Cory Bishop's unfulfilled longing is a hopeful way to begin

Listening to singer-songwriter Cory Bishop is as easy as putting on a pair of old shoes. Bishop sings with a soft crackle, like Bruce Springsteen but mellowed, worn, and smooth. Demonstrating an easy mastery of country and folk-rock, Bishop ambles down many of the highways and byways of musical history on his new self-titled EP.

Those old shoes walk to some surprising new places as well. Bishop freshens up his country with an R&B feel, and lyrics abound with vivid imagery and insightful analysis—a fitting legacy for the son of two psychologists who are both raving Dylan fans. Bishop also sprinkles a healthy dose of religious references throughout his music, which isn’t surprising given his double major in music and religion at Nashville’s Belmont University. What is surprising is how he uses religious language—not so much to convey theological truth as much as poetic and personal truth.

After a palette-cleansing blast of electric slide guitar, Bishop puts his finger on the problem in “You Can’t Take Me.” With rustic resignation he observes that, “We’re all a little bruised and we’re all a little broken / Both the user and the used search for something to put hope in.” Hope is a common denominator driving everyone, but it doesn’t come easy when life often feels like being “on the wrong side of a wrecking ball / maybe the wrong side of a crumbling wall.” Twangy guitars and a steady beat lend gumption to Bishop’s husky declaration: “As long as faith is mine to keep / As long as truth is mine to seek … you can’t take me.”

“Carolina Let Me Go” is a journey song that contains more than a passing nod to that great 60’s-era journey song “The Weight.” Using the same potpourri of gospel/Americana sounds, Bishop’s journey also begins with high hopes and ends with disappointment. But unlike “The Weight,” the eventual disillusionment focuses not on others but on Bishop himself. No matter how many new places he visits, he finds the same old problem: “just around each corner / waiting patiently / there’s a better man / the man I was made to be.”

Sensitive acoustic guitar picking in “Crown Of Thorns” belies the callous manner in which people engage in casual sex. Understated drums still pack a punch as Bishop warns, “When we wake I’m going take back everything I say / but you’ll never get back what you’re letting me steal away.” Bishop expresses the guilt and selfishness of choosing not to see the whole person: “As we part beneath the magnolia trees / I know you’re somebody’s daughter but you’re not that to me / Honey, won’t you wear this crown of thorns and set me free.”

Bishop often gets straight to the heart of matters in his new EP, and he does it with a soothing voice and addictive country grooves. His knack for re-contextualizing religious language can be disturbing but also deeply insightful—showing an awareness of both human beauty and hypocrisy.

Bishop demonstrates a clear affinity for faith and yet—like many a millennial and artist—he doesn’t stake out any boundaries, emphasizing the quest over firm conclusions. But with penetrating lyrics about “living on the edge of who we are and who we’re not,” Bishop’s music might create a good conversation starter with those on the fringes. Unfulfilled longing may be a depressing place to end, but it’s also a hopeful way to begin.