There comes a point in every musical obsession where, whatever it is, say an artist, or album, or even a simple song, transforms from something I merely enjoy to precious. With my recent discovery of High Sunn I fell hard. I mean, really, really hard. And I don’t know if it was the well-timed dose of summery guitars, the steeped in melancholy feeling to its power pop simplicity, or the nostalgia drummed up when Justin Cheromiah wails on in his quasi-Doug Martsch vocals, but Missed Connections has already staked claim as the anthem to my as-yet-unhatched summer plan to take over the world.
One of the first things you notice about High Sunn is how cohesive the record sounds. There may be a ton of singles and EP drops available on their Bandcamp page, but this coheres like a bona fide album with production chops to spare. Cheromiah bills himself as a one-man show (although he brings the boys out for a live performance) but he has expertly focused all of the disparate elements into a nimble record built around energetic guitars and a knack for high teenage drama. Songs like “Summer Solstice” and “Freshman Year” capture that feeling in amber like few others before. In one way or another, every songwriter seeking to seize on youthful angst runs into the potential criticism that it’s all been done. Well, Chermoniah may be aware that those whispers are out there, but he clearly doesn’t give them any credence. His penchant for full-blown, head-nodding power pop (“I Thought You Were There”) serves as irrefutable evidence that the king of rock is forever waiting to be crowned. My favorite track, bar none (or I mean, right now) is “Soft Spoken” the album’s down tempo, angst-ridden feeler. Moody as all get out, a bad-day Cheromiah sings, “I’m a terrible person” on the chorus with just a glimmer of optimism that someone, somewhere, may redeem him. But then, as soon as that’s over, he spins in another direction, the bliss-kissed, “Kokuhaku”. All is forgotten, gratefully.
The compact, 28-minute album closes with “Hoho Market” a pumping fist that is as jangly and sublime as the opening number. For me, Cheromiah’s vocal style is what really sets Missed Connections out from the slurry of juvenile, punk-infused indie pop and rock. He has a world weary young man persona working fo rhim. He sounds at once wrung out while also showing a big, bright flash of spirit. Tracks like the short and sweet “Banh Mi” offer a little Ezra Koenig flavor, forlorn vignettes about the lost moments of youth that would be at home on any Vampire Weekend album.
Is Missed Connections the perfect album? No. Perfect it is not. It lacks depth. It lacks a measure of sophistication and experimentation, but it has something a many of its brainy brethren lacks. A fuse. This album has a fuse, expertly lit by Justin Cheromiah.
