- A quietly devastating record that traces grief and recovery across eight candle-lit synth pop tracks.
- Ramona Gonzalez's fifth album begins with a murmur. "I can't describe anything that I want / I can't rely on my desire anymore," she sings, letting each syllable ring out, painting a picture of abject depression and hopelessness. "What am I supposed to do," she asks, as her voice reduces to a near-whisper. "Anymore" continues with this monologue until the drums come in and her syllables start to stutter and loop, the track becoming a barrage of jazzy percussion, synths and other strange noises. It's a racket that sounds as celebratory as it does cathartic, before it all falls away and she turns her attention towards someone else: "Do you love anymore?"
"Anymore" might be the most striking composition Gonzalez has ever written, a mix of meditative vocals, ghostly instrumentation and devastating, incisive lyrics. It confronts loss and depression head-on before making something else out of those feelings entirely, like listening to someone realize and process their emotions as they go along. This is only one moment of many on No Sun that channels grief, triumph and resignation, often all at the same time. Her new LP is almost uncomfortably personal, bedroom pop made by someone who sounds like they haven't left their bedroom in a year.
No Sun comes at a particularly pivotal moment in Gonzalez's life. A professor at Occidental College and an academic by trade, Gonzalez started work on her Ph.D about musical laments, meant to trace the tradition—including hired mourners—from classical times all the way to modern pop stars. She says it's a uniquely woman-centric tradition, and she finds art and purpose in the ways women can absorb and perform grief even when it's not their own. This idea informs the candle-lit atmosphere of No Sun, its subtly flickering synths and hushed atmosphere. But about halfway through recording the album, Gonzalez's marriage of 12 years started to fall apart, and this music of mourning suddenly became all too close to home.
"At the time that the actual separation occurred was when I began to write lyrics, when I began to actually sing," Gonzalez told NPR. "I was just in so much pain. I couldn't even bear to get up from the floor. But I could hear the words in my head. And I just pulled myself off of the floor onto the keyboard and started writing this chord progression."
From "Anymore" onwards, the LP is a chronicle of separation and loss, and all the conflicting, often confusing emotions that go with it. "Before I Go" sounds like a desperate plea to a former lover, imploring the other person to listen to her carefully prepared words before promising, "I won't talk about my feelings if you come 'round." She swims out of the water and then dives back in, not sure which path is the right one. On the turbulent "No Escape," she dreams of drowning, repeating the scenario over and over, LFO synths wobbling in and out like an encroaching anxiety attack, as she pledges to protect her partner. Until she decides: "This one you can't run away from... We have to let it crash over us."
These lyrics are delivered in a near-whisper, her vocals elongating certain syllables and delivering other words in a heated rush, as if the thoughts were coming too fast for her to spit them out. Her voice tends to float above the rest of the music, giving the most wounded tracks an eerie, funereal atmosphere. Still, there are moments of jauntiness and rhythm. "To Feel It," where she sings frankly of missing and trying to forget her ex-lover, has a propulsive synth pop backing track that feels wobbly and seasick, in line with the lyrical content. Several tracks, like "Anymore," feature a descent into chaotic but often beautiful instrumental passages, like the strangled, Robert Fripp-esque guitar solo on "This Time" or the stunning cacophony of "When There Is No Sun," the Sun Ra cover that closes out the album.
"When There Is No Sun" is the most audacious moment on No Sun. It feels like closure, and not just because it's the last track on the record: after seven songs of doubt, self-immolation and grief, Gonzalez is ready to focus on something else. Her voice traces a new melody through Sun Ra's tremulous composition as she croons, "The sky is a sea of darkness / When there is no sun."
She's singing someone else's words, but she inhabits them as her own, channeling her own personal grief through this paean to the sun and the "eternal sea of darkness" of the sky. You can tell the words have some other, hidden meaning, known only to Gonzalez herself. She's continuing the very tradition she's studying, ending her intimate and vulnerable album with a cover that finds new purpose by making someone else's words—and grief—all her own.
Lista de sequência de músicas01. Anymore
02. Before I Go
03. Show Me What You’re Made Of
04. To Feel It
05. #14
06. No Escape
07. This Time
08. When There Is No Sun (Sun Ra Cover)