In the Key of Love
A Thank You Letter to Jake Wesley Rogers
In the beginning…the birds were singing.
I spent the early pre-dawn hours of May 9th listening to Jake Wesley Rogers’ debut album, In the Key of Love—note to note, grip to grip, key to key, heartbeat to heartbeat. From the guttural to the graceful, this is a masterpiece. I heard it, and the birds of the dawn in Dana Point heard it too. Now, it felt right to take it to the swallows of Capistrano. There's a new mission unveiling in the healing strings of this serenade.
When an album arrives it is never just a collection of songs, it is a sacred offering—an anthem to a generation on the cusp of its own restoration. Leading up to its release, I found myself in a season of courageous vulnerability, longing for a soundtrack that could hold the paradox of joy and sorrow, beauty and grief. What came through Jake’s voice and vision was more than music—it was ministry. (Cue Hot Gospel)
"Mother, Mary and Me" and "Kitchen Table" are now etched in my soul. They are elegies and invitations. As a Castaway Catholic, I carry the sacred and the scarred. I know the weight of incense-scented sanctuaries and sermons that spoke love while shadowing shame. These songs met me there. The lyrics speak the unspoken, and place it to melody so that it finds its way to touch you—gently, fiercely, wholly.
These aren’t just songs. They are soul-revealing ceremonies. Anthems, after all, are the undercurrents of the truest transformations. Sometimes, the single strike of a piano key can ignite the strike of the laborer, the lover, the lost—all searching for light in the dark.
As a Gay Veteran, I’ve stood in formations and foxholes with a flag that didn’t always know how to fold my truth into its stars. And now as I hear the marching drum beats of My Misery I am standing tall in the company of countless heroes who chose love and chose to live.
This album doesn’t flinch at the intersection of reverence and resistance, revelry and repression. It holds faith and fracture in both hands, without ever succumbing to the dogma of a system that would rather see the world lit only by fire than illuminated by love.
Jake, you have made room at the altar and the kitchen table. Your courage is a conduit. Your music is the modern-day liturgy for those of us who’ve wondered if our stories mattered enough to be sung. You are this generation’s Freddie, George and Elton. They too were doing the broken healing as the saint, and the bad believer and the one casting the spell.
But unlike them, you don’t have to hide your truest gifts in a hard to find cavern. You are letting us know that you still believe in the love that remains. We no longer live in the cave. There echoes now reverberate through you—louder, freer, truer. Let the healing begin.
I hope many listeners let this album wrap around them as I did on a drive, windows down. Wind in my face. Tears in my eyes. Hope back in my heart. This album will walk the steps so many could not. God Bless.
To your parents, your producers, your patron saints of serendipity, and your persistent spirit of purposeful path-making: thank you,
.Remember, church doors never stay locked. Gift shops always have forgotten stories of forgiveness. And now we have your album—proof that the key of love still opens every door. I am finally able, to come back to the kitchen table.
With gratitude,
Bill Kirst
“Gift shops always have forgotten stories of forgiveness.“🥹💗 Beautiful read Bill.✨
I see you. Thank you for seeing me. LOVE.