Through songs dating back a decade, Sun’s Signature strive for perfection on their self-titled EP.
There are few other fields of the arts other than music where creators are so often forced to give up on perfection; whether to satisfy audiences, labels, deadlines or fellow performers, compromise is an uneasy default.
As self-evidently true as this theory appears, Sun’s Signature’s five-track EP is arguably the year’s most appropriate rebuttal to the idea.
A loose collective that is as much project as band, its core is made up of Massive Attack percussionist Damon Reece and former Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser.
To illustrate the relaxed pace at which the duo has been working, all the tracks here were premiered live in embryonic formats during a showcase as part of The Meltdown Festival curated by ANOHNI at The Royal Festival Hall – this was in 2012.
Reece, in interview, has described the process of refinement since then with almost titanic understatement as, ‘Very high on detail’. Referencing the work of film soundtrack composer John Barry and featuring amongst others the work of former Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett, Fraser contends that the music’s intention is ,’To take you on a journey – like Love’s Forever Changes’.
Admirably sky high ambitions, but the quintet of songs being in flux at least makes redundant chatter about whether or not the wait was worth it. Opener Underwater was first released 22 years ago as a white label; now it begins with Fraser’s voice alone in the high register before being joined gradually by some lugubrious synth as things become more orthodox; throughout there’s a hint of Eastern sounding reverie.
Its successor, Golden Air, has a dizzier, more ethereal piano vibe and blissful ambience which recalls Fraser’s long past life but instead with pleasant summer on its face, whilst closer Make Lovely The Day’s gorgeous Flamenco guitar exhilarates, Hackett coming into his own with an assured show of virtuosity.
Seeking pigeonholes for this work when guided by such a still recognisable voice is something of a futile exercise, but topically perhaps (accidentally for certain) the bird-on-the-wing lightness of Apples echoes the off kilter pan of Kate Bush’s early work.
Where the mood-pieces fit together – child-like playfulness, star crossed romance, filmic abstraction – the effect is spine-tingling. Bluedusk presents as if conjured up from a fairytale, the muted clarinet, harp and dulcimer all themes for characters who live mischievously just outside of our understanding.
It’s a song that could only come from timelessness, impossible to bring to earth – and despite an impermanence of form, it strays as close to unconscious perfection as anything made this way could be.
