Over the past few months I’ve written a bit about the Austin, TX-based indie rock act Sun June, an act comprised of founding members Laura Colwell and Stephen Salisbury, along with Michael Bain (guitar), Sarah Schultz (drums), and Justin Harris (bass), and as you may recall, the act can trace its origins to when its founding duo started the band while working long hours in the editing room so renowned filmmaker Terrance Malick, practicing whenever Malick was out of town.
Slated for release later this month, the band’s soon-to-be released full-length album Years found the band working with Evan Kaspar at Estuary Recording Facility, recording the material live to tape without using much in the way of overdubs or other studio techniques, so the material isn’t being overly polished or processed. As the band notes the album is a “we’ve-been-broken-up-a-long-time” album and explores how loss — of friends, family members and partners — evolves over time; but while not being too heavy or too serious about it. “Discotheque,” Years‘ opening track was an atmospheric and slow-burning track that evoked a sense of inescapable and inexplicable loss, but with an underlying pride and celebration that wisely (and simply) reminds the listener that to truly live is to know, accept and live with loss of all sorts. “Slow Rise II,” the album’s second single began like a gorgeous, half-remembered reverie with a rousing hook that possesses an underlying ache for something familiar, although as the old saying goes, you can never go back home again.
“Records,” the album’s third and latest single is a tender and achingly lonesome mid-tempo ballad centered around a gorgeous and smoky wisp of a melody, gently padded drums and shimmering guitar chords. Sonically speaking, the song evokes the lingering ghosts of regrets, past lovers, the should haves/could haves/if I had known then what I know nows, and late nights listening to sad music alone with your sad thoughts.
