The first Andy Gullahorn song that I ever heard was an ode to someone’s dismembered toe. I ran across the song in a concert video, where Gullahorn recalled hearing that his friend had lost a toe to a lawnmower blade. Titled “Roast Beef,” the song began this way: “He had roast beef for his last meal / His brothers went to market and to home…” From there, a story unfolded that was utterly hilarious (and weirdly moving…). That guy’s pretty dang funny, I thought.
Years later, I heard another Andy Gullahorn song called “That Guy.” This song opened with a story told in simple, matter-of-fact details:
He scoped out the market
All the women and kids
With so many distractions
Nobody noticed him
He had a jacket a size too big
A skullcap on his head
And a couple of homemade bombs
He duct taped them to his chest
Then came the chorus, a single line that took my breath away:
God loves that guy
Once again, Gullahorn’s lyrics had caught me off guard, but this time in a totally different way. With four words, the song had punched a hole through my defenses and gripped me by the heart. I was awed, convicted, and humbled. As the song transitioned into another story, I found myself marveling anew at the radical, bewildering truth of God’s love for broken people. And when the third verse rolled around with another unexpected twist, I was undone. “That Guy” was my favorite song of 2018, and it’s still one of the most moving depictions of the love of God that I’ve ever encountered. I’ve listened to it again and again, and even though I know what’s coming now, it still surprises me every time. Through the lyrics, I can feel God asking me: “Do you really believe I can love someone like that? What about you? Do you believe I can love you like that?”
This blog post is going to be my attempt to convince you to listen to Andy Gullahorn’s music. And I don’t mean listen to it in a passing way. I mean really listen to it, taking in the lyrics along with the tunes and soaking up the stories within the songs. I’ve been listening to Gullahorn’s albums for several months now, and I’m still being surprised by what I find there. I can’t write a review artful enough to do the music justice. But I can give you four really good reasons to do yourself a huge favor and check out this guy’s stuff. Here goes nothin’…
1. “Just Boring Stuff from Everyday”
Andy Gullahorn’s songs explore the familiar. The subjects that they tackle include things like romance, marriage, miscarriage, parenting, vocation, loss, and the joys and hardships of growing older. Intimate in scope, the songs challenge listeners to re-examine familiar rhythms of family life, friendship, and work, inviting us to see beauty in the seemingly ordinary. In his song “Chloe in Pasadena,” Gullahorn sings:
I can’t write any songs that have a funky beat
That make you want to dance
That get you on your feet
They’re more likely to put you to sleep
That’s the kind of guy I am
I can’t write any songs named after random states
After little towns or girls I used to date
It’s just boring stuff from everyday
That’s the kind of guy I am
Told in conversational, down-to-earth language, Gullahorn’s stories shine with tongue-in-cheek humor and love of life. In “More of a Man,” he recalls hunting deer, baling hay, and eating steak as a youth in Texas, then describes himself watching his diet and watching Dora the explorer with his children at 30. Bemused, he reflects: “Maybe I was more of a man back then…” In “Everything as It Should Be,” he describes a romantic moment with his wife:
All the dishes are done and the candles are out
When the kids are in bed, we collapse on the couch
Your head on my shoulder the next half an hour
Everything’s as it should be
Then the second verse comes, with a subtle twist that finds beauty in an unexpected place:
Most of our cereal bowls have a chip
We’re all out of bread, so add that to the list
We’re late for the bus at the corner again
Everything’s as it should be
Whether it’s grappling with grief in “Death Without a Funeral,” pondering the challenges of parenting in “Teenagers,” or reflecting on marriage in “Give It Time,” Gullahorn’s songs search for meaning in the messy and mundane. Over and over, I’ve found them pushing me to look more closely at my own life, to notice the opportunities for grace, gratitude, and growth that all too easily pass me by.
2. Guitar…
In addition to recording his own albums, Andy Gullahorn has traveled extensively as a guitar player and background vocalist for his wife, Jill Phillips, another talented singer-songwriter. He has also collaborated and co-written with artists like Jason Gray and Andrew Peterson. While many of his songs have little more than acoustic guitar as instrumentation, the warm, intricate melodies that Gullahorn creates make each song a unique work of art. Songs like “Desperate Man,” “I Will,” and “Light a Candle” feature some of the most beautiful guitar parts that I’ve heard.
3. Tales with Twists
Andy Gullahorn is a masterful storyteller. What I love most about his songs is the way that their stories unfold slowly and patiently, often revealing surprising twists and turns along the way. Songs like “How Precious Life Is,” “New Pair of Eyes,” and “Freedom 2.0” draw you in with humor, then sucker-punch you with deeply moving insights when you least expect it. In the song “I Haven’t Either,” Gullahorn asks the listener:
Have you ever been so selfish
That you let your baby cry
While you finished up a video game?
I haven’t either
That’s pretty bad
We find ourselves chuckling at this confession, up until the song turns in an unexpected direction:
Have you been so full of doubt
That you just can’t pray to God
‘Cause you wonder if he even exists?
I haven’t either
“Is It Real” begins similarly, setting the scene with a strange story about a communion service:
There’s a man who looks like Donald Trump
In front of me in the communion line
I know that I’m supposed to keep my mind on better things
But his hair looks like a helmet of gold
Glued on by a three-year-old
Nothing makes it move and so I can’t help wondering
Is it real?
Then the third verse comes:
Now I walk up front and kneel down
Every Sunday morning I’m in town
It might be out of habit now
It’s really hard to tell
But I bring the doubts that haunt my mind
These questions in the songs I write
And somehow in the bread and wine
I think I feel you there
Is it real?
There are so many songs like that. I won’t spoil any more of the twists, because there’s something beautiful about a song that sneaks up on you. Check out the song “Dad Like Mine,” for instance, and just try not to feel something as the song unfolds its story.
4. Beauty in Brokenness
While the stories that Gullahorn tells are intimate in scope, they also touch on universal experiences of brokenness – fear, doubt, failure, regret, and loss. The song “Different Now” took me by surprise because of how perfectly it summarized my own struggle with faith:
You know the good kid growing up, that was me
I was voted most likely to be a priest
And I thought I could not let anyone down
My definition of the way to be kind
Was to lose myself and shun desire
I thought I had life figured out
But I am different now…
I felt the holy water as a kid
Still the love of God felt like a stranger
Had to live and die to become born again
Baptized in the fire of all my failure
Gullahorn’s lyrics can be raw at times. “Nowhere to be Found” and “End of a World” are painfully honest lament songs that refuse to gloss over feelings of anger, confusion, and despair. In “I Want to Be Well,” Gullahorn confesses a painful awareness of his own shortcomings:
And it feels like a lie
That I’m made in your image
All my faith has run dry
I’m more a skeptic than a witness
As I’ve listened to Gullahorn sing about brokenness, I’ve been comforted by the discovery of shared experiences. There is solace to be found in realizing that someone else has walked the lonely road you’re on, that someone else has questioned God’s existence and goodness, that someone else has wondered whether they’ve screwed up one too many times for another second chance.
Yet, as heavy as their subject matter can get, Gullahorn’s songs offer beautiful glimpses of grace and hope breaking through the darkness. Sometimes, it’s a simple offer to share the road, as in the song “I Will”:
Sometimes people think it’s better
Feeding you an answer to what you can’t understand
But if you want someone who
Will just cry with you
I can
Other times, in songs like “Not Too Late,” it’s a signpost pointing to a deeper, stronger light on the horizon:
It’s not too late to understand
Grace is more than a concept to believe in
It’s something more real than your beating heart
It runs to the depths of where you are
It follows you there, retracing your steps
Whispering over and over again
That it’s not too late
It’s not too late
It’s not too late
So there you have it. If you’re new to Andy Gullahorn’s music, I’d recommend starting with the albums Reinventing the Wheel, Fault Lines, and Everything as It Should Be. These albums are among my all-time favorites, and I love each of them for different reasons: Reinventing the Wheel for its witty humor and surprising stories, Fault Lines for its beautiful reflections on brokenness and grace, and Everything as It Should Be for its poignant, seasoned wisdom. While The Law of Gravity and Beyond the Frame aren’t as good overall, they’re still packed with some beautiful, beautiful songs. The albums are streamable on Spotify, and available for purchase online through the Rabbit Room (store.rabbitroom.com).
Well, I’ve done my bit. There be treasure here, mateys. Happy hunting.
Words for Wayfarers 