It would be easy to understand, if you’re only somewhat familiar with David Bazan's musical, theological, and philosophical backstory, why you might be tempted to shrug curse your branches off either as another record by some Christian indie rocker, or as a declaration of atheism by some former Christian indie rocker.

Here is our request: Please do not do that.

Both of those dismissals are inaccurate, and neither gives any indication of the depth and breadth of Bazan's work. He's not an evangelist or a prodigal son, or any other cartoon character from the ecumenical funny papers. He's a songwriter, whose melodies and instrumental figures are every bit as eloquent as his lyrics. He is, we believe, a major talent who has already spent more than enough time in his successful career struggling to unshackle himself from the ideological expectations of his audience. More to the point, curse your branches is his masterpiece — a beautiful, passionate, profoundly courageous work of art that deserves and will reward your close attention. It is a deeply personal, frankly autobiographical dispatch from the front lines of a crisis of faith. Song after song peers deep into the abyss of insoluble mysteries and comes up with something far more useful than answers.

This is not a record about renouncing God, any more than it is about accepting God. It's about the circular, iterative process of learning to embrace uncertainty, and about how, in fact, uncertainty is also the condition necessary to make faith actually meaningful as a form of commitment. The narrator of these songs is plagued by doubt, and the consequences of entering into a soul-baring dialogue with an entity he may not truly believe in. But he also discovers that somewhere, somehow, he is still speaking (sometimes blasphemously, sometimes with profound respect) to someone he can’t see. And blasphemy as a low form of prayer is a powerful idea. It's not unheard of in pop music — consider the way Leonard Cohen writes about the marriage of the sacred and the profane in everything; consider Dylan's more successful evangelical excursions; consider Randy Newman's "God's Song (That's Why I Love Mankind)" — but it is rare.

The notion that questioning, even denying the existence of God is a form of — if not exaltation then at least acknowledgement — feels almost radical in light of the current climate of religious discourse, which can best be summarized as Yes God vs. No God. The indisputable presence of thought police on both sides of the gulf, and the fact that neither side is willing to allow a note of uncertainty into the discussion guarantees no discussion at all, just a service volley of diametrical harangues. Curse your branches demands a more interesting discourse. Bazan isn't just about faith, nor renunciation, nor atheism, nor any of the thousand ecumenical distinctions religious seekers must parse before they can even see what they’re looking for. Curse your branches deals with all these themes, among plenty more intimately personal ones—what this record is really about, root and branch, is freedom, and what it costs.