Denison Witmer’s music is thoughtful and understated and lends itself to rainy days and quiet contemplation. A multi-instrumentalist whose folk music sounds more otherworldly—and less roots-based—than what you’ve heard in the past, Witmer writes songs at once approachable and elusive. His lyrics can be deceptively straightforward at times, only developing more complex layers several listens in.
Witmer’s new album, The Ones Who Wait, to be released on April 26, is no exception. Witmer says that the new album came together somewhat more organically than those past, as he grieved his father’s death and adjusted to collaborator Devin Greenwood’s move to New York City. Though he told me he normally draws themes out of songs he’s created over a period of time, this album came to revolve thematically around the loss of his father without advanced planning. “In some ways,” Witmer says, “this was better for the album because it gave me a sense of pause. I let it show me the direction it was taking rather than the other way around.”
Witmer says that this affected his musical decisions as well. Though he usually writes careful first drafts with a clear sense of which instruments should be used and how the recording should sound, he chose to “[do] a lot of different things with these songs.” The aim was surrender to the creative process without being “too hung up on what we would do with the songs.” Instead, he says, “we worried about that later.” This allowed for a more thoughtful process in which ideas could be tried and tested, and creative possibilities explored more fully.
While he states that he wants to take a “serious approach” to his music, Witmer is self-conscious and circumspect about not wanting his seriousness to sound too self-important or “precious.” Instead, he says, “I’m thankful that people buy my music, and I’m grateful that I can continue to do it.” He’s careful to disavow any sense that “I deserve it or have earned it.” Instead, he says, he feels like he’s been fortunate—and well-trained.
Though Don Peris of The Innocence Mission was one of Witmer’s early guitar teachers, he says his earliest musical training came from the harmonies he grew up hearing in the Mennonite church his family attended. “We didn’t even have a piano when I first started going [to the church],” he says. Though they later acquired a piano, the church’s barebones approach to music never really changed. “I grew up hearing people sing four-part harmonies,” he says, “Casually. These people were farmers who lived around Lancaster county,” not musicians. He didn’t realize that the church’s musical traditions were unusual, he says, until “I visited another friend’s church when I was a kid and thought, ‘This church is horrible. These people can’t even sing.’” Even as an adult, he says that he’s always “blown away by the beauty” of the singing when he returns to his mother’s church.
Witmer speaks fondly of his Mennonite upbringing, saying that he loves “how the church maintains a very simple and forgiving approach for the most part.” He also says he feels drawn to the “humility” upheld in Mennonite churches. But he is not uncritical of his church experiences. It was disillusionment with what he saw as the Christian church’s general injunction against negativity that inspired his new song, “Cursing,” a meditation on anger at God that grew, he says, out of the experience of watching his father’s suffering and death. Witmer explains that the song, which opens with a narrator who “[curses] in the name of god,” was inspired by his realization that “expressions of anger and disappointment” were important—but often neglected—facets of spiritual experience.
It isn’t surprising that Witmer’s thoughtful approach to songwriting also infuses his approach to spirituality in general, and to Christianity in particular. Witmer sometimes gets pigeonholed as a member of the contemporary Christian music industry, a label that he consistently tries to downplay. He doesn’t want to be bogged down in what he says music industry types call “JPM” or “Jesus per minute.” He doesn’t see the Christian music industry as representative of his work, though he understands why some people aren’t so sure. He’s not attending church at the moment, but this seems like a minor detail with a musician who speaks with authority, for example, about the correspondence between C.S. Lewis and his contemporaries.
It’s impossible not to like Witmer. His personality, like his lyrics, comes across as warm and generous. But of his involvement with Christianity, he more than once suggests that he “may be naïve” in addressing the issue so artlessly and without agenda. I wonder if there might be some kernel of truth in this self-assessment, as I sense that Witmer doesn’t entirely understand why the debate confounds so many. He fits nicely into a left-leaning subset of Christianity, and “cannot be responsible for the ways” in which people view him and understand his music. “The only thing I’m really intolerant of is intolerance,” he says affably and simply, as if this statement itself should dispel any questions about his Christian-contemporary-or-not orientation as an artist.
But the situation is a bit more complicated. Witmer’s record label, Mono versus Stereo, is owned by the Christian label, Gotee, but he gets reviewed by secular publications like Pitchfork and shows up on the soundtracks of mainstream shows like Private Practice. Mono versus Stereo is a secular-leaning imprint owned by a Christian company. He performs at SXSW but also at some Christian music festivals. He’s reluctant to talk at length about his beliefs, though it’s clear that he’s sympathetic to the focus of Pittsboro, North Carolina’s Wild Goose Festival, where he’ll be performing in July. Wild Goose’s founders state that “the festival is rooted in the Christian tradition and therefore open to all regardless of belief, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, denomination or religious affiliation.”
I can see why evangelical Christians drawn to liberal-leaning, independent music often like Witmer’s music and persona; it’s clear that he’s fluent in their culture. Though I know he’s genuinely averse to the idea of aligning himself with the darker side of evangelical Christianity—its anti-gay and anti-feminist politics, for example—I also think he’s more comfortable than some with traversing boundaries and musical cultures. In some ways, this is a good thing; it allows him to reach disparate audiences in different ways. And his music, given its openness to interpretation, is precisely the sort that can reach these disparate audiences.
But I’d also argue that it’s more important to scrutinize your business partners than I’m convinced Witmer has done. Gay and lesbian music consumers, for example, will view a label owned by Gotee with considerably more suspicion than Witmer, and for good reason. The evangelical Christian world—including the world of Gotee founder and former DC Talk-member, Toby Mac—is not a hospitable place for many. I was impressed with Witmer’s thoughtful approach to business and music, and I hope that, as he continues to grow as an artist, he’ll deal more concretely with these issues.
Not just by attending festivals like Wild Goose, but by speaking out. I know how alienating the evangelical world can be, and I believe that those who walk more comfortably in it because of their privilege—heterosexual privilege, in this case—should step out as critics on behalf of those less welcome. When the label in question is owned by an evangelical umbrella label, it’s not enough to approach one’s label as from the perspective of a band member, as Witmer says he’s done.
Witmer told me that his album title comes from thinking about how to pass the time while waiting for whatever one awaits. “Do you fill the time with negative nervousness or with reverence, mindfulness and joy?” he asks. “If anything,” he says he wants people to take a sense of “reverence for life and the human condition” from his music.
Contemplation is certainly appropriate for the Lenten season, but I’d hate to end this without acknowledging the approach of Easter: If you’re reading this, Denison, I’d challenge you to approach the evangelical community as thoughtfully as you approach most everything, as that community needs people like you. Step up, be an ally, and otherwise keep on doing what you’re doing. I think there are reasons why other Christian-oriented musicians, like Michelle Shocked, have a huge lesbian following while LGBTQ communities are not as tuned into your music. She’s been fighting the good fight for years and has earned the trust and respect of the community.
As one person of faith to another, I’d say that there’s a time for quiet contemplation, and there’s a time to go out and “teach them to observe all things [god has] commanded of you.” I think you’ll do the right thing, whatever it is. See you at Wild Goose?