Album Review: The Great Work by SameStory
“Frankly, these people frighten me. Politics and governing demand compromise. But these Christians believe they are acting in the name of God, so they can’t and won’t compromise. I know, I’ve tried to deal with them.” – Barry Goldwater, United States Senator for the Republican Party and nominee for President of the United States in 1964
For as long as there has been Christianity, there has been carnage associated with it. While the beginning was marked by victimization, the religion quickly evolved into an institution of immense influence, and in this way, turned from martyrdom to tyranny. As the Church gained authority, it began to shape the course of human progress, more often than not stifle rather than spur. Active terror plots like the Crusades or the Inquisition, complicit transatlantic transgressions like the slave trade and Nazi ratlines, and long-standing oppressive teachings like intelligent design and heliocentric condemnation; the legacy of the Christian Church is stained with bloody conquest and heinous injustice. Many of these dark chapters began with the Catholic Church, but as other denominations branched out, they too enacted their own shames from global missionary campaigns that plagued indigenous cultures to witch hunts in colonial America and the rise of modern fundamentalist extremism.
Today, for every person who finds purpose and belonging within the Church, there seem to be two or three more whose lives have been torn apart by it, either by daring to question doctrine or simply existing in ways that an arbitrary book has labeled “unnatural.” This spiritual anguish permeates the fabric of modern life, leaving behind a trail of lingering guilt and suppressed truths. At best, it fractures identities; at worst, it breeds destructive habits and deep-rooted shame. Ultimately, the blame lies with the institution itself, clinging rigidly to the very message it so often betrays. Instead of recognizing the shared humanity on the other side of an imagined divide, it sees only heathens: lesser, unequal, unworthy. And when such messages fill sermons week after week across the globe, it’s no wonder that societal progress is hindered, and global ataxia takes hold.
This affliction prompts two distinct reactions: either a sense of graceful patience or seething indignation and rage, the latter of which dominates the runtime of The Great Work, the new album by industrial noise act SameStory. The album delves into ecclesiastical distress, carving a path through the pain of severed existence. As visions of Sodom and Gomorrah fill the soundscape with fire and brimstone, a sense of abandonment sharpens, with clarity driving the anguished lyrics. Out today through Cacophonous Revival Recordings, this daring record constructs its own canonical imagery and language. It stands not as a martyr, as the religion once did, but as a guardian–a collectivist paladin if you will—who urges us to embody the very traits we so often rush to place upon each new discovery.
Dissecting the layers of The Great Work requires time, as it’s not just the message and sound that demand attention, but also the imagery and symbolism distributed across each track. When SameStory mastermind Dillon McKinnell describes God’s wrath against wickedness over relentless sonic pummels in “Sackcloth\Ashes,” he ends the stanza with the phrase “trumpeting to the choir,” a reference that plays on the biblical imagery of trumpets as both a harbinger of salvation in and a symbol of divine judgment. Whether echoing the apocalyptic seven trumpets of the Book of Revelation or offering a moment of respite, as in the Lutheran hymn Weary of All Trumpeting, the image of trumpets looms large in Christianity. However, here, it serves as a stark symbol of the hypocrisy at the heart of some of the Bible’s most repeated narratives: the notion that destroying the sinner and purging the world of what one deems wrong is something worthy of a brass celebration. Here, McKinnell exposes it as the horror it truly is. Not some cautionary tale from thousands of years ago, but a real mindset that plays out in lawmaking and education to this day. Conform or be destroyed, either will be celebrated.
“The Flood And The Fire” taps into an equally harsh reality, using torment and despair to fuel its menacing roar with a direct lyrical assault. “I hope to god you fucking drown in the shame\ Integrity\ It doesn’t matter\ Chastised by the things we believe\ Community\ It doesn’t matter,” McKinnell snarls, his words cutting through distortion that serves as a bullhorn amplifying anguish into a defiant battle cry. Even the staunchest of Christians might find resonance here–if not, perhaps the question is why they spend so much time condemning other sects and denominations. In this doctrinal struggle, even the most devout are pitted against each other, with semantics becoming the ultimate arbiter of salvation. It’s an absurd truth that ignites the flames of this track. (“An even line\ Of which side do you stand on\ Underneath of your lies\ I can’t find\ A piece of mind\ Any time you come around\ And take a piece of mine\ I can’t find\ A way to decide\ Which God do you believe in?“)
On “Commit Life,” the album’s lead single, which also features a music video steeped in stark imagery, McKinnell channels intense fury and societal disillusionment into a blistering critique of religious corruption. The track kicks off with a blend of both historical and modern sermon samples, setting the tone for an unyielding industrial march that echoes the weight of its message. As the lyrics unfold–“Down on my knees\ In one hand is my life\ Down on my knees\ In one hand is the knife“–McKinnell exposes the anguish and frustration of those who view religion as a tool of manipulation rather than redemption. It’s a raucous call for accountability, a fierce condemnation of how religious institutions have warped sacred teachings into instruments of exploitation, all driven by a discordant, relentless roar.
But The Great Work isn’t driven solely by chaos and noise. “White Lie” offers a meditative pause, built on rhythmic gongs and immersive ambiance throughout its five-minute runtime, erupting at key moments but ultimately finding its way back to tempered composure. “Have you forgotten the face of God?” McKinnell chants, a pointed critique of how the unbridled excesses of religion have distanced itself from the natural beauty praised in the holy text. “The Death of James” expands on this, grounding the theological inquiry in McKinnell’s Lynchburg roots, a city both shaped and corrupted by the power of the Church. The higher institution of “learning” that commands the City Of Seven Hills stands in stark contrast to the settlement’s namesake, a man who once pardoned his “property” despite his alleged role in a family tragedy, literally embodying the mindset “hate the sin, love the sinner” whereas modern teachings seem to double-down on the hate. “I don’t know your name\ only your Christian name,” McKinnell murmurs within the mix of roaring ambiance that mirrors the constant surge of the town’s titular water source. It’s a reflection on the false identities Christianity sometimes imposes–an identity not nurtured, but guarded–leading to the duplicity so prevalent in society. Family values preachers engaging in extramarital affairs. Tithing leaders living in excess. As the proverb goes, do as I say, not as I do.
On the closing track, “Escape Death,” McKinnell rises above the afflicted anguish and lays bare the album’s pure message of communal comfort, one that transcends any notion of what we believe awaits us in the afterlife. “And your love\ Is greater\ Than anything\ God can give,” he chants, the absence of the typically tormenting background sounds offering a rare moment of clarity. “I’m in need of a Savior,” he concludes, the mantra fading out over a hesitant organ, unaware that the message itself embodies the Savior. The true issue lies in affixing the role of redeemer or liberator to a select few, for it is these very people who twist it for their own gain, corrupting and distorting its original intent and resonance. The power of salvation isn’t meant to be hoarded or wielded by the few, but shared freely among all, in a collective recognition of shared humanity and the love that transcends institutional control. This isn’t a naive platitude, but something we’ve long championed in foundational documents like the Declaration of Independence: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These principles must be extended to everyone, not just those who subscribe to the same narrow spiritual beliefs or can recite mistranslated scripture. Ensuring that the message is truly for everyone is the true great work of humanity. And even if it requires the pain and anguish conveyed by SameStory on this album to bring it about, it’s a goal we should all strive for in this life.
The Great Work is availble to stream now on all streaming platforms. Make sure to follow SameStory on social media to keep up-to-date on future news and updates.
