There’s a rare kind of alchemy that happens when music becomes more than just melody—when it transcends time and space, and dances with the sacred. Eddy Mann’s Turn Up the Divine isn’t just an album; it’s a devotional transmission, a love letter whispered to the universe, then sung back through guitar strings and angelic breath.
Mann, a spiritual journeyman with over 20 albums behind him, walks the path between the earthly and the eternal like a barefoot prophet on a Philly sidewalk. His single “Just Like Jesus” is the anchor in this soulful voyage—R&B-tinged gospel wrapped in velvet sincerity. It’s the beatitudes reimagined through rhythm and soul, the Sermon on the Mount electrified by Fender tones and Philly groove. “Isn’t it just like Jesus…”—that hook doesn’t just echo; it radiates.
This album pulses with quiet miracles. “The Humble Cottage by the Sea” is a cinematic hymn, a folk-fueled psalm where Christ performs a resurrection amid chipped dishes and sea-worn wood. You can see it. You can feel it. The intimacy, the tragedy, the divine breakthrough—it’s all there, like a tear rolling down a weathered cheek.
In “I’m Coming,” Mann writes with the confidence of a man who’s laid all his sins bare beneath a cosmic microscope and lived to sing the truth. “Hold on, I’m coming,” he says—not with swagger, but with the sacred assurance of someone who knows the shepherd’s voice. The song is a mantra for the modern soul, lost in digital chaos but yearning for an analog embrace from above.
“Relentless Love” might just be the heartbeat of the album. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t ask for your attention—it commands it, gently, like a whisper that you lean in to hear. The repetition of “You loved and now we love” isn’t just a lyric—it’s an invocation, a loop of divine DNA threaded into melody.
Then there’s “Let It Grow,” a garden of grace cultivated from spiritual compost and blood-soaked roots. This is gospel as horticulture—growth, decay, rebirth—all in a three-minute time-lapse of light and sound. Mann knows that salvation isn’t just a mountaintop—it’s in the mud, too.
Each song is a pearl in a chain of cosmic correspondence. “Fly Fly Away” soars with gentle surrender, “String of Pearls” meditates on unity and grace, and “Child Can You Spare Some Time” is a holy confrontation between Creator and creation—equal parts Genesis and gentle guilt trip.
And “Hush”—man, “Hush” is the afterglow. It’s that soft place you land after wrestling angels in the dark. A closing benediction that shushes the noise of the world and leaves you with only one voice echoing in your spirit.
Turn Up the Divine isn’t about perfection—it’s about presence. It’s a collection of sacred sound waves that remind us of our origin, our purpose, and our potential. Eddy Mann doesn’t just make music; he channels grace. This record doesn’t just play—it prays. And in a world desperate for truth, it sings of something ancient, infinite, and beautifully real.
There’s something cinematic in the way Turn Up the Divine unfolds—each song a scene, each lyric a line in a script written somewhere between heaven and a Philly back alley. Eddy Mann isn’t chasing trends; he’s tracing the sacred, guided by an inner compass forged through decades of devotion, doubt, and divine downloads. The album is rich in texture—layered with acoustic warmth, gospel soul, and poetic depth. You don’t listen passively; you participate. It’s an invitation to slow down, to breathe in the holy hush between the notes, and to rediscover faith not as doctrine, but as a living, breathing presence that sings.