I’ve never really liked Christian rock.

Here’s the thing: I was born and raised as a devout Catholic. I go to church, I’m the co-chair for youth on my parish council, I spent a brief tenure as the leader of the youth choir—for a young person, I’m pretty involved in my faith community. And my religion is pretty involved in me. I don’t mean that I push the Bible on anyone; it’s just that the way I live my life is mostly dictated by my faith, by what God made best for me. I don’t expect anyone to believe in my God or gel completely with my belief system, and in fact I avoid saying “look how awesome Christianity is, guys.” I prefer to live by example rather than evangelize.

What I’m trying to say here is, my faith and many aspects of it are a huge part of who I am. But Christian music and myself are usually mutually exclusive—with the exceptions typically running the narrow folk gamut from Bob Dylan to Sufjan Stevens. Except this weekend was different.

In southern Saskatchewan, there’s a town called Caronport which is home to the Briarcrest Bible College. Every year, this small town’s population triples as thousands of kids flood the school for one weekend called YouthQuake. It’s similar to a lot of Christian youth gatherings, in that it has a speaker and a bunch of activities available to you and you don’t have to pay for your meals and you sleep in somebody else’s house (or dorm room, as the case may be). This year, my youth group decided to attend—along with three thousand other teenagers—based on the advice of one of our youth who had been there before.

The other thing I’ve never really liked are big religious crowds. Don’t get me wrong, worship with three thousand people is incredibly powerful, and I think that no matter what religion you’re from you need to experience it at least once. But the problem with a big religious crowd for me is that I can’t help detaching myself somewhat from the experience, casting a vaguely cynical eye over the proceedings in case zealotry strikes.

Friday night, of course, ended with a concert, which most of the people in the building attended. So there you have it. A big religious crowd and Christian rock. From what I’ve written here, you’d think I was writing down a recipe for a big old bowl of Crappy Night.

Except the band that was playing, well, the setup looked like Wolf Parade. I’m not kidding. The lead singer was sitting at a Rhodes, the guitarist was standing off to the side looking awesome, there was a bass player beside a stand with a big ol’ drum resting on it, and a drummer on a little raised platform playing so he could see the rest of the band. And to top that all off, they sounded… well, I’ll set the bar for you: it’s better than Coldplay.

Seriously. Mute Math sounds like no Christian rock band I’ve ever heard. They bring what sounds like a serious affinity for U2 and The Police into a live setting where they blend it with a killer lightshow, extremely high energy (I’ve never seen someone hurdle a keyboard twice in a row with such fervor) and instruments like the keytar—that’s right, the keytar—and what appeared to be a robot that made synth sounds when the frontman, Paul Meany, touched the neck. And what’s important is that it all works.

Surprise, surprise, the crowd didn’t swell with religious fervor; they simply embraced the transcendental quality of Mute Math’s live show and went with it. The sample tracks I’m giving you, opener “Collapse,” “Without It,” and “Picture,” only hint at what the live experience of their music’s like. Adventurous, energetic and smart, it captivates and moves you. They’re in the midst of a tour; if you have the chance, check them out.

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