Years ago, there was a record shop in a town near to where I lived that had a magical rack full of 7” vinyl records. Being young (and possessed of a record player), I would head down there and spend countless hours fingering through the box, pulling out limited, coloured formats and calculating which ones offered the best value in terms of b sides. Sometimes I just bought singles with a cool cover, unsure about what might lie inside, but excited at the prospect of finding out (you have to remember this was prior to the internet in any meaningful form). Somewhere along the way, I picked up a single that looked cool and pretty alternative. It was Everclear’s heart spark dollar sign single (on limited clear vinyl, no less) and, as much as I loved the song, what really stood out was the b side, a radio session of loser makes good, which still stands as one of the band’s best songs. It started a life-long love affair with the band and I still turn to sparkle and fade at least a few times each year.
The reason for this potted history is not a new Everclear record, but a solo effort from the band’s multi-talented frontman, Art Alexakis. With an instantly recognisable voice and a talent for making even the most pop-infused of songs seem like a personal missive to the listener, the biggest surprise is that it has taken Art this long to lay down an album of his own, but sun songs, an eclectic and perfectly-formed showcase for Art’s skills as a songwriter, proves more than worth the wait.
Although Art is the driving force behind Everclear, and glimmers of the mothership are very visible on tracks like sing away, the solo format has clearly freed up Art to play with those influences that have been less obvious on his career to date. As such, whilst the short, sweet sunshine love song plays like one of the radio session tracks found on the Santa Monica single, California blood sees Art playing with rhythm in unexpected ways to craft a beautifully sun-kissed song that sounds like Beta Band covering the Beach Boys with a touch of Paul Simon thrown in for good measure. The production, stripped down to the essentials, does much to capture the raw heart that sits within any Art Alexakis composition, and it’s a glorious piece of music. However, Art isn’t done with the surprises, and the slide-soaked a house with a pool emerges as a lyrically brilliant, modern blues, that perfectly captures the need for luxury, spurred on by an ever-present media-window into the lifestyles of the rich and shameless. Incisive and intelligent the lyrics may be, but Art does not forget to ensure that they’re paired with an arch hook and a house with a pool, as with all the songs here, effortlessly works its way under the skin and you’ll find yourself humming it in the bath, on the bus and pretty much anywhere else that you’re apt to get funny looks. Next up, orange sees Art riffing on a subtle hip hop vibe reminiscent of early Beck and the Eels (think Susan’s house), the song slowly building a considerable head of steam thanks to the inventive percussion that keeps it moving briskly forward. The first half of the record ends with the alt-blues of the hot water test, a song built around a powerful chorus that just seems to get bigger each time it comes around.
Opening the album’s second half, the lazy blues of Arizona Star with its shuffling beat and liquid slide abruptly changes course, adds handclaps and a hint of that laconic, Everclear sparkle, and trips lightly across its three-minute runtime. The influence of The Beatles looms large over the sunny pop of Look at us now, until Hammond organ and spoken-word passages send it off in its own happy-go-lucky direction. It paves the way neatly for another album highlight, the hip hop influenced white people scare me, which pairs cutting lyrics with a dark melody and a heavy beat to great effect. Socially conscious and delivered with just the right amount of venom, white people scare me, underscores the fact that whilst Art may be the perennial optimist, he’s not afraid to tackle heavier issues when the need arises. Arguably the album’s most ostensibly Everclear moment, musically at least, sing away is a simple, nostalgic tune built around palm-muted acoustic guitar and given devastating emotional weight thanks to lyrics that, whilst not condemnatory, still paint a heart-breaking picture of how words can destroy lives. Few artists have the bravery and sensitivity to tackle the subject of suicide and bullying with such illuminating compassion, and it is a haunting piece indeed. With the album slowly wending its way towards its end, the acoustic line in the sand (which namechecks Soundgarden) taps into a sweeter nostalgia, looking back on the awesome innocence of youth and Art’s life as a musician. It leaves the autobiographical a seat at the table, to bring the album to a defiant close, the skeletal guitar, deft percussion and sanguine bass underpinning a lyric that defines the average adult’s quest for self-empowerment in an increasingly unfair world. It proves an emotionally and musically satisfying end to an album that leaves the listener feeling as if they’ve spent the preceding half hour directly in Art’s company.
At a thirty-five minutes, Art’s approach to quality control is ruthless, with not an ounce of filler to be found. It’s a brilliant record, too, with each song individually wonderful and, taken together, forming a coherent whole that perfectly captures Art’s wonderful musicianship and enduring humanity. One of those records where you’re happy to sit and listen over and over just to figure out every single lyric, sun songs is a consistently surprising, emotionally uplifting record that effortlessly stands out as one of the year’s best records. 9.5
