That credo, of the power - even necessity - of doubt to human existence, is epitomized by the way the band thinks about “evangelism” itself. Joseph offers them a fascinating alternative to that guilt - an invitation to doubt and disillusionment, mixed with the language, metaphor, and longing of Christianity. The song’s desperation culminates with the part-resigned, part-taunting “Rain down and destroy me.” The disillusioned search for God continues in “Addict with a Pen,” which ends with the similarly frustrated “I haven’t found a drop of you / I haven’t found a drop of water.” With this careful mixture of faith and doubt, Joseph is accessible to a sea of uncertain Christian youth who might see their doubts about the world, and themselves, as a kind of moral failure. Instead, it’s the anthem of a person who dares to demand proof of God’s existence, not as a cynic, but as a struggling believer. From their titular debut album, the very first song, “Implicit Demand for Proof,” clearly sets out to be neither of those extremes. They have managed to bypass the censorship of Christian-culture gatekeepers, amassing a massive Christian fanbase while challenging the idea that faith in music requires either blind reverence or blanket defiance. Parse the words of Daigle’s peers - from Australian chart-toppers Hillsong United to hitmaker “TobyMac” to preteen-favorite Britt Nicole - and you’ll find not only the same themes of trust, obedience, and surrender, but the same identical words - “fire, desire, and lift you higher” or “king, sing, praises ring.” What you won’t find is individual doubts, questions, or thoughts in general that aren’t tied up in a neat bow after 3 to 5 minutes.īut Twenty One Pilots, themselves the products of strict evangelicalism, have profoundly broken the mold. Take Lauren Daigle, one current chart-topping darling: Her biggest hit, “How Can it Be,” is a lyrical remix of the 200-year-old hymn “And Can it Be,” a song that already has several derivatives, from an “update” by Bob Kauflin to the self-described “modern contemporary rock” version made by Cliff College. The music ecosystem that’s left, manned by risk-averse gatekeepers, anoints a revolving door of influencers so like-minded as to be borderline indistinguishable. The censorship culture pervades the conservative strongholds of America, and music that doesn’t pass the spiritual litmus test gets thrown out by default. As a kid, his evangelical parents banned the secular rock records he was obsessed with. Twenty One Pilots’ drummer, Josh Dunn, would know. It’s precisely the specificity of the musical world he creates that gives his songs such deep-rooted resonance.įor the 24 percent of America that identifies as evangelical, “religious” music isn’t just popular, but a cultural mandate. Breaking down the walls of the insular “evangelical” world he comes from, Joseph has always told a story that’s unequivocally his. Twenty One Pilots have utilized that creative control to break one of the biggest boundaries in modern American music: the boundary between the spiritual and the secular. In a cultural atmosphere where it takes an average of 4.53 authors to make a hit song, frontman Tyler Joseph remains one of a rare few artists to write all of his own music, and is responsible for half of 2016’s hot 100 hits written by a single author. That’s the surface-level Twenty One Pilots - but their bland-pop image doesn’t tell the full story. Styled as indecisive harbingers of an innocuous millennialism, there’s supposedly no genre they won’t fold into their made-for-Spotify brand of “schizoid pop.” Culturally, they’re set up as successors to fellow middle-America sweethearts like Taylor Swift, their honeymoon period inevitably destined for inoffensive mediocrity. At the peak of their fame, after a goofy-grinned Grammys acceptance speech about their “Moms” and “following your dreams,” they seemed to have earned their place in culture as the ultimate crowd pleasers. They weave in and out of alternative rap and Americana ukulele with risk-averse charm, flashing their small town smiles on queue for songs about student loans and treehouse homes. In the mainstream music world, Twenty One Pilots are famous for being chameleons. By Courtesy of Brad Heaton / Twenty One Pilots
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