Natalie Bergman’s Mercy
from Bandcamp
Music is a vital part of the sacramental imagination. All art has the power to break into our interior world to arrest our affections and capture our imagination in a powerful way. Music certainly does that for me.
That being said, I am the assassin of good music. I kill through repetition. Give me a great song or album and I will listen on repeat until it has been wrung dry of any aesthetic value or originality in my ears. What do you expect me to do? Listen to the second best song I know? Not a chance.
For the past six weeks, I’ve had Natalie Bergman’s exquisite new album, Mercy, tied up in the basement. Bergman is half of the brother/sister duo Wilde Belle of Chicago. I was a big fan of their indie/Afro-pop sound when I lived there, although I never got to see them live.
Mercy is a work of grief. Bergman’s father and stepmother were tragically killed in a car crash in San Francisco. In the aftermath of their passing, Bergman retreated to a monastery in the desert of New Mexico, read psalms, prayed, grieved, and created this album.
You wouldn’t necessarily pick up on any religious faith from listening to Wilde Belle, so I was somewhat surprised to hear Bergman announce that she was releasing an album of praise songs. I was more surprised when the album was released and I heard her so authentically and plainly speak of faith and love for God.
The sound is reminiscent of Wilde Belle, with more folky influences. Bergman’s distinctive voice—which is a somewhere between Joanna Newsome and Billie Holliday—is at once ethereal and earthy, which is fitting for music styled after the content of the Old Testament Psalms.
Most striking, however, is the way she weaves grief and prayer together. At times, you might wonder if she is speaking to God, her late father, or perhaps both: “Six months you've been gone / It don't get easier / Take him to the place I long to go / Put my faith in Jesus and I'm home.” Other times she speaks directly to the listener: “When you are scared / Reach out your hand / Talk to the Lord.”
The most heart-breaking and haunting song on the album is the closing track, Last Farewell. After praying through her pain and finding solace in God, she turns to address her late father. With exacting detail she describes the moment she learned of his passing. It is not only beautiful art but an honest processing of grief as well. She candidly tells the story in particularity—to God, to her father, and those of us willing to listen in. She reminds us of the tragic reality of death, our common destiny. Death is a thief of life and love; an enemy of God. “I hate to say farewell / I don’t want to say goodbye.”
This is sacred music at its finest—located at the nexus of heaven and earth, divine and human, life and death, with no pretense or apology. I’m thankful Bergman has redeemed something so meaningful from something so painful. Go and listen all you want, it won’t be easily killed.
