urgency I hadn’t experienced since I saw U2 on their very first tour.

I caught them the following night during their showcase at SXSW and they delivered the goods, a hyperkinetic electric gospel of pure joy and longing for transformation. I later found out that they’re part of a new breed of Christian rock called, CCR (Christian Crossover Rock) that is not overt in it’s messaging. Well short of giving myself a Heineken baptism on the spot, I was converted to Mute Math.

When I got back to the Bay Area I dialed up friends who are festival bookers and passionately sang the praises of the New Orleans based band. I was surprised that they were reluctant to book them, I mean these are guys that schedule reggae bands, and Kirtan players like Jai Uttal and yet when it came to booking Mute Math, they might as well have been named “Moot Math.” They were scared of the Christian presence at their festivals and I thought this was ultimately a crucible of truth for our times where we preach tolerance until it doesn’t look the way we want it to. One of Mute Math’s more intense workouts is called, “We All Break The Same” which slams home the universality of our suffering, but I guess it was more about not breaking the mold than breaking bread with the unfamiliar when it came to the promoters.

However, if you’re not afraid of experiencing the virtuosity and vision of Mute Math, you won’t have far to tread off the mainstream path as they’re currently opening for Matchbox 20 around the country. Inspiration is a lot like love these days, you find it where you can get it no matter which mask of God is staring back at you.

by Robert Phoenix
Robert Phoenix moves freely among a vast array of realities, but tends to focus-in on music and human evolution.