IT WOULD be hardly been a surprise if Remedy, one of the most hyped records of the fall, had fallen prey to the deconstructionist pretension that occasionally passed for art on the David Crowder*Band’s last (and on the whole very good) major album. But none of us could reasonably have predicted that the Crowder Band, riding a cloud of acclaim that generally elevates them as the long-awaited saviors of worship music, would misstep so dramatically in the opposite direction. An overly ambitious, shaky reach into the postmodern might have been the natural (and forgivable) next step of an artistic band under high expectations, but Remedy’s apathetic turn toward the uninspired is difficult to explain.

David Crowder*Band
Remedy
Rating: 5.7/10
[sixsteps; 2007]

The Crowder Band has occasionally used oddity as a crutch, but here, they don’t even bother trying to be quirky. The opener, “The Glory of it All” parrots the tiresome Chris Tomlin formula—a few hushed lines of verse, a guitar-awakening interlude, and a soaring chorus. The fact that it’s sprinkled with electronic eccentricity and sparse piano fails to mask its true nature—a typical, formulaic worship anthem with unimaginative lyrics (“At the start/he was there/In the end/he’ll be there”). And unfortunately, that description is equally appropriate for at least half of what follows.

The slower songs, particularly, suffer from one of Crowder’s longtime tics: the wearisome repetition of a single line that becomes no more meaningful or effective for its status as the only lyric in an entire chorus. The choruses of at least two tracks are composed of repeated single lines, and no less than three other tracks are least partially constructed around a repetition sequence. That might sound like nitpicking, but when framed by other inexcusably dull lyrics, the repetition comes off as either lazy, bored, or both. Lead single “Everything Glorious” is the most egregious offender, lethargically repeating its title as an excuse for a chorus and sounding like the tech-savvy, entirely forgettable sequel to the band’s earlier hit “O Praise Him.” Especially considering the very respectable lyrics that have up to now set the Crowder Band apart from their verbally vacuous contemporaries, it’s disappointing to have difficulty finding a single interesting line on this record.

And excepting the few decent rock numbers, the instrumentation doesn’t help Crowder escape the aura of disinterested shallowness that his lyrics exude. “Remedy,” despite grabbing the pretty intro from Bloc Party’s “Waiting for the 7:18,” is a slower version of “Everything Glorious,” with a plodding rhythm and lyrics to match. “Never Let Go,” the token weepy ballad, repeats its title line over steady piano chords that are neither interesting nor pretty. A take-it-or-leave-it cover of “O For A Thousand Tongues to Sing” is one of the few tracks to advance past fourth grade English or third-grade theology, but the “new” chorus doesn’t do it any favors. “Surely We Can Change” bows the record out with strings and gentle acoustic guitar—a minor improvement over the earlier quiet songs, but still melodically awkward and instrumentally forgettable.

But crushed editorial disappointment aside, Crowder & Co. are still talented musicians, and, despite what seems to be their best efforts to sound average, their musical intelligence is not entirely masked. This record takes some slight steps toward establishing them as the best rock band in Christian music—the zany distortion mixes and guitar riffs, particularly on “Neverending” and “We Won’t Be Quiet,” (in which they get some help from Ted Nugent) put every current Christian rock band on the market to shame. The David Crowder Band has no competitor when it comes to generating the perfect blend of sounds and, usually, turning them into memorable songs. And if you block out the lyrics and really the idea of this being worship material, the semi-solid rock tracks become a bit more palatable.

So sadly for all of us who were watching, adventurous experimentation must not be embedded as deeply in the band’s DNA as it seemed. The philosophy of A Collision—resistance of form and the intentional breakdown of obvious song structures—allowed these elements to flourish. On this record, the situation is quite the contrary: it’s an album so wedded to the humdrum contemporary-worship form that one can hardly help responding with the same apathy.