Record Review: love, politics, religion, by Michael T. Thieme

When I was a kid, I started my own journey into music fanaticism and record-collecting with what would eventually turn out to be multiple bouts with a record club called Columbia House—as so many other Gen-Xers did, I’m sure. Opening a record that just came in the mail was an unmatched ritual for me – whether it was one I wanted, or one the Club had just sent to entice me to forget to return it (after which I’d be responsible for paying for what—usually, but not always—would immediately and forever end up at the back of my record stacks—probably never even played). Revealing the 12-inch square work of art in cellophane, and the enclosed sleeve with all the literary works a 12 or 14-year old could ever want, kept me entranced for some time—hours, it seems, as I look back now (though I’m sure it was more like minutes, really).

My brother and I would often argue about the merits of vinyl platters versus cassette tapes. He was on the side of the inherent portability, stackability, and size of cassettes (if my memory is still accurate), while I argued the size of the record case & sleeve offered a more inclusive, engrossing experience – with giant photos, artwork, liner notes, sometimes a poster, and—above all—lyrics. Sure, the cassettes had printed works inside the plastic cases—compressed art, and a long, serpentine-folded insert with the same lyrics and liner notes—but at that font size, it just wasn’t the same for me.

love, politics, religion approaches the complexity and depth of a concept record.

I bring this all up because that same brother, Michael T. Thieme*¹—also an avid music fanatic, but more than that, a brilliant musician himself—has released a record this year, and has included all of the things I remember being so wonderful about albums—in a slightly more digital realm. Though it’s been out there a bit, I thought I’d review it—partially to get your eyes and ears on it, and partially because it’s just damned good, and there is no statute of limitations on the sharing of great music.

Thieme self-released love, politics, religion in February this year—appropriately on Valentine’s Day, in fact—and it’s available on Spotify, Apple Music, Soundcloud, and other streaming platforms. If you visit Thieme’s website, you can also download a PDF/booklet that gives this release a whole other dimension. Artwork, lyrics, and liner notes make this more of a literary-musical work, and the whole package brings back much of that feeling of truly experiencing the event of a record as a whole.

​​Not just another album—love, politics, religion is close to a literary-critical autobiography, filled with self-observations about, well, love, politics, and religion. The record approaches the complexity and depth of a concept record, weaving Thieme’s personal experiences with some prescient, wide-angle views around what growing through the last thirty years or so of America has been like; certainly from his own perspectives, but also on a more humanistic, universal level. These songs really approach literature, both lyrically and musically, and the whole experience is one that must be shared—and heard, preferably with headphones on. 

It’s a meticulously crafted album that digs deeply into human emotions, societal tensions, and existential musings, intersectionally—allowing us glimpses from more than a few points of view—across all three of the album’s sections. I could go into depth with each of the songs—or short biographies—but it’s better you explore, so we’ll just go into a few from each of the three volumes. 

Love: Introspection as Connection

The first six songs are dedicated to love, and each illustrates a different romantic and interpersonal reality. “Music Man” is a conversation between the musician and his self-doubt, reflecting on compromise and devotion, ultimately embracing the beauty of an “ordinary” life. Through the grace of a loving relationship, though, the artist finds rescue, humility, and gratitude. It’s an exceedingly authentic portrayal of steadfast love, with a stunning backup vocal track sung by one of his two daughters, Emma.

Thieme’s older daughter Savannah plays Molly to his Leopold in “Molly and Leopold“—both portraying the two unforgettable characters from James Joyce’s Ulysses, and their life of miscommunication steeped in enduring affection. It’s through this layered storytelling and literary references that the song is transformed into a universal anthem about love’s resilience in the face of absolute hopelessness for the want of true, real communication. The interplay of voices gives the song an ethereal texture, and it transported me directly to Dublin with the two lovers—which makes this song one of the most poignant on the record.

Similarly, “What You Just Said,” captures the fleeting, tender, transformative moments in the very beginning of a relationship—maybe one that mirrors Molly & Leopold’s in some ways. A coffee shop, quiet snowfall, and soft—but indelible—conversation feels cinematic in its intimacy. Exploring connection as a conscious decision rather than a gravitational pull, Thieme uses the desire to remember just how they said what they said in that moment as a platform for time travel. It’s those moments that become lynchpins of change—mostly for the better, but most certainly towards paths leading to forever.

While “Long Gloves and Leather” may seem a more playful piece, take some time to dig the brilliant multi-instrumentalism—particularly the horn sections—in this romp through sexual games. As with most self-recorded albums, Thieme plays pretty much all of the instruments, and records, masters, and refines every note – and nowhere on the album are those many talents more effectively shown. There are so many levels, so many things going on—you almost forget the situation at hand. I emphatically recommend headphones for this part (for the whole album, really).

Politics: Stark Reflection of the Contemporary

The record’s transition from love to politics is palpable—soncially and lyrically—accurately reflecting reality. In the second section, Thieme’s ability to channel personal and collective frustrations into evocative melodies and lyrics is particularly striking—addressing the troublesome nature of the past few decades with some pretty unflinching honesty and narrative.

“I’m Not Proud” is an anthem of dissonance between love for country and disillusionment with its actions. It’s critical of unconditional loyalty, and challenges us to reconcile our ideals with reality, calling for more accountability—without losing hope. “Replacement Theory,” tackles the sinister basis of xenophobia and fear-mongering, using a narrative lens surrounding the 2017 Charlottesville tragedy. The song—correctly, in my opinion—treats the heinous event not as a singular event but as a symptom of much broader societal decay and basic disregard for humanity. With its optimistic conclusion, envisioning replacements of lies with truth, fear with hope, it thankfully brings a redemptive twist amidst such deep despair.

Religion: Existential Musings

Maybe following the evolution of an individual life, religion, the final section of the album, showcases Thieme’s meditative reflections on spiritual, existential themes. The approach is questioning, emotional, and deeply personal, inviting listeners openly into musings on philosophy and faith.

“I’m Here” balances Buddhist-inspired ideas with heartfelt intimacy, in gentle exploration of presence and impermanence. Minimalistic arrangements allow the lyrics to shine, offering a meditative soundscape that lingers for a while after the song ends. 

“White Knuckle Ride” might be the most intriguing song on the album. Appropriately beginning with a soul-deep, existential howl, the song immediately—and angrily—questions the role and intentions of any higher power. Amidst juxtaposed visceral imagery of chaos and moments of  almost quiet introspection, Thieme creates a threatening, and threatened, dialogue that’s both raw and relatable. Once again – headphones are highly recommended – as Thieme’s vocal delivery captures many levels of frustration and yearning – while the instrumental mastery solidly grounds that inner war.

“Even Now” (not a Barry Manilow cover, much to my own silly personal chagrin) provides hopeful resolution, offering a soul a soupçon of solace amidst darkness. Drawing again from Buddhism, the song showcases the cyclical nature of suffering and renewal. Thieme’s emotive performance, poetic lyricism and harmonic prowess—accompanied by his daughter Savannah’s accomplished, and perfectly placed, violin—masterfully bring the album to a heartfelt, honest closure, on a note of quiet resilience.

Musically, love, politics, religion blends unmistakable acoustic warmth with electronic sophistication, and brilliantly shows off Thieme’s studio genius. Piano arrangements anchor most tracks, while beautifully arranged horn sections, backup vocals, and collaboration from a few other musicians creates a solid, cohesive sonic foundation for the album’s thematic explorations. The record might just be a masterclass in songwriting, blending deeply personal narratives with broader societal critiques, and it requires both intellectual engagement and emotional vulnerability—and (of course) headphones. 

But it also stands as testament to resilience in the artistic endeavor (Thieme has been working on this record, alongside his career and family life, for a number of years), and to his own production, recording, and mastering abilities. Again – headphones are HIGHLY recommended for listening – there’s a load of music and fun to unpack here. Listen while reading the liner notes in the PDF. For me, that offered a step back in time to days when listening to a record was almost a ritual. I recommend giving it a try.

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1. Full disclosure – Yes, that brother and the artist whose work I am reviewing in this article are, in fact, the same person, and yes, that person happens to be my brother. In case it isn’t obvious. No nepotism here – all these views are my own, and uttered truthfully and with full intent. ↩︎