SUN KIL MOON - Tiny Cities

Sun Kil Moon is the second project from the great Mark Kozelek, voice and soul of one of the finest acts of the '90s, Red House Painters.

The continuity between the two bands is more than evident: half the musicians are shared (Anthony Koutsos alongside Kozelek), while the other half (Mooney and Stanfield) were dredged up from the ashes of American Music Club, one of the main influences on what would go on to become the Red House Painters' own sound.

The result is that the mood permeating the record ends up being the same subdued, solitary poetics of its frontman: for someone who carries those old records inside him, that can only be a good thing.

"Tiny Cities" is the new band's second effort, and it's Kozelek's second themed covers album ("What's Next to the Moon", from 2001, reworked songs by AC/DC!), this time dedicated to the repertoire of another great band of the '90s, Modest Mouse.

Few words are needed to describe it.

The intro to "Exit Does Not Exist" alone is enough to make clear that we're getting exactly what we expected. Rather than a song (or the hint of one), what we're faced with is the description of a ghost ship, a spectral setting for a skeletal composition, Kozelek's voice reigning low, now clearly aged to the point of bordering on a moan, yet still gorgeous, entrancing, deep.

The premise is fairly promising: "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" is a slow, whispered piece built on the usual guitar patterns, a few piano notes and an imperceptible touch of violin coloring an atmosphere on the edge of a wise little tale.

The prayer-like "Neverending Math Equation", heartfelt despite its low register, punctuated by drum hits with a vaguely country feel; and "Space Travel Is Boring", the howl of a werewolf, delivered in an utterly subdued, desolate tone drowned in violin accompaniment, deliver on those expectations, turning out to be fine reinterpretations.

The trouble with "Tiny Cities" is that the album basically ends there, since what follows are mostly half-realized sketches.

The tenderness of the despondent chord changes in "Dramamine" fizzles out into an anonymous passage at high risk of tedium; "Jesus Christ Was an Only Child" tries to play the overwrought-romanticism card but it's a bluff; "Grey Ice Water" spends the whole time torn between a grand waltz and a folk number, never fully convincing as either.

The dark murmur of "Convenient Parking", delivered over Fahey-style guitar work, is striking only on first listen, then all too easily slips from memory.

Only a handful of melodic surges save the day, like the one that shakes up the otherwise uninspired serenade of "Four Fingered Fisherman", which perfectly frames this as, above all, a record of regrets; or the delicacy with which certain passages unfold, like the terminal melancholy of "Ocean Breathless Salty".

Sun Kil Moon barely exist on this record; they're really just a name masking the three accompanying notes behind Kozelek's solo turn, as he takes other people's melodies as a springboard to spend the whole album wallowing in himself.

The past is the past, and if this has to be the present, honestly, I'm fine with that too.

I'd just ask for a bit more substance, rather than the meager two or three satisfying tracks and a handful of miniatures or filler padding out a scant half-hour running time.

Fans will like it, finding something worthwhile in it (and with those vocal cords, they always will): everyone else, unfortunately, can safely do without it.

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30/04/2026