On the road to redemption, Daniel Caesar releases his fourth album, Son of Spergy, which drives straight into your heart. Reflecting on his gospel-singer father, Caesar weaves acoustic instrumentation to set a self-searching tone that drags you back to when he sang with his father in church. He seeks to reconcile with nature, abandon celebrity status, and play in grassy fields. Caesar levels himself back to his roots, playing publicly in parks for the first time since 2015, presumably yearning to return to being the son of his father, Spergy.
Prepare for Sunday Mass as the album’s start resembles an opening prayer, with “Rain Down (feat. Sampha)” finding Caesar asking the Lord to rain His blessing upon him. There’s repetition of blessings; however, the second half shifts into a pleading tone as if he’s confessing how he hasn’t followed in his father’s steps.
The choir stops, we’re somehow in a confession booth, and we shoot into Daniel Caesar’s reconciliation. In “Have A Baby (With Me),” he admits he negotiates for a legacy rather than for the love of the person leaving him. The woman being described seemingly reflects his musical journey, having lost purpose in creating music as he abandons his religious beliefs in God and his father. The imagery is stark; he blatantly states how parenting transforms into a method to defy separation, framing a baby as a hopeless dream to accomplish what he’s failed at.
We walk out of the booth in tears after confessing our sins: “Am I a man or a beast?” And no, this is not Beauty and the Beast, as “Root of All Evil” paves Caesar’s path to redemption as he admits to falling to sinful desires, sacrificing his values, and straying from God and his family’s heritage. He knows that he abandoned love for a legacy, and fears the punishment of God and his father.
“Who Knows” encapsulates Caesar’s awareness of his insecurities, questioning if love would ever stay after understanding all sides of him. No mask and no performances, we witness his growth in living with the uncertainty that comes from loving. He is open to love, yet describes himself as a coward because he’s scared he’ll ruin relationships. There’s a theme of questions as he attempts to stall for time, seemingly aware that there’s a thin line between hope, fear, and needing love from his partner. To close, there’s a choir in the background that refers back to prayer, knowing the future is not predictable.
The true highlights of the album arrive after “Who Knows,” as he puts his hand into uncertainty. On “Moon,” Justin Vernon of Bon Iver supplies ghostly harmonies that turn the track into an inner dialogue; Caesar howls at the night, confessing he’s not yet who he wants to be, asking who will “be my Jesus.” At the record’s emotional peak, “Touching God” gathers Yebba and Blood Orange into a strained, prayerlike chorus as Caesar speaks to a God “withholding His help.” Their exchange about being unheard unexpectedly slips into the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy kingdom come… Thy will be done,” feels like a sincere plea for reconciliation.
Overall, the album leaves an uneasy honesty that attempts to weigh in faith with yearning without building sustained tension. Although engagement with faith lingers to be unresolved, the result remains memorable.
