A Poignant and Unexpected Hymn of Faith, a Tender Confession of Spiritual Awakening Amidst the Hard Rock Chaos.
By 1971, Grand Funk Railroad had firmly established themselves as a rock and roll phenomenon, a band of working-class heroes who sold out stadiums and commanded a fanatical, almost religious following. Their music was a raw, unapologetic hard rock, a testament to pure, unrefined power. Their album Survival was a commercial blockbuster, a sonic war cry that reached a peak of number 6 on the Billboard 200, solidifying their status as a force to be reckoned with. But amidst the thunderous anthems and explosive riffs, there was a song that was so profoundly different, so emotionally vulnerable, it felt like a hidden truth buried within their thunder. That song was “I Can Feel Him in the Morning.” It was never released as a single and never charted, a fact that only deepens its allure as a cherished, intimate masterpiece. Its power lies not in fleeting popularity, but in its dramatic, emotional honesty—a sudden and startling confession of faith from a band that was never expected to be so tender.
The story of “I Can Feel Him in the Morning” is a quiet, yet powerful, drama. Grand Funk Railroad’s public persona was all about rebellion and earthly grit, a rejection of the establishment. Yet, here, the band’s frontman and primary songwriter Mark Farner peels back the curtain to reveal a deeply personal, spiritual dimension. The song is a theatrical monologue, an unvarnished admission of his faith. The drama lies in this stark contrast: a man who plays to tens of thousands of screaming fans night after night, who is celebrated as a rock god, finds his true peace in a quiet, personal moment of spiritual connection. It’s the sound of a soul stripped of its bravado, revealing a universal search for meaning and hope. This song is a testament to the idea that even in the middle of a life filled with noise and chaos, a profound and simple faith can exist, providing a quiet strength.
The lyrical drama is a painful and honest chronicle of this emotional state. The song is a beautiful hymn, with lyrics that paint a picture of a soul renewed. Phrases like “I can feel him in the morning / I can feel him when the sun goes down” and “He’s the only one I want to see” are delivered with a raw, unpolished emotion that makes the song feel incredibly personal. The music itself is a character in this drama, perfectly amplifying the sense of spiritual awakening. It’s a slow, mournful blues ballad, a stark contrast to their usual hard rock sound. A somber piano and a quiet, weeping guitar provide a delicate backdrop that allows Farner’s voice to take center stage, full of a pain and honesty that is palpable. The song builds with a powerful, emotional crescendo, a musical arc that reflects the human experience of finding faith—a quiet, personal moment that builds into a powerful, overwhelming force. The final, soaring guitar solo, full of a raw, beautiful agony, feels like a triumphant release of all that pent-up despair and a moment of pure, unadulterated hope.
For those of us who came of age with this music, “I Can Feel Him in the Morning” is more than a song; it’s a profound reminder of the humanity behind the rock and roll machine. It’s a nostalgic echo of a time when album tracks could be as powerful and meaningful as the biggest hits. It is a testament to the fact that even the most powerful and successful among us can be vulnerable and find solace in a quiet faith. The song endures because the emotion it portrays is timeless and universal. It remains a beautifully raw and profoundly emotional piece of rock history, a quiet masterpiece that proves that true strength often lies not in power and volume, but in the courage to reveal your deepest vulnerability.