I may be biased, as I grew up on Salt Spring Island, but I always felt that small communities nurture and foster creativity differently. Maybe it’s knowing everyone’s face, feeling comfortable and familiar everywhere you go. Maybe there’s just nothing else to do but be creative when you’re stuck in perpetual familiarity. Whatever the cause, I think it’s safe to say that there’s something different about the art that comes out of a small town. Something beautiful, something particularly honest, something that says it wants more out of the world but it has yet to find it. The art imagines what the rest of the world is thinking and doing solely through the lense of an isolated place.
If there is one artist that can prove my theory to be true it’s probably Noah Sherrin aka Sun King. A prolific songwriter and producer, Noah Sherrin released five full length albums all while under legal drinking age. However, it is his most recent offerings under the pseudonym Sun King which have really brought the young artist into his own. On June 6, Sun King dropped two full length albums entitled The Hollow Planet of Love and New Occult Classicalism. Both albums feature incredible use of melody, arrangement—and above all—impeccable production that blew me away as I heard it. I asked Noah to give me a few words about what his thoughts were during the creation of his impressive double feature, here’s what he had to say:
"Last June I started working on a new album. Most of the songs were fully written and I had a pretty clear understanding of what they should be sonically realized as in my head. I envisioned a throwback album. Just some songs about love with minimalist, piano based arrangements and a dry 70s production style. I had a dream where Harry Nilsson, Todd Rundgren and Randy Newman towered over me, bathed in golden light and all gave me a very righteous thumbs-up. I’m not sure what happened, but somewhere along the insufferable process of creating an album, where it eats away and chews at every bit of your frail soul, this one took a very different turn. Although I was along for the journey I did not seem to be guiding it. I remember recording drums, close mics, muted toms; bashing out guitar through fuzz pedals and too much reverb; even recording an old grand piano I had no idea what to do with, (where does the mic go?) but when I listened to my work it was unrecognizable. The ballads, the ditties, the pop hooks were all shredded through several layers of cosmic inebriation. As I lay back I heard my baby warble and dance in ways I’d never taught it to, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I watched in awe as some sort of musical mitosis separated the songs into two autonomous organisms, splitting the modern and nostalgic better than I had ever thought too. As the fog cleared, I saw all things as they were, and I dug it."