The Jukebox continues its valiant, ongoing, honest-to-God-earnest attempt to like CCM…

[Video][Website]
[3.20]

Alfred Soto: “For King & Country, stylized as for KING & COUNTRY and formerly known as Joel & Luke, is a Christian pop duo composed of Australian-American brothers Joel and Luke Smallbone. The Nashville-based brothers’ 2012 debut record Crave, has received much praise, and they were named by Billboard as one of the ‘New Artists To Watch’ for 2012.^[2]American Songwriter described them as ‘Australia’s answer to Coldplay.’” That’s an awful lot of referents for God to parse, but He’s bored with this watery pastiche of Robbie Williams in supplicant mood — what else is He going to do?
[1]

Thomas Inskeep: The instrumentation of “Shoulders” is fairly standard-issue pop-rock, except for a delicious tinkling keyboard figure that persists through the entire song and gives it an added uplift. And then there are the lyrics, which are about getting support from God but can easily be heard as praise for one’s partner, or teacher, or support figure, a la dc Talk’s 1995 CCM crossover smash “Between You and Me”. The vibe of this is similar to that of Coldplay at their inspirational-est, but don’t hold that against it; even Coldplay hit the mark sometimes (cf. “Clocks”), and this does, too. “Shoulders” soars.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: I was in a praise band for two years. This midtempo mush would have been buried mid-set after Switchfoot, “My Glorious” and powerpopped-out “Open the Eyes of My Heart,” then retired after one service.
[4]

Scott Mildenhall: For a five-minute paean this has a deadening lack of uplift. For King & Country don’t sound broken, weak or sick, but they do sound like they may have been recently, and aren’t quite yet ready for loud noises or raised voices. Their lyrics depict men perpetually overwhelmed by the revelation of unbending benevolence, but everything else suggests they’re just getting by.
[5]

Micha Cavaseno: When an artist devotes their art to their religious beliefs, but in doing so refuses to think about the art they’re doing beyond the service, they turn out… this. I mean, we used to have symphonies for God. Now we get commercial cynicism. I don’t even believe in God, but I’m offended for them that y’all dedicate this banality to them, because in a world with folks like Jeremy Enigk or Daniel Weyandt or dozens of other Christians with capital Cs who can truly turn a lyric about such a great and overwhelming source of inspiration, you can find it in yourself to dig deeper than that.
[1]

Brad Shoup: Push the goopy spoken middle-eight up top, swipe a motif from Jim O’Rourke. I guess that’s it. 
[3]

David Sheffieck: Listening to a song like this underlines how brilliant a producer Ryan Tedder is. FKAC want to do a Tedder song — and Tedder’s style might as well be tailored to the epiphany-centric Christian rock genre — but every time “Shoulders” should hit hardest, it flops hard. The song starts off with promise, at a low point that suggests many highs to follow. But the percussion fails to develop into anything even approaching propulsive, the synth strings sound cheap, and the song’s constructed out of peaks and valleys instead of Tedder’s climax-built-upon-climax structure. The worst moment is the final pre-chorus, typically Tedder’s strongest: where the master would pause a moment longer after deploying an a cappella line, then bring the production to an overwhelming crescendo, “Shoulders” rushes headlong past a lyric that should build anticipation, then repeats the hook exactly. In trying to replicate a producer who himself has no shame, FKAC not only couldn’t manage a clear photocopy, they don’t seem to understand how the machine works.
[1]

Megan Harrington: One of my alternate personalities has excitedly argued that Christian rock is BACK, BABY. And with it, the chance to take it seriously as music that is much beloved by real people without a trace of irony and in complete earnestness. Taking the audience seriously was a huge component of pop’s critical narrative and. I think it’s crucial for separating Christian rock from its schlocky associations. “Shoulders,” though sparkly-eyed with the dream of salvation, is an above-average Passion Pit song. That places it leagues away from the avant and the cutting edge, but perfectly in line with pop’s middle of the road. It’s catchy and anthemic and the sort of song you can turn to during life’s ultimate low points. “Shoulders” believes you’ll triumph. “Shoulders” believes in you. 
[7]

Ramzi Awn: You gotta have faith, and I don’t find my comfort here. My help doesn’t come from you. And you are not my rescue. 
[1]

Mo Kim: 1) The auditorium stage is bathed in neon lights, the hilariously hideous PowerPoint highlighting a row of praise team members with hands lifted and eyes closed. The light doesn’t reach all the way back; I mouth the words, force my hands up, can’t quite keep my eyes from wandering the room. This is not the first time I have wondered if I’m missing out on something, have feared that my arms will give out before God comes to save me. 2) “Don’t have to see it to believe it,” goes the chorus of “Shoulders,” a song whose major-key melodramatics and ocean-sized percussive sweep would have made it a favorite on Friday night worship had it been released ten years ago. Though I don’t begrudge the members of For King & Country their faith, I question whether this declaration of faith is not in itself a statement of exclusion and privilege. What does it make of the newcomers sitting in the back of the congregation, the nine-year-old kids who are told they’re saved in one breath and abominations in the next, the myriad of Christians for whom this church was never built? 3) I also wonder about what classifies a song like this as recognizably Christian: is it the spoken-word bit at the beginning that solidifies it? Or the same turgid metaphors about mountains and forgiveness and refuge? Or the way that the chorus that is meant to soar brays instead? My religion does not feel this easy; my redemption has never felt this neutered. 4) Maybe there is something or value in writing about the individual experience of salvation, and maybe this is the perspective that For King & Country are writing from, but look around you. At the sparkling megachurches. At the televangelist conferences. At the rooms packed full of congregationers mumbling in one voice. This is how “Shoulders” was built to be used, a praise song at once frustratingly scare-quote universal in its sentiments and quietly, insidiously exclusive to anybody whose narrative of faith does not conform to sitting down, shutting up, and letting the wave of dollar-store salvation wash over them. The crowd stands, swells to the ceiling–and all the while, some of us are sinking deeper and deeper. 5) Bitter? Yes. Faithless? Maybe. But I am tired, and I am angry, and I do not need another worship song preaching wisdom at the weak when I am already drowning in them.
[1]