Let’s face it: certain bands evoke certain ecological spaces. In the history of western culture, thinkers have posited music as being the most suited language to take us there. This was the case for the patron saint of pessimism, Arthur Schopenhauer, as Arty thought that the other arts “speak only of shadows, but [music] speaks of the thing itself.” I am sure that Cameron Stallones, Sun Araw, an armchair meta-physician himself, would nod in approval, having referred to his music as building “resonant fields,” establishing a “language,” and “speaking the word.” Mysterious indeed.
But what domain does Sun Araw invoke? Stallone’s music is of an aquatic nature. Fluttering and whiny organs, a thorough mastery of the wah-wah peddle, and third world percussion all invoke an unfamiliar realm. Lest we run out of air, Sun Araw’s vocals are pagan in terms of their enigmatic indecipherability. Nevertheless, like his spiritual godfather Sun Ra, Stallone’s “resonant fields” invoke a strangely familiar realm, a realm which us brave tetrapods once inhabited but have long since forgotten.