Start with the guitar, because Chris plainly did. The opening keeps to the shimmer and ache of what the faithful call "modern worship": atmospheric, spacious, chiming into the rafters. But it has dust on its boots. A faint country-Americana lilt runs beneath the reverb, the kind that suggests a church built beside a grain elevator. Then, from the second chorus, the amplifier is allowed to bite. That overdrive is pure 90s and 00s, fat and slightly feral, the tone of a band that grew up on records with fuzz pedals bolted to their hearts. Producer Trent Bell has dialled it in with real care. It never bullies the song, and it never lets the song get too comfortable either.

Jessie's vocal is the engine, and it would be a poor critic who pretended otherwise. She wrote "Send Me" during worship, pouring her heart out, and the performance keeps that unvarnished quality. She does not belt for effect. She pleads, then insists, then, at the bridge, seems startled by her own certainty. Her keys sit underneath like a held breath. The bridge is the song's hinge: a moment of revelation that arrives as a surprise to the singer and, by extension, to the listener. It is the passage where a prayer stops asking and starts answering.

Derek's drumming deserves its own paragraph, and not merely out of family loyalty. He is billed as a master percussionist and he earns it by restraint. He fills the architecture without cluttering it, adding momentum where the song needs a push and air where it needs to breathe. A rhythm section that includes a brother-in-law and a husband might be expected to be a delicate negotiation. Here it sounds like three people who have been in a room together for eighteen years. They have, and it shows.

Then the ending, which is the record's quiet masterstroke. The song was meant to fade out, that most ordinary of exits, until the band heard the "overflow" tracks and thought them too good to bury. Bell and the trio reworked the close into a deliberate, composed conclusion, and the single is better for it. A fade is a shrug; this is an amen. The track now plays as a small journey with a destination, which is more than can be said for most singles twice its budget.

Does it have flaws? A cynic might wish for a harder edge in the verses, or a lyric with more oblique angles. But a cynic misses the point. This is music made without irony or cunning, by people who mean every note, and that conviction is rarer and more persuasive than cleverness. The band's stated aim is to be echoes of a source, and the song carries it out: the sound is warm, bright and generous, and the feeling lingers after it ends.

Walking Relic's veterans, now under the Echo The Light banner, have no live dates to boast of yet. Judging by "Send Me," that is a situation the world should fix quickly. Stages will suit this music. Until then, the single is an excellent introduction: sincere, sunlit, and unafraid of a little grit in its guitar tone. Play it loud, and let the second chorus do its work.