The Singles Jukebox

Can she get an AM-en?

[Video][Website]
[6.23]

Anthony Easton: The handclaps are fantastic, and the lyrical conceit is the witty reversal and the meta-context that country does really well. I kind of wish the tension between sanctified and saved was clearer — but the line about rolling highway FM makes up for it. 
[9]

Iain Mew: I like the idea, but the song seems to argue against its own lyrics — Morris sings of revival and the holy ghost flowing through her, but the music and “Ring of Fire” reference offer a fusty familiarity which conjures a different kind of church experience. It’s one that might be comforting in the same way as a car ride with the radio too, but the song’s too interested in the big statement to go for that.
[4]

Alfred Soto: She finds her soul revival singing every verse led by Cash and Hank and godly helpings of Jenny Lewis. In principle I resist hamhanded calls to worship this overt, and I don’t mean overt in religiosity. Love Cash and Hank, fine — record your own music, don’t get pompous about the tribute like a Pharisee praying in the front pew.
[4]

Jonathan Bogart: The gospelly push of the music almost overwhelms the threadbareness of the lyrical references. Wouldn’t it be more interesting if Aretha, Sam Cooke, or even Dwight Yoakam — all of whom are more present in the music than Sts. Hank and Johnny — were her reference points? But that would mean giving up on the illusion that country music is a pure unbroken line, the kind of ahistorical narcissism that is the greatest intellectual failing of U.S. culture in general.
[6]

Cassy Gress: It may not be on a dusty dirt road, but there are few things more spiritually cleansing for me after a garbage day at work than hitting the gas, blasting something way too loud, and singing my head off through rush hour gridlock. The chord progression is basic I-IV-I-V, which I usually bristle at, but in this case with a church analogy, I think it works – this is not an evangelical mega-church she’s talking about here; this is my grandma’s country chapel, with a well-loved old Hammond organ and a choir with a loud soprano or two who could never quite sing in key (Morris’s harmonies never get shrill or squeaky though, to be clear). It’s simple, and comfortingly predictable.
[6]

Patrick St. Michel: The build to the end is nice, but the pace of this makes me want to…just drive around and listen to music myself.
[5]

Megan Harrington: The way Morris describes listening to the radio as an act of salvation, identifying not as explicitly religious herself but as attuned to the sublime, reminds me a bit of Tom Ewing on U2’s “Beautiful Day.” Morris doesn’t capture the sense of awe and glory that powers U2’s later peak, but she speaks to the way a song like “Beautiful Day” feels to its converts. For Morris, and for myself and perhaps for many of this site’s writers, music is transformative. To be explicitly corny and useless, in “My Church” a quiet drive is a quiet drive but with the radio on, it’s redemption. 
[7]

Juana Giaimo: I’m not qualified to point out what classic country is and what is innovative in this genre, but I feel “My Church” is already dated. A road song with the radio on and the wind blowing on your face is as mucha cliché as comparing your passion with religious devotion, and I don’t believe it’s still meaningful in these days of Spotify and a pope who was assigned to be a rock star in order to appeal a younger generation. As that younger generation, I believe I’m qualified to say that “My Church” is about as appealing as the Pope’s music.
[5]

Brad Shoup: At least it’s pickup speakers, and not another bar. And she sings with conviction, not a choir. But please please can we stop singing about Johnny and the Hanks?
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: It’s starting to feel like there’s a sea change coming to country radio: between the successes of Cam’s “Burning House,” Chris Stapleton’s “Nobody To Blame,” and now this smash-in-the-making, the most arguably conservative format on the dial is re-opening itself up to songs that don’t sound like every other song they’re already playing. And also, they’re playing more women again, after last year’s “tomato” controversy, thank goodness. So it feels like the perfect time for the arrival of Maren Morris with a song about how the radio is her place of religion. She combines religion and classic country in a non-hokey way, aided greatly by her awesome voice and the AM-ready treble-heavy production. Say hello to the first new country star of 2016.
[9]

Katherine St Asaph: I’d have a more interesting time if she switched to the church of the crackles in her voice and the dust around her arrangements. And hey, FYI: most church-churches induct women pastors now. Why just Johnny and Hank?
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Morris almost sells the idea of radio as worship, but she’s confused fealty for authenticity with the mixing that makes it sound like it’s coming from a weak AM signal. It’s fun to be a throwback, but I’ve never enjoyed taking limitations of transmission or recording and making them deliberate choices at points and on media when those things cease to matter. Like an empty sermon, I’m cynical but I admire the craft enormously, and I throw my hands up in spite of myself.
[7]

Danilo Bortoli: Morris sets out to find redemption in what seems to be the direct opposite of “Backroad Song.” She is not merely content with describing scenarios or what there is to be seen in the rearview mirror. Still, a great portion of country is preoccupied with this sort of epiphany — the realization that the road is truly one’s path to redemption and, why not, God — but Morris’ take on this genre is more than simply competent. It’s a masterclass on songcraft mainly because there is nothing that tethers “My Church” to, specifically, gospel or secular music. Her music can work both ways and, as far as songs about finding temples out there go, this one is rare find.
[8]