In this week’s episode, Leah Amarosa explores the unique structural and textural features of contemporary worship music, demonstrating how its formal processes are shaped to enhance spiritual and communal engagement.

This episode was produced by Katrina Roush along with Team Lead Matthew Ferrandino. Special thanks to peer reviewers Joshua Busman and Shersten Johnson.

SMT-Pod’s theme music was written by Maria Tartaglia, with closing music by Yike Zhang. For supplementary materials on this episode and more information on our authors and composers, check out our website: https://smt-pod.org/episodes/

[Intro Theme by Maria Tartaglia.]

Welcome to SMT-Pod, the premier audio publication of the Society for Music Theory! In this week’s episode, Leah Amarosa explores the unique structural and textural features of contemporary worship music, demonstrating how its formal processes are shaped to enhance spiritual and communal engagement.

To begin, I’d like to ask a question. In songs with verse/chorus cycles + a bridge, what defines the bridge section? In other words, what musical features tell you that you are hearing the bridge? Feel free to pause if you want to take some time to think about it.

There are so many things you may have considered. You might have thought about the location of the section within a song. The bridge often serves a transitional function, usually occurring after two verses and choruses. Additionally, the bridge is usually followed by a final chorus.

You could have also thought about melodic and harmonic contrast. The bridge does not usually have the same melody or the same chord loop as other parts of a song. It also often features a move away from tonic harmony.

Lastly, you may have thought about the textural qualities of the bridge. Since a bridge usually leads into a final chorus, it often creates tension through an increase in instrumental texture. While classic bridges are less common in more recent popular music, when they do occur, texture is almost surely an important factor.

Now let’s listen to the bridge of a popular Christian worship song, “See A Victory” by Elevation Worship (2019). I’ll play the full bridge into the chorus that comes after. As you listen, think: “What is most distinct about this bridge? Does it exhibit the more common features?”

[See A Victory” by Elevation Worship (2019) 2:58–4:21]

If you are familiar with Contemporary Worship Music, or CWM, you might be thinking, “that’s the bridgiest bridge I’ve ever heard!” If you are not, there may have been two things that caught you off guard. First, the excessive repetition. The bridge lyrics are repeated 6 times, lasting more than a minute, a very uncommon bridge feature in rock and pop music. Secondly, there is a continuous build of textural intensity until the return of the chorus, when all of a sudden, the momentum is abandoned and the chorus starts quietly, what Drew Nobile has called an anti-telos chorus, but what worship musicians usually call a “down chorus.”

What if I told you that after the down chorus, the song builds again to a climactic bridge, and that’s where the song ends? Unique, right? Well, not so much in CWM. This is actually one of the formal paradigms.

The bridge we heard was in the right location, served as a contrasting and transitional section, and increased in texture, some of the normative features. But, its extreme repetition and return at the end of the song is almost unheard of in rock and pop music. If you haven’t ever listened to this genre of music, you may have heard nothing like it before. Yet, it is the music heard by half of all Protestant church-goers in America, and the singularly most common music played at mega-churches. Several universities across America even offer bachelor’s degrees in worship music, yet music-theoretical writings on CWM are limited.

In this podcast, focusing on music of the last 10 years, I highlight the distinct formal features that characterize CWM. Though the structural section labels and functions resemble those of pop and rock music, this genre’s modifications to and expansions of normative formal paradigms enable it to be particularly effective in fostering congregational engagement and spiritual connection.

Before I go into musical analysis, I’m going to provide some historical background for CWM and describe my own personal experience with the genre. CWM, or Contemporary Worship Music, is a label for songs in the Christian Contemporary Music tradition that are primarily used for congregational worship. Though this is the term I’ve heard in the worship communities I’ve been a part of, there are a few other names for this genre, most notably praise and worship, or contemporary praise and worship, the term used in Ruth’s and Hong’s text on the history of the genre (2021). Their book describes how Contemporary praise and worship music emerged from two distinct but overlapping movements—the Praise and Worship movement, which emerged in the 1950s in charismatic and Pentecostal circles, and the contemporary worship movement that began in evangelical circles in the '60s.

The Praise and Worship movement grew out of a desire to engage more deeply with God, and spiritual leaders found that simple repetitive choruses helped them achieve that. On the other hand, The contemporary worship movement came into existence out of the Jesus Movement of the 1960s and 70s in California. The Jesus Movement was made up of young people who were previously part of the counterculture movement, but who converted to Christianity. They began making music in the only idiom that they knew– rock and roll. Eventually, churches realized that they could reach more people, and keep young people in the church with music they actually like.

This new genre was called CCM, or Contemporary Christian Music. Ruth and Hong propose that these two rivers began to merge, the Praise and Worship movement, and the Contemporary worship movement, in the 80s, and by the late 90s, essentially became one. As these rivers merged, the term CWM was established to distinguish between the more pop-like songs on Christian radio and the worship music designed to be played in churches. So CWM, Contemporary Worship Music, is the term I use for the music in this episode.

An important aside is that CWM and gospel music developed individually and have different historical roots. In the last 20 years, though, there has been more cross-pollination between these two genres. While CWM has been largely dominated by White voices, and conversely, gospel music is deeply tied to the heritage of the Black church, the more recent focus on diversity and multiculturalism in the American evangelical church has resulted in some stylistic blending. But, the two still remain distinct genres.

My experience with CWM began as a child growing up in the evangelical church. I started playing keys for my church’s band at age 13, ended up getting my undergraduate degree in Worship Arts, and I was deeply embedded in CWM culture until just a couple of years ago. Because of my background in this genre, I am deeply aware of the misogyny, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination that have emanated from the American evangelical church, and have experienced some of it myself. Though not all the songs I discuss on this podcast were created by artists who have espoused these views, I want to acknowledge and denounce these abusive actions. I urge anyone listening to seek help if you have endured trauma or abuse in a religious setting, in communities that are supposed to provide healing and love, not to promote exclusivity and judgment.

Now it’s time to dig into some analysis. First, we will listen to and examine Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020), a prototypical example for understanding formal functions and processes in the genre. From there, I will highlight three distinct features that differentiate the formal structure of CWM songs from verse-chorus forms in other genres. And lastly, I will end with a case study comparing two versions of the popular CWM song “King of My Heart.” In studying their contrasting formal and textural features and considering how they affect the listener’s experience of the song, I argue that the formal features that make popular CWM songs so distinct are the same ones that create the ideal environment for spiritual and physical connection.

Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” was released in 2020. It came out as an EP, which contained 5 versions of the same song. Here, we will listen to the Live version. In contrast to most other genres of music, in CWM, the live versions are usually the most popular because they are seen as authentic and communal, while the shorter studio versions are the ones played on Christian radio.

As we will find in this analysis, although the formal sections are labeled similarly to pop music, they often function differently. Specifically, changes in musical texture, experienced as changes in sonic energy, contribute to more dynamic formal processes. As we listen to the first verse-chorus cycle into the second verse, consider the ways in which energy intensifies.

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) :00–1:25]

To state the obvious first, the addition of more and more instrumental layers clearly increases the sonic energy of the track. Speaking in physics terms, when the track starts with only light guitar and keys, there is so much potential energy available. In the first verse, we get the addition of the vocal layer and then bass halfway through. In the chorus, we now hear some light drums and more keys.

And then, a standard drum beat is added to the texture in the 2nd verse. The texture has been thickened a lot, some of that potential energy has been converted into kinetic energy and then sound, but there is still so much more room for growth. Something already unique about this texture is that after the first verse-chorus cycle, the texture does not thin out; the energy is not expelled in preparation for the second verse, like we often expect from a verse-chorus song. Instead, new things are continuing to be added to the texture. In the text, the verse starts with “I” statements like “I searched the world” and “I’m not afraid,” and then as the sonic energy builds, the lyrics gradually shift from “I” statements to “You” statements, and the chorus lyrics are simply a repetition of “There’s nothing better than you.”

So even though the second verse is just as powerful as the chorus instrumentally, the verses draw the mind and body inwards, while the choruses expand outward, from personal reflection to declarative statements to God.

The other significant source of energy gain is the live atmosphere—the dynamic exchange of energy between the worship leader and the worshipers. It is clear from the cheering at the strum of the first chord that the audience is familiar with the song, and they are brimming with anticipation. The worship leader feeds off of the energy of the crowd as they cheer and sing along, occasionally sending more energy back into the crowd through adlibs, pumping them up.

After the second verse, there is a build into the chorus, and then the chorus is repeated with sustained energy. I’m going to play just the end of the 2nd verse into the chorus so that you can hear the texture become even more dense with the addition of organ, more guitars, and synths.

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) 1:46–2:05]

Now I will skip to the end of the repeat of the chorus, and we will listen through the bridge. Try to think about how this bridge compares to the one we heard in “See A Victory.”

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) 2:28–3:50]

Wow. Okay. The first thing you probably noticed is the intense energy gain, which we also saw in “See A Victory.” Here, the primary contributors instrumentally are the constant kick drum and the rhythmic convergence of all the instruments in the 2nd half of every other measure, precisely the only time there are no vocals. The result is that every single lyrical statement is punctuated, and if you noticed, every phrase also begins with the word “You” or “You’re,” meaning it’s the most communal and celebratory part of the song yet.

The bridge is not as repetitive as the one in “See A Victory,” but it follows a simple pattern. Additionally, when the bridge is repeated its final time, the sonic energy is increased just a little bit more, and the lyrics change, now starting with the phrase “You turn graves into gardens.” Sound familiar? Yes! That’s the title of the song. It’s finally introduced here in the 3rd iteration of the bridge. The last phrase of the bridge, “You’re the only one who can” is also repeated, now as a “tag,” a term used to denote the last phrase of a bridge or chorus that is repeated for emphasis, or to signal the end of a section or the whole song.

The question now is, “Have we hit the climax? Is there anywhere else to go?” Let’s find out.

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) 3:45–4:18]

Ok, I’ll admit that was somewhat of a trick question. Like in “See A Victory,” the climactic bridge is immediately followed by a down chorus, but only 4 measures later, we’re building again! Where could we possibly be going? Let’s keep listening.

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) 4:23–4:55]

Yep, you probably guessed it. Back to the bridge, though this time we go directly into the title lyric “You turn graves into gardens.” I’m sure you’re sensing a pattern here. In “See A Victory,” the climactic bridge was followed by a down chorus, which then built into an even bigger final bridge. Two builds, the second one bigger, a double arc. That seems to be what is also happening here. Let’s listen to one more part of the song, when the ending of the bridge gets tagged again.

[Elevation Worship’s “Graves Into Gardens” (2020) 5:05–6:04]

Hm. Let’s unpack what we just heard. The song appeared to end—the tag was repeated, the tempo was slowed, we hear a final cadence, the worship leader screams, the band plays a “trash can ending,” the very scholarly term for the celebration at the end of a song while the audience cheers. The guitars, keys, basses, and other melodic instruments drone on the tonic, the drummer furiously, but musically, improvises across the drumset, with loud crash cymbals, fast rolls on the snare, a wildly fast kick drum, and ends on a full kit slam. You can probably guess what that means.

So what we heard, and what the audience felt, was all the signs of the song ending. But whether planned or not, or somewhere in between, the worship leader feels like everyone had more to give. So the band starts the bridge up again, for the third time, and the song ends with 3 more huge bridges. Altogether, we heard 3 total climaxes, all occurring in the bridge, each one bigger than the last, a triple arc if you will. This isn’t the norm, the double arc is, but it really shows how repetitive these bridges are, the mutual exchange of energy between band and congregation, and how the builds are the basis of the formal structure.

Now that we have gained a sense of the formal sections and overall structure of a CWM song, I’d like to posit 3 unique features that differentiate the form of CWM songs from verse-chorus forms in other genres.

First is the importance of the bridge. Second is the focus on textural processes. And third is the ability of formal sections to serve flexible purposes. I turn now to each of these 3 features, focusing on their individual significance.

#1: We have seen the importance of the bridge in the prior examples. While not all CWM songs end with a bridge like we saw in the examples, the bridge is usually repeated the most and occupies the most time in the track. Out of the current 100 most popular CWM songs, 86% of them have a bridge section, and of the ones that don’t, every single one instead has a verse 3 or 4 that builds to a climax, serving a similar function to the bridge.

While scholars such as Drew Nobile (2020), Trevor de Clercq (2017), and David Temperley (2018) have discussed variations in how bridges are expressed in pop and rock music, in CWM, the bridge’s role and content are more closely prescribed. In Jon Roller’s textbook, Music Theory for the Worship Musician (2020), he defines the worship bridge: “Musically, the bridge is usually the longest, most sustained build of the song. It usually repeats more than any other part, small fragments of lyrics and music repeated and built over the time of the bridge.” It’s not uncommon for bridges to take up almost half the song’s length! And these are not short songs! “Stairway to Heaven” length is a given, not an exception.

Adding to Roller’s claim, I also argue that bridges often contain the largest climax of the song, the second hump in the double arc, and that they are commonly direct addresses toward God using the pronoun “You.”

Now the question is why?

We can partly answer that by looking to Black gospel music. I realized that the vamp in gospel fulfills a similar role to the bridge in CWM. In Braxton Shelley’s book Healing for the Soul (2021), he describes the vamp as being “built on the iteration of a recognizable musical unit” and having “an unmistakable experiential and syntactical preoccupation with escalation” (263). One such escalation technique is textural accumulation. While in CWM, the bridge might be slightly longer in length than the content of a vamp, they are both repeated many times, appear near the end of the song, and are focused on escalation, particularly in musical texture.

Spiritually, Shelley says that “it is the vamp’s job to turn song lyrics into the substance of faith. In so doing, the vamp occasions the brand of musical transformation that yields an embodied experience of interworldly power” (278). Now, this is where the “why” question is answered. The lyrical repetition of the bridge, sung along with the other worshipers, makes the words stick—they become a sort of spiritual creed. As the sonic energy increases, too, bodily engagement is increased. The charismatic tradition of CWM assumes, like the gospel tradition, that “the divine is actually available for bodily experience” (136). The aspects of the bridge that make it unique are those that foster greater connection with God.

#2 is the focus on textural processes. Jon Roller’s textbook describes the classic shape of a CWM song as the double arc (169). Usually, the first climax, the smaller one, occurs either in the second verse-chorus cycle, or in the first iteration of the bridge. The second climax, the largest one, is almost exclusively in the bridge. What creates these climaxes is primarily texture accumulation and volume, though sometimes vocal range can also play a part.

This textural accumulation mirrors some of the patterns we are seeing in recent popular music, as described by Kyle Adams (2019), Drew Nobile (2022), and Brad Osborn (2013), due to EDM’s influence on pop music. However, there is no set sonic energy wave form that accounts for the majority of popular songs.

More so, the importance of a set template for textural accumulation and energy gain resembles that of EDM. While there are obviously many differences between the two genres, the diagram in Mark Butler’s book Unlocking the Groove (2006, 222), which shows the prototypical form of an EDM track looks EERILY similar to the double arc form in Chapter 16 of Jon Roller’s textbook (169–171).

Now, again, we return to the “why.” And I think it all has to do with tension and release. Worship songs could have just one singular climax, but the songs are usually more lengthy than a typical pop or rock song. Additionally, the smaller, earlier climax gives the second one so much more anticipatory power, that when achieved, the celebration is that much more satisfying. I’m sure you can think of a suitable analogy for this process.

Lastly, #3 is the ability of formal sections to serve flexible purposes. There are many ways that this can occur—reharmonization, repetition, varying textural intensity, and even octave flips. Earlier, in “Graves Into Gardens,” the bridge serves its normative role, but then becomes more chorus-like, as the second iteration contains the title of the song. Additionally, every formal section is repeated with a different level of intensity. To give an example of reharmonization and the octave flip, let’s listen to Verse 3 of Phil Wickham’s “Living Hope,” recorded by Bethel Music (2018).

[Phil Wickham’s “Living Hope,” recorded by Bethel Music (2018) 2:36–3:40]

We heard Verse 3 begin softly, after the first climax in the previous chorus. The first half of the verse has the same melody and harmony as the previous verses. Then, instead of beginning the next phrase on the 4 chord and continuing with new lyrics, the singer pauses for a measure, and Verse 3 repeats, now with the full band. The singer then flips the octave, meaning she jumps an octave higher, and the band builds. The 1 chord is also placed in first inversion, another increase in tension. Then, instead of ending the verse on a 5 chord leading into the chorus, like in Verse 1 and 2, it ends with a 4-5-1 cadence. The cadential arrival, then, does not occur at the beginning of the chorus, but at the end of the verse. This shows flexibility in how each section is employed.

Trevor Declerq’s 2017 article talks about embracing ambiguity when analyzing form. Though some of the formal sections in CWM don’t function in the way we normally expect them to, I don’t think that means we need to come up with new terms or words to describe them. If the industry isn’t going to change them, neither should we. I think it just means we need to embrace ambiguity and adjust our preconceived notions of what it means to be a verse, to be a chorus, and to be a bridge.

As we have seen, CWM employs distinct formal features. While we can find many of these underpinnings in gospel, pop, and EDM music, CWM uses these specific formal and textural features for a purpose—that is, achieving intimacy with God.

In Joshua Busman’s chapter “Worshiping ‘With Everything’ ” (2021), he uses the idea of “sensational forms,” from cultural anthropology, to understand the formal structure of worship music. Busman writes, “Sensational forms help to describe how praise and worship music uses commonly held formal structures to organize access to the divine at the level of sensory experience” (28). Essentially, the congregation is familiar with the musical organization of worship music enough to know what to expect. Busman says that sonic intensity is one of the most important sensational forms—worshipers are primed to anticipate climactic moments of worship when sonic intensity is increased.

For this reason, formal development is centered on sonic intensity. While not all CWM songs employ the same structure and ordering of song sections, worshipers expect and anticipate these high-intensity moments, together. Of course, even those who have never listened to worship music might recognize some of these sensational forms from pop, rock, or EDM music. And that’s precisely what the first songwriters of the Jesus Movement were going for.

Yet if we get even more specific, each individual worshipping community has their own sensational forms. Different church bands might not perform a song the exact same as the recording; they might add, subtract, or modify a song based on their congregation’s size, participation, or demographics. For this reason, searching a popular CWM song on a streaming service will yield multiple results, as different worship groups and leaders have their own takes on the song. In the worship community, there can even be arguments over which one is the best. In the final part of this podcast, I take a look at how one song can produce different meanings, emotions, and spiritual experiences based on its formal and textural processes.

John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan released the song “King of My Heart” as a studio version in 2015. The song quickly became popular and has, by now, has been recorded by countless groups. In this section, I will compare the original version of the song to Bethel Music’s live version, released in 2017. Though their formal structures are nearly identical, the differences in texture and instrumentation greatly influence the song’s emotional impact, spiritual resonance, and bodily engagement. I’ve personally played both of these versions in a congregational setting and they really feel different to play.

To introduce you to the song, I’m going to play the first verse and chorus of each version. Just a little note so you’re not surprised by it—The McMillan’s version is in Bb and Bethel Music’s version is in A. Here is the original version.

[“King of My Heart” by John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan (2015) 0:13–1:10]

Now here is Bethel’s version, sung by Steffany Gertzinger.

[“King of My Heart” recorded by Bethel Music (2017) 0:24–1:20]

Now let’s cover some of the similarities and differences. First, remember that the McMillan’s version is a studio version. There are voices singing along, but that means it’s a recorded choir, whereas Bethel’s version is in a fully live atmosphere. Vocally, there is a stark difference in the timbre of the vocalists. Sarah McMillan’s voice is reserved, warm, and breathy. Steffany Gretzinger’s voice is noticeably more full, bright, and nasal, yet has more dynamic contrast, from a belt to a whisper.

This inevitably leads the Bethel version to sound more powerful, while the original is more intimate. Instrumentally, the original version consists of a rich pad and low, percussive guitar picking in the verse, while Bethel’s version is piano-centered. In the chorus of the original, piano and bass are added, while Bethel’s version adds hi-hat, electric, and bass. Both versions build slightly, but Bethel’s builds a little more.

The next verse in each version fills out the track with the remaining parts of the band. In Bethel’s version, however, Verse 2 is repeated. Both versions build into the next chorus, but differently. First, here is the original, halfway through the second verse into the chorus.

[“King of My Heart” by John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan (2015) 1:24–1:44]

Now here’s the Bethel version, halfway through the verse the second time into the chorus.

[“King of My Heart” recorded by Bethel Music (2017) 2:04–2:24]

Sarah McMillan goes up the octave on the ending line of the verse, “Oh he is my song,” [short clip] and energy is immediately increased into the chorus, now sung an octave above the first chorus. Steffany does the same, but earlier in the verse. She flips the octave at “inside my veins” [short clip]. This causes the build up to the chorus to last longer and sound more intense. In both choruses, though, each version reaches their first climax.

The next part of both versions consists of the bridge, a repeat of the bridge, and then the chorus again. Listen, thinking about how texture and harmony differ between them. Here’s John Mark and Sarah McMillan’s original version:

[“King of My Heart” by John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan (2015) 2:07–3:09]

Now here’s the Bethel version:

[“King of My Heart” recorded by Bethel Music (2017) 2:46–3:48]

Okay, so here’s where things started to get different. They both do start this section with a male lead singer and very light instrumental texture with no drums. But in the McMillan’s version, Sarah and John sing in octaves for the first 7 measures of the bridge, and then on the last measure the harmony moves to a 5 chord and John flips the octave, now singing in unison with Sarah [short clip]. The Bethel version stays on the 1 chord for the whole first bridge, just with the male singer and audience clapping in anticipation, with no building yet [short clip].

In the repeat of the bridge, both versions see the addition of drums with the same groove as the chorus, perhaps in anticipation of the chorus’s return. In the McMillan’s version, now each two-bar unit ends on a 5 chord, building the tension more and more until we finally reach the 1 chord of the chorus [short clip].

In contrast, Bethel’s bridge adds tension primarily through instrumental and vocal texture. Stephany starts ad-libbing as the male singer flips the octave. In the second half of the bridge, the entire band builds. The harmonies do start to change here, but the bridge still ends on a 1 chord. Thus, the release in tension from the bridge to the chorus is really not harmonic, but totally textural, a demonstration of the unique emphasis in this genre on textural processes [short clip].

The Bethel version is almost over. It ends with a huge climactic bridge, the second climax, and then there is a fading out on the first lyrics of the chorus.

In the original version, there is also a huge climactic bridge, but listen to what happens after that.

[“King of My Heart” by John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan (2015) 3:53–4:27]

While Bethel’s version just ended at the climactic bridge, it seemed like the McMillan’s version was going to end, but then we suddenly heard a new chord, the 2 chord, not heard at any other place in this song. Then Sarah McMillan sings, “When the Night is holding on to me, God is holding on,” accompanied by only keys and light guitar. This last phrase moves the focus inwards to personal reflection, as if it’s a final reminder that when life really gets hard, God is there. Bethel’s version, conversely, ended with a celebration.

Thinking about the context of the recordings, the Bethel version’s formal processes made sense for a live crowd because they were more dynamic. The first build was gradual and slow, and then the bridge starts right back at the beginning, quietly, and the second climax is delayed with a tonic pedal, but then arrives quickly. That double arc structure. You can hear the energy of the crowd; this version amplifies the communal and celebratory aspects of worship. It might make sense why this version has 5x the listens as the original version. Worship leaders might choose to play this version instead of the original because they think it lends better to congregational participation.

John Mark and Sarah McMillan’s version has less dynamic contrast overall. The first build is gradual, and the climax is marked by the octave flip in Sarah’s voice. The next build, starting in the bridge, is just as slow. One by one, instruments get added to the texture, harmony moves from tonic to dominant, and there is a big harmonic arrival in the final chorus. The drama doesn’t build quickly, but over time. Additionally, the reflective atmosphere that is created by the soft final phrase transforms the mood from confident to pensive.

In summary, while both versions of “King of My Heart” share a similar formal structure, their distinct approaches to texture and energy escalation create unique environments for engagement. As we have seen, Contemporary Worship Music, or CWM, is a genre defined by its ability to foster connection—both spiritual and communal—through its distinct use of formal and textural processes. The roles of bridges, the double arc structure, and the dynamic textural processes—all are tools for fostering spiritual connection, physical engagement, and congregational unity.

I hope that if you’re familiar with CWM, this episode has deepened your appreciation for the unique musical qualities that define the genre, and you listen more intently and purposefully. If you’re new to this style of music, I hope it’s given you a window into a genre that moves numerous people every week, in ways that are both deeply personal and profoundly collective. Thank you for listening.

I want to extend my thanks to all those involved in every step of this project. To Jon Roller, my undergraduate advisor, whose worship music theory class challenged me to expand my music-theoretical toolbox, and whose pedagogical approaches inspired my own. And I thank the entire SMT-Pod editorial board, especially my team lead, Matthew Ferrandino, and producer, Katrina Roush. I also greatly appreciate the feedback and insight I received from my peer reviewers, Sherston Johnson and Joshua Busman. And lastly, a shout out to Steve Rodgers for encouraging me to share my project through this medium. This wouldn’t have been possible without the support of so many generous colleagues, mentors, and friends.

[Outro Theme by Yike Zhang.]

Visit our website, smt-pod.org, for supplemental materials related to this episode and to learn how to submit an episode proposal. And join in the conversation by tweeting us your questions and comments @SMT_Pod. SMT-Pod’s theme music was written by Maria Tartaglia, with closing music by Yike Zhang.