Oh yes, it begins innocently enough. A few chords. A voice—raspy, familiar, worn in like a favorite coat. A gentle shuffle of drums, a slide of guitar. Nothing too unusual. Just another folk-rock song, you might think.
But then, the words. “Hey, I found God… you’re standing on it.”
And just like that, Ed Roman pulls the rug out from under you, only to reveal the Earth itself—spinning, breathing, sacred.
You see, Ed Roman is not your ordinary singer-songwriter. No, no, no. He’s a philosopher with a six-string, a mystic in denim, a wanderer who’s less interested in the heavens above and more concerned with the soil beneath your soles. “I Found God,” his latest single from the album Letters From High Latitudes, isn’t trying to convert you to anything. Except maybe to noticing what you’ve been walking past all along.
But this is Ed Roman we’re talking about. The Canadian troubadour who never plays by the rules, never colors inside the lines. He’s part folk singer, part cosmic cowboy, and wholly uninterested in commercial polish. So when he tells you he’s found God—not in a temple, not in a book, but right there in the mud—you lean in a little closer.
The song, like Roman himself, unfolds deliberately. No rush. There’s time. Time to consider the implications of a universe where divinity lives in tree bark, in frozen lakes, in collapsing ecosystems that we forget to honor until it’s too late.
Yes, too late. Because this isn’t just a spiritual revelation—it’s a warning, too. A quiet, measured, mournful warning.
The instrumentation is subtle. Mike Freedman’s guitar meanders like a river you’ve always known was there but never dared to follow. Dave Patel’s drums don’t push—they pulse, like the heartbeat of the Earth itself. And Roman’s voice? It carries the weight of someone who’s seen enough to know better, and still hopes.
Oh, and then there’s the video.
Illustrated by Paul Ribera, the visuals don’t just accompany the music—they haunt it. Surreal images drift and dissolve. The Earth spins beneath you, animals call out, and trees… oh, the trees. Falling, always falling. And somewhere in the chaos, an eye opens. Watching? Or weeping?
It’s beautiful. And it’s brutal. Because if God is everywhere, as Roman suggests, then what have we done?
Still, this isn’t a story about despair. Not quite. There’s hope here. Not the loud, clanging kind. The quiet kind. The kind that lives in a song you almost missed. The kind that comes from realizing you don’t have to look far for something holy.
Because you’re standing on it.
And now you know.
–Kevin Morris
