Joel Cross, known online as A Soul Called Joel, is a certified meditation teacher, mindfulness coach and Grammy-nominated guitarist and songwriter, and his own catalog reads as a quiet, steady unfolding. Every documented release is a single, 21 in all, so this guide treats each one as its own small room. The arc begins in 2015 with a self-titled single and moves through a 2016 pair, a busy 2017 of reinterpreted standards, and a 2018 run of originals and acoustic readings. It arrives at "Candlelight" in 2019, the latest documented release. Throughout, the sound stays acoustic, measured and guitar-led. Think of the catalog as a practice rather than a pile of records: listen slowly, and let each piece open.
2019. The latest documented release closes the arc, and its title suggests the softest light in the catalog. It fits the contemplative register of his work: unhurried, intimate, made for low lamps and slow evenings. Placed after a run of covers and 2018 originals, it reads as a settling, a songwriter content to hold a single flame steady. For a new listener it is a natural resting point, the place the catalog has been walking toward. Drop in with the title track itself, "Candlelight," preferably at dusk, with nothing else asking for your attention.
2018. One of the originals named among his own compositions, "Hold You" carries the warmth its title promises. The acoustic setting keeps everything close: guitar and voice, with room between the notes. It sits in the middle of a prolific 2018, offering tenderness after the more searching singles around it. In the arc, it shows the songwriter side of Joel at its most direct, comfort offered without ornament. Start with the title track, "Hold You," and notice how the pacing lets each phrase land before the next one begins. It suits a quiet morning.
2018. "Gray" is another original from his 2018 run, and the title points toward the in-between tones: neither bright nor dark, simply honest. That fits a teacher whose work names emotional difficulty plainly instead of rising above it. Within the arc, it shows his writing leaning into introspection, the sound stripped back so the mood does the work. Drop in with the title track, "Gray," when your own day feels unresolved. Let the guitar sit beside you rather than fix anything. It is a good companion for overcast afternoons and unhurried reflection.
2018. "Better Believe" belongs to the cluster of 2018 singles that mark a fertile stretch of his songwriting. The title carries a note of assurance, and the acoustic, restrained approach of the catalog suggests that assurance is quiet rather than declarative. It sits between the more vulnerable pieces around it, adding a thread of conviction to the year. As an entry point, it shows how he can lean toward hope without losing the contemplative pace. Begin with the title track, "Better Believe," and let its steadiness settle you. It rewards a second listen.
2018. The title is one of the most frank in the catalog, naming hurt without euphemism. That candor echoes a teaching style that honors emotional pain rather than bypassing it. Released in 2018 among a run of singles, it stands as a darker, more vulnerable corner of the year, and it shows the range beneath the calm surface of his guitar work. Because the catalog is single-by-single, the track to start with is the title track, "Bruised & Scorned." Come to it when you want music that meets you where you are, without hurrying you elsewhere.
2018. "So Long" has the feel of a farewell, and in a catalog about coming home to yourself, a gentle goodbye has its place. Released in 2018, it sits alongside the hurt-and-hope singles of that year, perhaps the release that most invites letting go. The restraint of the acoustic style keeps it from melodrama; the mood is closure rather than collapse. Drop in with the title track, "So Long." It pairs well with an evening walk, or with the moment at the end of a meditation when you set something down.
2018. This stripped-back companion to the original single shows how he approaches a song: find the core, then serve it with restraint. The acoustic version puts guitar and voice forward, trading any added texture for intimacy. Within the 2018 run, it works as a second look at a piece he clearly wanted to hear in its barest form. If you only have time for one of the two "Pretty Bohemian Girl" releases, this is the one that most closely matches his contemplative sensibility. Start with the title track, "Pretty Bohemian Girl (Acoustic Version)," in a quiet room.
2018. The original release of "Pretty Bohemian Girl" is the fuller of the two versions, and it is worth hearing first to understand what the acoustic reading later pares away. It sits in the 2018 cluster as a more outward-facing moment, with a title that suggests character and color against the introspective singles around it. In the arc, it shows him as a songwriter with a sense of portraiture as well as inner weather. Begin with the title track, "Pretty Bohemian Girl," then follow it with the acoustic version to hear the contrast.
2017. The only explicitly instrumental release in the catalog, and arguably the most useful for practice. With no lyrics to follow, the guitar carries everything, and you can hear how he shapes space, pacing and silence. It belongs to the 2017 run of reinterpreted standards, but here the melody does the speaking. For meditation sits, gentle yoga or simple stillness, it is the clearest invitation in his work. Drop in with the title track, "All of Me (Instrumental)," and let it become a background of warmth rather than a performance to watch.
2017. A widely loved standard, here arranged sparsely so that guitar and voice carry the emotional weight. In the 2017 cluster, it is among the most approachable doors into his music: a familiar song heard with unfamiliar patience. It reflects his approach to covers, which privileges emotional reinterpretation over radical reinvention. If you are new to Joel Cross, this is a fine first stop because you already know the shape of the song and can notice what his hands and voice bring to it. Begin with the title track, "Stand by Me."
2017. Another standard from the 2017 run, "Georgia on My Mind" suits the unhurried guitar treatment at the heart of his catalog. The song's longing translates naturally into a slow, acoustic setting, where every phrase has room to breathe. In the arc, it shows his taste for American songbook warmth alongside the more introspective originals that follow in 2018. Think of it as a porch-light track, gentle and nostalgic without sentimentality. Start with the title track, "Georgia on My Mind," and let the tempo reset your own.
2017. On paper, "Ring of Fire" is the odd one out: a song of burning intensity given the same contemplative acoustic treatment as everything else. That contrast is the appeal. In the 2017 run, it shows how he can cool a famous flame into something reflective, close to a meditation on desire rather than an outburst of it. It is a good test of his method, since a song you know well is heard anew at a slower pace. Drop in with the title track, "Ring of Fire," and listen for what the stillness reveals.
2017. This is among the most emotionally exposed titles in the 2017 group, and the acoustic, measured style suits it. Rather than amplifying the sorrow, the approach lets it be, which fits a teacher who names pain explicitly. In the arc, it prefigures the candor of 2018 singles like "Bruised & Scorned." It is a track for days when you need company in a heavy feeling more than a cure. Begin with the title track, "Drown in My Own Tears," and give it your full attention.
2017. "Crazy Love" is one of the standards named in his discography, and its emotional grounding makes it a natural fit for contemplative listening. The 2017 reading keeps the song intimate: guitar and voice, steady pacing, affection without fuss. It brings a note of devotion to a year otherwise shaded with longing and ache. In the arc, it is one of the brightest points before the 2018 originals arrive. Start with the title track, "Crazy Love," and notice how restraint can make tenderness feel larger rather than smaller.
2017. Perhaps the most devotional title in the catalog, "Hallelujah" is a natural fit for a voice and guitar that favor patience over spectacle. The 2017 release holds the song in a hush, letting its mix of reverence and ache come through without embellishment. In the arc, it is a centerpiece of the covers period and a bridge toward the more personal writing that follows. If you want a single track that shows his devotional side, this is it. Begin with the title track, "Hallelujah," ideally in silence beforehand.
2016. "Look at Me" is one of two 2016 singles, and the title carries a plain request to be seen, which resonates with a later teaching ethos of arriving exactly as you are. Little else is documented about this release, so approach it with an open ear. In the arc, it sits early, among the first steps of a catalog still finding its shape. Drop in with the title track, "Look at Me," and listen as you might to an early letter from a friend: for the voice before the polish.
2016. "Blackbird" is a natural match for a fingerpicking guitarist, and its place in 2016 shows the acoustic instincts were there from the start. The title track is the thing to hear, and it is easy to imagine why a guitar-led artist would choose it. In the arc, it is an early sign of the interpretive habit that blooms in 2017: take a beloved song and listen for its quiet center. Begin with the title track, "Blackbird," in the early morning if you can, when the day is still unspoken.
2015. A seasonal entry among his earliest releases, "The Christmas Song" is the catalog's one holiday piece. Its acoustic warmth suits winter evenings, candles and a settled home. In the arc, it shows an artist at the start, offering something simple and shareable before the more reflective work of later years. It is worth keeping for December, but it also offers an early glimpse of his gentle phrasing. Start with the title track, "The Christmas Song," with tea in hand, and let the season slow you down.
2015. "Waves" is named among his originals, and the title fits the rhythm of the whole catalog: rising, falling, returning. As a 2015 release, it is among the earliest glimpses of his own songwriting, and it speaks to a love of nature that his bio mentions. In the arc, it is where original voice first sits beside the covers. It is also one of the more natural picks for contemplative practice, given the imagery. Drop in with the title track, "Waves," and breathe in time with it.
2015. The title suggests release, and as an early entry it points toward the emotional through-line of his later teaching: moving through what weighs on you. Little else is documented, so the title track is the whole invitation. In the arc, it belongs to the 2015 beginnings, when his catalog was taking its first shape. It is an easy track to put on when you want to clear the air before a sit or a journaling session. Begin with the title track, "Shake It Off," and let the guitar do the loosening.
2015. The self-titled single is where the documented recording story begins. A name used as a title signals a first introduction, and it makes sense as the starting line of a catalog that later grows into a larger practice of stillness, sound and self-awareness. Little else is documented about the track, so listen for the beginnings: the guitar voice that deepens across the next four years. Drop in with the title track, "Joel Cross," then continue forward through 2016 to hear the arc take shape.
Devotional: "Hallelujah" (2017). It is the most reverent title in the catalog, and the sparse acoustic setting leaves room for stillness.
Contemplative: "All of Me (Instrumental)" (2017). With no lyrics, the guitar alone shapes space and pace, which makes it well suited to a quiet sit.
Energetic: "Ring of Fire" (2017). Joel's catalog is not built for high energy, but this is the title with the most heat, cooled into something reflective. Expect warmth, not a workout.
Healing: "Hold You" (2018). Tender and close, it is the most direct offering of comfort in his original writing. If you need something heavier first, "Bruised & Scorned" meets the hurt before it soothes.
